George Harrison, 1943 - 2001

In a 1987 interview with rolling stone, george

Harrison said that his friendship with John Lennon transcended his friend’s death:

[Our relationship] is there permanently, whether he’s in a physical body or not...‘If your memory serves you well, we’re going to meet again.’ I believe that.

Our society’s relationship with the Beatles is no doubt permanent—their social and musical innovations changed the course of popular culture. But will memory serve us well when we remember John, Paul, George and Ringo as individual units?

This week, the world gently weeps not for the Beatles but for its quietest member. Harrison leaves behind a number of accomplishments which will be remembered. As part of the Beatles, Harrison left his indelible mark on their canon and on rock and roll—his love for “hillbilly” music which manifested itself in earlier songs like “All My Loving” and “Can’t Buy Me Love;” “Something,” his most well-known composition; and the introduction of the electric 12-string guitar, eastern melodies and the sitar to popular music. After the Beatles’ dissolution, Harrison produced a solo album and two hit tracks.

Still, Harrison is best remembered for what he wasn’t. Eric Asimov of the New York Times writes,

George Harrison...was not so much the quiet Beatle as the modest Beatle. Where John wanted to be bigger than Elvis, and Paul could scream like Little Richard, Mr. Harrison gravitated toward Carl Perkins, the 50’s rocker whose skills as a songwriter and guitarist were undermined by a distinct lack of charisma.

So why has the world gone into mourning for a man best described as not possessing the attributes of those around him? We are not lamenting the loss of the Beatles; Lennon’s death 21 years ago eliminated the possiblity of a formal reunification, yet their music and influence endures. What the world has lost with Harrison is a relic of innocence.

Harrison’s true conviction that the world could become a better place is hard to find among the members of our generation. John and Yoko refused to get out of bed in the name of world peace; Harrison was a man of action, organizing the first celebrity benefit concert to alleviate famine in Bangladesh in 1971. His deep conviction in the power of inner peace and spirituality is a remnant of a time when people believed that it was possible to change the world by loving thy neighbor. In losing Harrison, we lose a part of our parents. The world is without one more person who didn’t understand the good of war or the seeming impossibility of peace. The quiet Beatle, both with and without his bandmates, gave hope to a generation of listeners. Perhaps someday, somewhere, we’re going to meet again.