SECTION TWO
sm
COLUMN
SIXTY-SEVEN, JANUARY 1, 2002
(Copyright © 2002 Al Aronowitz)
ON GEORGE HARRISON
[More
writing by Josh Alan Friedman can be found by clicking on
George Harrison was a world
leader, a great man, a humble gardener and one beautiful cat. His dry wit and
insight grew deeper and deeper, picking up the mantle of outspokenness once
carried by John. He became every bit as funny and tough and brave as John. He
was not a "rock star," even though the term "rock" came
about as a result of his band. Rock 'n' roll was single-handedly rescued,
revived and revolutionized by the Beatles. They were the Big Bang from which
everything past coalesced and everything future emerged. Without them, this
strange music would have remained but a distant 1950s artifact, eliciting
chuckles during old news clips, like the hula-hoop craze.
But I believe the Beatles
were bigger than rock 'n' roll. When I was eight years old, seeing them touch
down was like witnessing a miracle. Without them there'd be no Rolling Stones,
no Kinks or Animals or Yardbirds or Who or Cream or Led Zeppelin or Freddie and
the Dreamers ad infinitum---none of them would have emerged from the hinterlands
of Merry Olde England. Thus, the world would never have known a blues revival or
had awareness of America's musical heritage, outside of small academic circles.
No long hair, no counter-culture, no sexual revolution, no recording industry,
no rock magazines or rock writers, and probably no Vietnam anti-war movement. I
shit you not---had George Harrison not been born, planet Earth would be as
different as Pottersville became without George Bailey in It's A Wonderful
Life.
But George Harrison was no rock star. Mick Jagger, Elton John or, more pathetically, things
George Harrison
was a hero
as a man
like Arrowsmith, are rock
stars. George was a country squire who turned away from that facade. Since the
very beginning, he kept his ego in check and played down the God-sized fame.
That four blokes could endure such hysteria and adulation with their sanity
intact was superhuman. As time progressed, George became more appalled by this
monstrous, unrelenting shadow. I remember Al Kooper telling me how he was the
first one in England to hear of John's assassination, having stayed up all night
when the news broke at 4 am. He drove back to Henley-on-Thames, due for a
morning session on George's album, where George stood stunned. Kooper and
another session player propped him up on their shoulders and promptly got him
drunk. Afterward, George's security system went up around the palace, one to
rival Phil Spector's. Nineteen years later, it was scaled by some psychopath who
broke in and nearly stabbed him to death. But George, a quietly tough
motherfucker, and his wife Olivia, wrestled the bastard into submission.
If George ever accepted
such trivialities as membership in the Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame, or
involvement in the burdensome Anthology project, it was only out of obligation
to friends, or to appease public desire (not to mention those monthly castle
payments). The humiliating demands of the music industry---which ironically,
George helped create---once dictated that he narrate the play-by-play of a
baseball game---an American sport he knew nothing about---in conjunction with
promoting an album. George took the high road and bowed out afterward. He'd
rather produce an obscure album in India, or spend time at the car races.
Unlike any other music
heroes, the Beatles carried the weight of world leaders. What they said---and
even their actions today, such as Paul's stand for animal rights---can sway
millions. And so, without even touching upon the enormity of his musical legacy,
I say that George Harrison was a hero as a man. I've loved him dearly since I
was eight years old. I feel terribly deprived knowing I will go through this
life without ever having made his acquaintance. An unrealized dream was to
accompany him someday to India, if only as just a journalist. Or to visit
Crackerbox Palace. Didn't happen. But then, I loved him like family, and indeed,
made his acquaintance all too much.
--Josh
Alan Friedman
Nov. 30, 2001 ##
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