At the age of 35, George Harrison, the most reclusive Beatle of them all,
talks at length about his love for Patti, about celibacy, about his close
friendship with Ringo, about The Beatles’ own attitudes to the possibility
of a reunion of the Fab Four, about the freedom of his present life and
about being ‘very happy for the first time in years’.

HE WAS CALLED ‘the invisible Beatle’ yet at one point a major poll
revealed George Harrison to be ‘the most popular singer in the world’. The
youngest former member of the Fab Four is the least documented today, and
his musical efforts may attract less attention than during the height of
his Bangladesh period. He remains content to putter around his 30-room
gothic English mansion, crammed with trap doors, too-small rooms and
sculptured gnomes in its sprawling, electronically protected gardens. ‘The
Great Stone Face’, as he is still called by Ringo Starr, has supposedly
become more reclusive than ever, but this year he collaborated with Starr
on the latter’s first television special - the only other ex-Beatle on the
show. “He’s a good one for helping out a chum,” said Ringo at the time
(the two did not, however, perform together, and the new TV
star quickly quashed rumours that the teaming was a preliminary move
towards reuniting the entire group).

Unlike Ringo, 35-year-old Harrison has not made a graceful transition into
films; nor has he found a popular new musical identity, like Paul. And
unlike Lennon, he prefers to remain in England, where his opinions, though
heartfelt, are not outspoken or controversial. Rather than preach his
strong sentiments about Eastern religion on TV talk shows or at press
conferences, he has quietly written a moving introduction to a Hare
Krishna religious text. Not one to engage in vicious personal attacks,
when his wife Patti left him for Eric Clapton he retaliated in a song Bye
Bye Love, instead of with fisticuffs or angry prose.
Harrison insists that his life now has as much love in it as when he lived
with Patti, and to prove it he and his new wife have just celebrated the
birth of their first child. Harrison values his privacy above all else and
even when he married recently (in a register office just down the road
from where he lives) he invited no-one apart from his future
parents-in-law. Just after the ceremony Harrison made it known that he is
intent on living a simple and quiet life away from the inevitable rat race
of show business and all that entails.

Unfortunately, in the past few years, things haven’t exactly been all
peaches ‘n’ cream for ‘the business Beatle’, and little came of his widely
publicised founding of his own Dark Horse label in 1974. Ding Dong, taken
from the disastrous Dark Horse album, was the first single by any of the
Beatles, either as a unit or separately, to fail to make the Top 30 list
among his once-faithful country people. Nevertheless, Mr. H. has no
intention of becoming the first retired Beatle, and though he won’t reveal
too much about his future plans (indeed, the secretive man refuses to be
interviewed except by phone), one senses he already has something dramatic
up his sleeve.

Int: You and Paul McCartney were friends at the Liverpool Institute. You
used to camp in the countryside… in short, you were close pals. Did you
have any idea then that your friendship would lead to anything
extraordinary?
Harrison: Not at the time. We were just average boys with an interest in
music. Each of us had a guitar, the prize possession of our lives, and any
time we could we’d fiddle around with them (snickers). In my mid-teens I
dropped out of school to become an apprentice electrician with a Liverpool
outfit called Blacker’s, but it didn’t work out; I was too interested in
music. It wasn’t fair to my employer, because I kept blowing things up.
Like many other blokes, I was frustrated with my life, with the boringness
of it all. It’s sometimes more dramatic or exciting to have a miserably
poor childhood, because then there’s something to really struggle
for. We weren’t rich by any means, but we had enough to get by ­ but not
enough to be satisfied. It was sort of a blah middle-state, and only music
could lift me out of that temporarily. From the start, I knew Paul had a
knack for composing tunes and words to go with them. Nothing great, mind
you, at the time, but I knew that he, more than I, could go far in the
music world if he really applied himself. Thing is, we were both just
beginning to see the world, and our ambitions were somewhat blurry. There
was the distraction of girls, and applying ourselves to our work, as it
were, was an unknown quantity.
Int: Did you ever imagine the two of you would be separated by the musical
interest that first brought you together?
Harrison: I could never have imagined it.
Int: Then, your musical ambitions didn’t really begin to take form until
the two of you joined with John Lennon?
Harrison: Paul and John were the spark that ignited The Beatles. Of
course, we weren’t The Beatles then, and we didn’t have Ringo, but that
was the start. The air was filled with excitement, and even though we went
through silly names like The Quarrymen Skiffle Group, The Moondogs, The
Moonshiners, and The Silver Beatles, before evolving into that group
everyone grew to know and love, the crucible was in 1967 [sic] when John
and Paul became a duo.
Int: How close are you to those two, these days?
Harrison: Not very, I’m afraid. I know everyone would like to hear
otherwise, but Paul is busy with a film project, and lately John has
become more introverted. As you know, I’m rather closer to Ringo, and I
enjoyed doing the bit on his TV special. I don’t know that we’ll team up
again, but I think it’s a novel idea, reuniting two of The Beatles at a
time and seeing what happens. Couldn’t hurt, could it?
Int: Is there a strong sense of competition, among the former Fab Four, to
see who comes up with the most hits?
Harrison: There was at first, mainly between John and Paul, because they’d
written so many songs together. But the Wings group has gotten Paul more
involved with Linda and other musicians, so now he’s into a different
trip, and if he’s still competitive, it isn’t with any of us. I never felt
that competitive, personally, and when I got into Eastern religion one of
the first things I discovered was the meaninglessness of competition,
especially among friends. I can honestly say I’m glad for the success of
each of my colleagues, and I don’t feel any need to measure myself against
their standards.
Int: Do you resent being called the ex-Beatle who’s `almost made it’?
Harrison: I don’t think people are saying that, but if they are, it
doesn’t trouble me. I haven’t had the same consistent sales as, say, Paul,
for instance, but Paul is into pop, into the star trip he was always fond
of. I’m not. Some singers try to please the public, others themselves, and
a few can do both at the same time. Primarily, I need to please myself,
and although music is still important to me, life is more so, and I don’t
feel any kind of pressure to churn out anything resembling a hit record
every x-number of years.
Int: What about The Beatles nostalgia craze of the past few years, and the
current slew of nostalgia musicals, including I Wanna Hold Your Hand,
which occurred during the same day you made your American debut?
Harrison: It’s lots of fun for me to relive the past from a distance.
Trying to reunite all four of us with ridiculous sums, though, isn’t fun ­
it’s scary, as though everyone wants us to be what we once were, which we
aren’t anymore. But a film like I Wanna Hold Your Hand is not only
amusing, it’s downright educational, to find out how kids really reacted
to us at the time ­ at least, according to the filmmakers. See, we were
insulated from lots of what was happening then. Eventually, it got to a
point where the exuberance and desperation of the fans was something we
avoided hearing about or talking about. I haven’t seen all of I Wanna Hold
Your Hand, but I’d like to. I hear it’s a heartwarming kind of tribute,
without being too mushy or whitewashed.
Int: Which of the ex-Beatles would most like The Beatles to reunite?
Harrison: Personally, I’m not opposed to the idea, if it’s done through
mutual agreement. But the pressure seems to be bigger than any of us, and
when they talk of sums like $50 or $60 million, it’s almost a farce. I
know Paul’s booked for the next few years, and John may have lost interest
in the idea. Ringo and I are closest on it; we both feel it’s not
impossible, but it’s highly unlikely, if only because of the legal and
business maze that would have to be resolved before the four of us set
foot on stage together. Things have a way of complicating themselves once
stardom strikes. The fun of the early days is how simple things are, how
much control the performer has over his or her own destiny. Once that
monster fame grabs hold, there’s less and less control and things aren’t
done for the fun of it any more. It becomes a greedy corporation with
dozens
of associates trying to get their slice of the profits, which means they
want you work even harder, do things their way, forget you’re a human
being in love with music. I’m finally free of all that, and if bringing
back The Beatles means returning to that, I’d never agree to it. As for
one concert, one huge benefit from which genuinely deserving people would
benefit, if that ever becomes possible, I’ll go along with it, as long as
there’s a minimum of fuss. But I’m afraid the public would want to hear
the old stuff, nothing that we’ve done individually, nor a new sound we’ve
developed together. Nostalgia isn’t what it used to be, you know.
Int: At the start of The Beatles phenomenon, you said, `If we fizzle out ­
well, we fizzle out. But it will all have been a lot of fun’. Do you still
feel the same way now, about your own career?
Harrison: Even more so. Music doesn’t overwhelm me as it did before. It’s
a more spiritual, subtle thing now. More a part of my everyday life, but
not in as flashy a way. There’s an inner music every soul possesses, but
most of us are unaware of it. To me, this inner music matches anything
that the best-selling group or performer could achieve. My life has become
much more simple and satisfying since being out on my own, and I can say
with conviction that I’m very happy for the first time in years.
Int: What has brought about your happiness?
Harrison: I have. We all have it within us, we all have that power.
Int: You sound like a very religious man.
Harrison: I am, but it’s not the kind of loud religion they have so much
in the States, with all the born-agains and people whose religious
convictions consist of putting down anyone who doesn’t believe what they
do. A truly secure religion, like Hinduism or Buddhism, doesn’t feel the
compulsion to go around converting everybody; if something is truly good,
people will sooner or later get around to discovering it, and that kind of
conversion is the one that `takes’. Born-again seems to imply that once
wasn’t enough. My own feeling is that there are many paths to the same
goal, that rather than trying to emphasise our differences, we should come
together and concentrate on the important things, immaterial things that
can’t be wiped out by any depression or recession.
Int: Speaking of `Living in the Material World’, you were once
characterised by Brian Epstein as `the business Beatle’, and you allegedly
cared more about financial matters than your co-workers (Harrison wrote
The Taxman [sic] partly in protest at the Queen’s tax collector). You now
seem the least materialistic and flamboyant of The ex-Beatles, and you
maintain a residence in over-taxed England. What happened to change your
mind about materialism?
Harrison: I used to think that having many material things would increase
one’s stock of happiness. I found that to be completely untrue. The
trappings don’t make the man at all. Some people, of course, can be
happier with the cars, the fancy threads, the hilltop mansion, and the
other status symbols of `having made it’, but I found that several of my
most prized possessions were slipping away, despite all the fortune I had
amassed.
Int: Possessions such as what were slipping away?
Harrison: For one. (he hesitates) Patti.
Int: Could you amplify that statement?
Harrison: For a long time I could not talk about Patti, after she left.
But I now admit that I loved her very much and wish her the best. Since
she left, however, I’ve been equally happy, and there is as much love in
my life as before.
Int: Could you tell us about romance in your life today?
Harrison: One reason I avoid the American TV talk show circuit, when I’m
over there, is that the tabloids and the gossip mill are always churning
with new, true, or untrue stories about new loves, old loves, pending
marriages, divorces, trial separations, flings and affairs with people of
every description. I’m not into any of that. I believe love - and its
feminine, though not necessarily female, counterpart, romance, is a
private thing. It’s something I’m not willing to share with the public.
Int: What do you feel you are duty-bound to share with your worldwide
public?
Harrison: As little or as much as I want. As a Beatle, my everyday life
belonged to the public in one way or another. We were always appearing for
the public in the early days, or we were planning for them, producing for
them, interviewing for their sake, etc. That’s one extreme. Then there are
those superstars who refuse to give anything of themselves to the public
except what they see on-screen. In movies and on records, it’s easy to
insulate one’s self from the public; that’s why I think I wouldn’t care to
be a television performer, particularly in the States, where TV stardom is
so intimate. I don’t believe in telling all to the public, but I feel a
certain gratitude to them for having provided me with a fine material base
that enables me to do pretty much what I want these days, and possibly for
the rest of my life. But I’m even more grateful to myself and those
closest to me me for having given me that non-material base that means I’m
a happy man, one who doesn’t have to compete or engineer projects he
doesn’t have his heart in. So I give interviews occasionally, but I won’t
tell titillating tales of the sort I always sees [sic] on the tabloid
covers.
Int: Are you still the same gourmet who loved such delicacies as oysters,
caviar, and avocadoes?
Harrison: (snickers.) I find the older one gets the harder it is to keep
the weight off, even if one isn’t eating very fattening foods. Once, I was
able to put foods like those away, and they didn’t show up on the bathroom
scales the next morning. But that was when I was very physically active,
travelling all over the world and burning up more calories. Now I watch my
weight, but I don’t deprive myself very much. Still, I don’t feel the same
need for unusual or glamorous foods like caviar, and I tend more towards
ordinary, satisfying food. Food is less important to me because I’ve
learned to control my appetite to a great extent, simply by having my mind
elsewhere. I find when I’m busy meditating on other aspects of my life I
go without eating and I don’t miss it.
Int: But your home is still your castle.
Harrison: I have an acute sense of ‘being in me nest’, as they say. I’d
rather stay home and watch the tube than go out and make myself into a
spectacle. I’m not uncomfortable with a social life, mind you, but it
doesn’t appeal to me. It doesn’t seem to accomplish anything - it just
leaves one wanting for more. Home life is best for me. But I do enjoy the
company of good friends whether from long ago or newer friends who only
know me as George, not the ex-Beatle.
Int: Are you haunted by having been a Beatle (Ringo Starr recently
declared that no matter what else he or any of the other Beatles ever
accomplishes, if he lives to be 90 he will always be referred to as a
former Beatle)?
Harrison: No, I’m proud of it. It’s wonderful to look back and think you
were part of a force that shaped modern music and influenced the public in
so many ways. However, that’s all in the past. The Beatles are now
history, and it would be unhealthy to try to make my way as a former
member. I must admit I occasionally listen to our records, but usually
it’s not deliberate. Someone else plays them, and I stop and enjoy it. But
I’m more concerned with the present, with working out my own individual
style and producing something new and worthwhile.
Int: One of your greatest individual hits was My Sweet Lord, from your All
Things Must Pass album. How do you respond to charges of plagiarism, that
the song was directly derivative of The Chiffons’ “He’s So Fine”?
Harrison: I’ve already responded to that, and I have no comment to make at
this time.
Int: Are you afraid of ageing?
Harrison: That’s not a question I often get asked. On the contrary, since
I’m younger than Paul, John, or Ringo, I usually get asked what I plan to
do with my ‘extra’ time, my lead over them, so to speak. Physical looks
don’t mean that much to me - certainly not my own - and I think age is a
very natural process, with rewards of its own to look forward to. For
instance, being able to know one’s self better, not having to be so
uncertain about the direction of one’s life, becoming accepted and loved
for one’s self rather than for looks or for having been somebody, once
upon a time. I do believe in growing old gracefully, and when the time
comes that I would look silly performing on stage, I’ll be prepared to
give it up without regrets.
Int: But, in fact, you haven’t performed live for some time now.
Harrison: It hasn’t been deliberate. At least, I’m not retired from it.
But I do find it can be tiring and tiresome. I’m taking a break, but will
be back on stage one day, when I have something to sing about
Int: What about rumours that because of your interest in the Krishna
movement you’ve become celibate?
Harrison: (laughs.) I can assure you that isn’t so! I don’t think it’s a
bad idea - for those who wish to practise it, like Prime Minister Desai of
India - but for myself I’d say it’s a bit premature. I don’t know why
people would say things like that. So many of them assume that when one
becomes the least bit religious one goes into all sorts of weird trips or
tries to cut one’s self off from the world. As for the sex bit, I’m not in
the habit of having my photo snapped on some pretty young thing’s arm. I
avoid pictures because they serve no purpose, except to point out each
new line, which is very meaningless. No-one knows what I do in my private,
spare time, so I don’t see why anyone would assume I’m celibate or somehow
turning into a Garboesque character. I consider myself perfectly normal,
and I don’t know of any part of my life that would be so unusual as to
interest the idly curious.
Int: So much has been written about your spirituality that at times it
would appear you’ve earned the image of a saint. Does this bother you?
Harrison: It does, because I’m in no way saintly. And I don’t think the
people in the media who ascribe this image to me are doing it out of good
motives. They just want to label me, to give me a readily recognisable tag
that will sell them more copies and fit me into whatever slot they wish to
peg me into. Around the time of the concert for Bangladesh, there were
lots of congratulations and pats on the back, which were deeply rewarding.
But after that, things got out of hand, and now I occasionally hear that
some stories about me have me ready to retire into an Oriental monastery
and leave everything and everyone behind. Actually, though, it’s not a bad
idea. I’ll have to keep it in mind.
Int: It sounds as though you’re awfully wary of the press.
Harrison: I don’t want to be, but I know chances are if I don’t give an
interview or make a public appearance or statement from time to time,
they’ll invent one. Every so often, I suppose people ask, ‘Whatever
happened to that other Beatle, George Harrison?’ And someone comes around
with a ready answer, no matter how preposterous it seems. But I’ve grown
used to it - almost amused by it, sometimes, if it weren’t so pathetic -
and I don’t do anything about it. It’s possibly the worst price one has to
pay for what they call stardom.
Int: Would you say you live your life in such a way as to avoid your
stardom?
Harrison: Not consciously. I’ve always wanted to lead an ordered,
relatively conventional and private life. When I married Patti, a big part
of it was the conventional side of me wanting to shuck the stardom bit and
become an ordinary person again. All my life I’d been taught a man gets
married, and that’s what I’d have done no matter what had come of my
musical aspirations. I’m still involved in a rather conventional
relationship, one I respect enough that I don’t want to share it with the
whole world. You see, I don’t really mind talking about myself, even if it
gets monotonous or embarrassing, but I’m more or less in the spotlight by
choice. I asked to be in it, and now I’m permanently stuck with the
consequences of that long-ago decision. But my loved ones and friends
needn’t suffer
Int: You ’suffer’ from being so famous?
Harrison: I would if I allowed myself to, if I kept up the pace I did when
I was starting out. Everyone has to suffer the gimmicks and other stunts
and machinations when they’re starting out - only at the time, it doesn’t
feel like suffering; it’s fun and different then. But a little fame goes a
long way, and then one tries to cast off part of the heavy burden - a
burden one can never totally escape. I don’t mean to sound mysterious or
try to baffle anyone, but when people come up to me expecting me to be
just like what they thought a Beatle would be, they’re disappointed. I
never was a Beatle, except musically. I don’t think any of us was. What is
a
Beatle anyway? I’m not a Beatle or an ex-Beatle or even the George
Harrison. I’m just a man. Very ordinary.
– by M. George Haddad. Originally appeared in the November 1978 issue of
the UK magazine “Men Only”.