As with all wars, it was the innocents who paid the heavy price.

In 1971, the war between West and East Pakistan was fought over freedom; the desire of East Pakistanis (whose province would later come to be known as Bangladesh) to be free resulted in a bitter battle that sent hundreds of thousands of East Pakistani refugees fleeing across the border to nearby Calcutta where a lack of food and sanitary conditions was resulting in the death of thousands on a daily basis.

And, as always, those who suffered the most were the children.

Ravi Shankar, who had many distant relatives among the refugees, was particularly concerned and sensitive to the suffering, especially the suffering of the children. ‘The idea occurred to me of giving a concert to raise money to help these refugees, something on a bigger-than-normal scale. At that time, George Harrison was in Los Angeles and had come to visit me. I asked him frankly, “George, can you help me?” Because I knew that if I gave a concert myself, I would not be able to raise a significant amount. George was really moved and said, “Yes, something should be done.” That was when he wrote the song “Bangla Desh”.’

But George had more on his mind than a simple song extolling the plight of the refugees. ‘I said, “OK, I’ll go on the show and I’ll get some other people to come and help. We’ll try and make it into a big show and maybe we can make a million dollars instead of a few thousand.” So I got on the telephone trying to round people up.’

That George agreed so readily to become involved should not have come as a surprise. His life was marked by small moments of generous acts. He had always maintained a soft spot in his heart for the downtrodden, more so since he had come to embrace Hinduism. He had always been quick with a cheque or a handful of notes. But he saw in responding to Shankar’s request the opportunity to use the talent that God had given him to truly help out those in need on a massive scale. The plight of Bangladesh truly touched his heart and soul.

But George had an ulterior motive for trying to put together an all-star line-up of performers. The reality was that George was terrified of the responsibility of having to headline a show that size. Of course he wanted a massive roster of artists to help put the charity concerts over the top, but perhaps he was scared at the prospect of standing in the spotlight alone.

George was wildly successful at getting other respected musicians to climb aboard. He managed to talk Bob Dylan, who had been reclusive for a number of years, into participating. Given the real and imagined tensions between them, it was surprising that Eric Clapton, by now in the midst of a full-blown heroin addiction, also agreed to play. Billy Preston, Leon Russell, Jesse Ed Davis, Klaus Voorman and Ringo Starr were also willing to lend their time and talent.

For a time in the preparation for the Concerts for Bangladesh, there was a rumour circulating that this might be the first live appearance of the Beatles since 1966. John had initially jumped at the chance to perform but backed out when George insisted that Yoko could not perform. As for Paul, he had expressed some interest early on but, perhaps still smarting from the ongoing legal entanglements centred around the end of the Beatles, finally said no.

George was particularly disappointed at John’s refusal to play at Bangladesh, and in fact felt John owed him his participation because of all the help George felt he had given John over the years. In actuality, John’s refusal to honour George’s request went further than George’s refusing to allow Yoko to perform. John was notorious for detesting doing charity benefits and was not about to change his attitude, even for George. But truth be known, there was also a bit of jealousy of George on John’s part because at the same time George’s All Things Must Pass was released to rave reviews and massive sales, John’s largely experimental album Primal Screams was also released, to only marginal reviews and poor sales. John took it personally and as a real assault by George on his still-perceived leadership in the Beatles universe. George took John’s ‘no’ at his word, and moved on.

‘We pinpointed the days that were astrologically good,’ recalled George of his plans for the charity event, ‘and we found Madison Square Garden was open on one of those days.’

George, ever the consummate businessman, began looking for ways to maximise this charitable good work. He engaged the services of Phil Spector to record the concert for an album to be released later. He also arranged for a concert film to be made. When, following a 27 July press conference in which George and Ravi Shankar made an impassioned and enlightened plea for help, the first show quickly sold out, George arranged for a second show to be held on 1 August. George Harrison was at his philanthropic best with the Concerts for Bangladesh.

Unfortunately, the occasion of the Concerts for Bangladesh would also expose his weakness as a human being.

For a number of years there had been rumours that George had, in fact, been involved in numerous adulterous affairs and that he considered Pattie’s affair with Eric tacit permission for him to do the same. But none had ever been confirmed and George would often acknowledge that he had remained faithful to Pattie.

But two days before the concert, George Harrison succumbed to temptation.

During the last-minute, pre-concert preparations, George was being hustled through a hotel lobby when he came across a bright-eyed, attractive twenty-year-old woman who, in later years, would be known only as Maralyn. George looked into the young woman’s eyes and there was an instant connection. George stopped dead in his tracks and chatted with Maralyn. As he was finally hustled away by his entourage he reportedly told Maralyn, ‘Why don’t you hang out and maybe I’ll see you later on?’

Maralyn was happily shocked by this encounter and did continue to hang out in the hotel lobby. Maralyn, in later accounts of the incident, explained how, a few hours later, one of George’s assistants returned to the lobby and escorted her to George’s room. She recalled George appeared uncomfortable with the situation as the pair engaged in uneasy small talk alone. Finally George made his move and the pair were soon making love on his bed. Maralyn recalled George being a strong, considerate lover, and after a prolonged period of intimacy, they showered, took a nap and George taught Maralyn how to chant.

George would continue to see Maralyn for a period of time after that encounter, and it was during those occasions that he opened up to the woman. She related that George was in a really bad period in his life and that, although George and Pattie made a point of arriving and leaving social functions together, their marriage had by that time dissolved into something closer to a brother–sister relationship in which they were both free to do what they liked.

But while his personal life was a mess, George managed to pull together a truly fantastic musical experience with the Concerts for Bangladesh. The musicians performed a wide variety of songs in an electric atmosphere that went well beyond a mere charity concert, becoming a legitimate musical event easily rivalling, according to some reviews, the best moments of Woodstock. When the dust settled, a total of $15 million had been raised to aid the Bangladesh refugees. But George’s pride in his good work would be tarnished almost immediately.

He was soon informed that both the American and British tax officials were poised to take their cuts of the proceeds. George met with the tax people and was passionate in telling the administrators that the money was going to help humanity and to save lives. The tax people were not interested and, in the end, George wrote a personal cheque in the amount of £1 million to cover the taxes.

George and Phil Spector did a yeoman’s job in mixing the concert and, on 20 December 1971, a mammoth three-record live set, The Concert for Bangladesh, was released. In order to bring in as much money as possible for the cause, George insisted that the three-record set be reasonably priced, at $9. Unfortunately, George could not prevent unscrupulous record-store owners from jacking up the price to $18 and pocketing the extra money for themselves.

For George, much of the goodwill and spirit of giving that he had put into helping the Bangladesh refugees was now lost. But he would be buoyed by reports that the concerts and records not only succeeded in collecting millions of dollars for the refugees, but, of equal importance, raised the world’s awareness of the plight of the people of Bangladesh.

George, flushed with the success of All Things Must Pass and boosted spiritually by the success of his good works with the Concerts for Bangladesh, was now making plans to return to the recording studio to record his second solo album, Living in the Material World. During this period, George’s sense of religious fervour was at an all-time high and he insisted that his new album would have as its primary goal getting the word of Krishna and God out to the masses.

That George was continuing his very unKrishna ways of drinking, drug-taking and womanising seemed to be lost on the musician, who typically seemed to ignore the fact that he might be acting the hypocrite in the public eye. Apparently, a combination of ego, conviction and a surprising sense of immaturity when it came to his vices seemed to convince George that he did not have a problem.

True to his promise, Living in the Material World was populated by thinly disguised polemics about the love of Krishna that were nothing if not maudlin and self-indulgent. In fact, only ‘Sue Me Sue You Blues’ showed any real sense of bite and real-world irony.

Like his previous album, making music was George’s salvation and, with the aid of musical friends that included Ringo, Nicky Hopkins, Gary Wright and Klaus Voorman, the sessions for Living in the Material World ran smoothly, as George extolled the virtues of Krishna in such songs as ‘The Lord Loves the One Who Loves the Lord’ and ‘The Light that Has Lighted the World’. Once again the music industry predicted a dire fate for George’s latest effort. And once again George was confident his music and – by association – his beliefs would be upheld in the court of public opinion and commerce.

Living in the Material World was released in May 1970. George again had the last laugh as the album, despite its many detractors, crashed to the top of the charts in England and the United States. The first single, ‘Give Me Love (Give Me Peace on Earth)’, which encapsulated George’s religious attitude in a light-pop framework, also went to number one.

In the wake of the success of his latest album, George was encouraged to tour for the first time as a solo artist. He was tempted but ultimately passed on the opportunity, preferring to return to his reclusive nature, his unhappy marriage, a religious worldview that bounced back and forth between strident fervour and a drugs-and-sex heathenism that flew in the face of that self-same belief. That George was confused at this point in his life was a given; anger and impatience were emotions that his close circle of friends had come to expect.

‘He has his black moods, and God help anyone who at that time incites his wrath,’ close friend Ravi Shankar once said. ‘He can be very hard. He doesn’t hide his feelings. He can also completely shut himself off and be quite indifferent and distrustful. Of course, this is understandable, because he has been so exploited by people he has trusted. It is a wonder he is not like that all the time.’

It was in this time of turmoil that George Harrison turned thirty.

Needless to say, George’s dark mood during this period only added to the emotional pain Pattie was suffering. Desperate to escape the restrictive boundaries set up by George, she began doing charity work, attempted to master the piano and violin and would often consult psychics in an effort to discover what she should do with her life.

‘I just don’t want to be the little wife sitting at home,’ she explained at the time. ‘I want to do something worthwhile.’

George’s downward spiral continued. His drug use increased and he gave up all pretence of fidelity, actively and sexually attempting to seduce every woman he met. And it did not make any difference if the woman was available or not. In a scenario very reminiscent of the situation between Pattie and Eric, George had re-established a strong relationship with Ringo and his wife Maureen. The two couples would get together socially at each other’s homes, and it soon became apparent, at least to Pattie, that her husband had more than a friendly interest in Maureen.

One night Ringo and Maureen invited George and Pattie to their home for dinner. After dinner, and in a mellow mood, George picked up a guitar and began playing some love songs. Suddenly he stopped playing, looked at Maureen who was sitting next to Ringo and said, ‘I’m in love with you, Maureen.’ Maureen was visibly upset. Ringo raged at George and then stormed out of the room. Pattie totally mortified at this latest embarrassment, burst into tears and locked herself in Ringo’s bathroom. A few weeks later, Pattie returned from shopping and found George and Maureen in bed together. For Pattie, this was the last straw. George did not think twice about the incident, and in fact would continue his affair with Maureen for a period of time, eventually being named as the major cause of the break-up of Ringo and Maureen’s marriage a couple of years later. When he was asked by an acquaintance how he could have an affair with the wife of one of his best friends, George reportedly shrugged his shoulders and said, ‘Incest, I guess.’

With the situation all but hopeless, George’s bravado unavoidably sank into a period of despair midway through 1973. In a candid conversation with his good friend, musician Gary Wright, he spilled his guts about his state of mind regarding his relationship with Pattie when he said, ‘I really do love Pattie. But it’s almost as though love alone isn’t enough.’

George returned home from his conversation with Wright determined to try and patch up his relationship with Pattie. Unfortunately, he found that Pattie was no longer the loving, submissive woman he had loved and so often betrayed. Pattie was now openly defiant and, for the first time in years, totally independent. She ignored his wishes and, although they continued to live under the same roof, they rarely spoke.

Pattie resumed her modelling career and, happily, discovered she was still much in demand. Also, most likely in response to George’s recent philandering, she openly flaunted a brief affair with former Small Faces and future Rolling Stone guitarist Ron Wood.

George was reportedly beside himself with guilt and sadness, and was feeling himself slipping out of control of his life. Early in 1974, George did what he always seemed to do when pushed into a corner, he turned inward and towards his religion. More specifically, he travelled to India where he spent several weeks wandering happily among holy shrines, meeting with several spiritual advisers and praying. He felt enlightened and encouraged by this spiritual odyssey and was sure he could now return to England and, somehow, pull together his life with Pattie.

What he did not know was that Pattie was on an odyssey of her own.

She flew to Los Angeles to spend time with her sister Jenny, who was married to Fleetwood Mac drummer Mick Fleetwood. Pattie, who stayed at the Beverly Hills Hotel during her stay in Los Angeles, also spent some time with Delaney and Bonnie Bramlett in their southern California home. Pattie spent a few days with the Bramletts catching up on old times. Delaney sensed from those conversations that Pattie and George’s marriage was in trouble, but it was not his nature to pry.

One day Pattie asked Delaney if he would drive her back to her hotel so she could get a change of clothes. They drove to the hotel where Delaney received the surprise of his life.

‘She said she was only going to change clothes, but all of a sudden she started coming on to me in an aggressive, romantic way. She was just very friendly, let me put it to you that way.’

Delaney admitted he was having trouble in his own marriage at the time, and that, under different circumstances, something most likely would have happened.

‘If it hadn’t been for my friendship with George, something would have happened,’ said Delaney. ‘But I wasn’t about to do anything that would harm our friendship. I think she gathered that when I would bring up George’s name every two or three seconds and made up some excuse about having to get back to the studio. I think she was a little upset that I was not responding to her. I think she thought I didn’t think she was attractive or something.’

Pattie eventually backed off and they returned to Delaney’s house. Nothing more was said about the incident but, for a long time afterwards, Delaney feared that the reason he had not heard from George was that Pattie had said something to George about what happened.

‘I was afraid that Pattie might have got mad and said, “Well, Delaney and I did this and such.’ If that had happened, it would have killed me. It would have broken my heart.’

Delaney assumed that Pattie flew back to London after her Los Angeles visit. The reality was that she had flown to Miami where Eric Clapton was working on his latest album, 461 Ocean Boulevard. They laid their cards on the table. Pattie admitted that she had been manipulating Eric in an attempt to recapture George’s love but that she was over that now and was truly in love with Eric. They both realised it had been their respective loneliness and neediness that had drawn them together and that the love they had been feeling for each other was real.

Upon his return from India, Pattie informed George that she was again with Eric and that she was not coming back. George was sad but philosophical as he reflected on his loss. ‘It’s no big deal. We’ve separated many times but this time I don’t know what will happen. In this life, there is no time to lose in an uncomfortable situation.’

With this revelation, George took on a sincere strength regarding the relationship. His tacit approval of the infidelity continued to play on Eric’s mind. And it forced Eric’s hand. He knew that Pattie at that point was essentially his, but his friendship with George necessitated that he confront George. And so at a party not too long after completing 461 Ocean Boulevard, Eric, with Pattie present, confronted George.

‘I went straight up to him and said, “I’m in love with your wife. What are you going to do about it?” George said, “Whatever you like, man. It doesn’t worry me.” He was being very spiritual about it and saying everybody should do their own thing. He then said, “You can have her and I’ll have your girlfriend.” I couldn’t believe this. I thought he was going to chin me. Pattie freaked out and ran away. Suddenly she was in limbo. George must have been very upset too. But that’s crazy! If he didn’t want her to leave him, he shouldn’t have let me take her.’

But while he was putting up a brave front, George did not take the unofficial end of his marriage well. As with other stressful moments in his life, George turned to the bottle to salve his pain and, according to his close friends, was reportedly flirting with full-blown alcoholism. While he would often deny during that period that he was an alcoholic, George would concede that he was putting away quite a bit of drink as well as an extreme amount of psychedelics.

George continued to indulge in largely meaningless affairs – the most significant being with model Kathy Simmonds with whom he lived for a time in a villa on the island of Grenada. George could very easily take some time off and rest on his laurels. But he was morose and maudlin and appeared a walking example of clinical depression. Pure and simple, George Harrison was not happy. Which was why in this time of emotional crisis, he turned to the one thing he could count on to make him happy: his music.

George’s ego knew no bounds, thanks to the back-to-back successes of All Things Must Pass and Living in the Material World. He was also quick to remind people that, after playing second fiddle to Lennon and McCartney for many years, he had been the most commercially successful ex-Beatle in the undeclared race for solo projects. It was also in this state of egomania that George committed extreme blasphemy.

He said the Beatles had been shit.

‘Having played with other musicians, I don’t even think the Beatles were that good,’ he once said in an interview. ‘It’s all a fantasy, this idea of putting the Beatles back together again. The only way it will happen is if we’re all broke. Even then, I wouldn’t relish playing with Paul. He’s a fine bass player but he’s sometimes overpowering. Ringo’s got the best backbeat in the business and I’d join a band with John Lennon any day. But I wouldn’t join a band with Paul McCartney. That’s not personal; it’s from a musician’s point of view. The biggest break in my career was getting in the Beatles. The second biggest break since then was getting out of them.’

Needless to say, George’s remarks eventually made their way back to John, Paul and Ringo. While specific responses were not forthcoming, it was safe to say that George’s comments had, especially in the case of Paul, aggravated an already antagonistic relationship between the four ex-mates that, in ensuing years, often found them sniping at each other in interviews.

For better or worse, a combination of George’s ego and his commercial success had succeeded in bringing down a long-held wall. George was finally ready to tour as a solo act.

‘He was definitely inspired [to tour] after Bangladesh,’ remembered George’s close friend Billy Preston. ‘He wanted to do it again right away. But it took some time. He had to do a lot of thinking on this one because he had to get out there and be the one.’

Many point to George’s sudden confidence in returning to touring to his friendship with Ravi Shankar and his love for Indian music. Shankar, himself, felt that what George had been hearing in India had ultimately turned him in the direction of touring.

‘George heard a few tapes I had of things with groups and he was impressed and was telling me that I should bring something like this over [to the States]. Well, I said, “You must also take part in it.”’

However, George’s creative side had company: a sense that he needed to stretch as a businessman. Which meant addressing the issue of Apple Records.

‘Apple was just going through such chaos from a business point of view and at the time John and Paul didn’t really wanna know. They were getting ready to sweep Apple Records underneath the carpet. Ringo and I were planning to try and keep it going and there was so many problems just from old contracts that, for me, it seemed simpler just to start afresh.’

Hence the inspiration for Dark Horse Records, in which George would oversee a smaller roster of eclectic artists, chosen by, and for the most part produced by, George. Ideally, it would be a label that would release all of George’s solo LPs but, unfortunately, he was still tied to Apple until 1976. But that did not deter A&M Records from negotiating a deal with Harrison to distribute the label in May 1974.

Flush with his Dark Horse deal and feeling totally invincible in the face of the seeming tower of responsibility over him, George relocated to Los Angeles and began sifting through the mound of demo tapes by artists hoping to land a deal with Dark Horse.

In short order, George had selected the pop duo Splinter and old friend Ravi Shankar to be Dark Horse’s first artists. For the Splinter album, George enlisted Klaus Voorman and the usual group of seasoned session players to add substance to what could have been a thin pop effort. For the Ravi Shankar album, he employed an improvisational approach in which Shankar and a group of musicians that included Ringo, Klaus Voorman and Billy Preston created the music in the studio. Shankar recalled that, despite the obvious stress in George’s life, his friend was fairly laid-back and relaxed during the recording, and he brought what Shankar considered a heightened sense of spirituality to the proceedings.

Earlier in the year, George had visited his old friend Ravi Shankar in India and, inspired by the possibilities of spreading both religion and Krishna consciousness, had urged Ravi to join his tour as an opening act. And Ravi related that George’s plans were expansive. A Boeing 707, complete with the religious symbol the Aum painted on the outside of the plane, would be outfitted inside in pure Indian opulence. Indian food would be provided at every stop of the tour.

Throughout late summer and into autumn, George was a one-person dynamo of activity. He had begun work on the album Dark Horse while at the same time he was hiring respected musicians, including Tom Scott, Robben Ford, old friend Billy Preston, Andy Newmark and Willie Weeks, and beginning rehearsals for the tour which was set to begin in November. At the same time, George was also taking care of the Dark Horse Records business.

When it came to the latter situation, he was being aided greatly by an industrious and conscientious secretary that A&M Records had hired for him named Olivia Trinidad Arias. The 27-year-old Mexican-born Arias was, for George, the one stable element in his otherwise chaotic world. When calling about business, George could count on Olivia having everything under control. George was impressed by her business acumen and, reading between the lines, her calm, unflappable nature. George would look forward to his calls to the office and often called up for no other reason than to chat. No matter what was going on during the course of his day, George would often find himself thinking about Olivia and without having met her face-to-face falling in love with her.

But George knew he had to be careful. Over the course of numerous relationships over a lifetime, he had become wary of women who wanted to be involved with him for material gain or as a career springboard. And so, with his cynicism never too far from the surface, George contacted some associates in California and not too delicately asked that Olivia be checked out. When it was discovered that Olivia had no secrets or hidden agendas, George was thrilled. George visited Dark Horse Records for the first time in 1974 and there met Olivia for the first time.

It was love at first sight.

Behind the dark-haired, clear-eyed beauty was a spiritual and soulful side that was very much in sync with George’s personality. Olivia was a strong woman, fully capable of handling life and sensitive to the needs of George who seemed to still need a bit of mothering to take the edge off. Olivia was also practical and wise in the way of the real world and would prove a credible sounding-board for George’s often reckless and naive approach to the business side of life. In George, Olivia saw a strong-willed yet sensitive man who had love in his heart and would be the ideal companion. In no time at all George and Olivia had formed what, for George, would be a true love match.

Which, by October 1974, was exactly what George needed. He was burning the candle at too many ends. George had hoped to complete Dark Horse at a leisurely pace and still have time to rest before beginning his 30-day North American ‘George Harrison and Friends’ tour in November. But his meticulous nature in the studio had resulted in the Dark Horse sessions falling behind. On top of that, George’s normally mellifluous singing voice was being ground down by the hellish recording and rehearsal schedule to the point where it was now little more than a hoarse croak.

George would later admit that he was ‘physically run-down’ and by the time the tour started he was, more often than not, ‘tired and wiped out’.

But George’s physical well-being was not the only concern in the days leading up to the tour’s start in Vancouver. George’s insistence that the Ravi Shankar Orchestra perform an extra-long opening set had promoter Bill Graham and even George’s most devoted business partners concerned about the potential for dampening what had been built up in the press as a ‘George Harrison rock concert’. George’s reluctance to do only a handful of the more commercially oriented Beatles and George Harrison songs and the vast majority of lower-profile religiously oriented songs also had people crossing their fingers. Would George’s insistence on turning his first solo tour into a grand-scale revival meeting hit or miss?

The postmortem following that first show cut like a knife. And most of the cuts quite justifiably drew blood. The crowd – once the initial excitement of being at a former Beatle’s concert had worn off – had been largely unresponsive and bored during Ravi Shankar’s set; a situation made all the more aggravating by the fact that George had allowed Ravi’s orchestra to do an extended interlude in his nearly two-and-a-half-hour set. George’s weak, off-key voice was death even to the set’s more introspective songs and, unfortunately, there were a lot of those. Throughout the show George chose to ignore the audience’s impatient cries of ‘Get funky!’ and ‘Rock’n’roll!’ When the audience response was not to his liking, he would admonish them for sitting on their hands. When he felt like it, George would change the lyrics to many of his songs to reflect his Krishna consciousness and his patter between songs seemed more inclined to winning religious converts than a legitimate audience exchange.

Consequently, while the press found much to attack in the next day’s reviews, the worst critiques came from those within George’s inner circle.

‘I hated it,’ said Pat Luce, a Dark Horse publicist who was in attendance at the Vancouver show. ‘In the framework of the show, there is a fabulous show. But one, it’s too long; two, Ravi’s got to be one set. And three, George has got to shut up.’

But George steadfastly refused to knuckle under, insisting his way was the right way. But when audiences continued to be underwhelmed and bored by shows in Seattle and San Francisco and reviewers continued to slam George’s performance, promoter Bill Graham, never one to pull punches, got into the act. He met with Tom Scott and George’s business manager, Denis O’Brien, presenting them with pages of suggestions on what he felt George had to do to improve the quality of the show. However, it was Graham’s respect for George’s artistic quality and talents that kept him from approaching George himself.

‘With George Harrison, the audience would definitely have wanted more of George Harrison,’ Graham said, choosing his words carefully. ‘[The audience] perhaps had a feeling of bittersweetness about not having got just a bit closer to what their expectations were. They didn’t get to go back in the time machine enough.’

But George steadfastly insisted that his way was the right way and refused to budge from his notion of rock’n’roll show as religious revival. And so George continued to preach from his pulpit and the crowds continued to grow angry at their idol’s pompousness. It made for some ugly moments during the early stages of the tour.

During one show, George stopped in midset and urged the crowd, ‘I want you all to chant “Hare Hare!”’ When the audience response was not to his liking, George became miffed and yelled at the crowd, ‘I don’t know what you think, but from up here you sound pretty dead.’

At another disastrous low point in the tour, George, his voice barely above a whisper, ranted at an obviously bored and lethargic audience. ‘I’d just like to tell you that the Lord is in your hearts. I’m not up here jumping like a loony for my own sake but to tell you that the Lord is in your hearts. Somebody’s got to tell you. Let us reflect him in one another.’ There was a scattering of boos and catcalls as well as frustrated requests for Beatles songs. People began leaving in droves as George continued to rave.

After the first disastrous shows, Tom Scott, Billy Preston, Ravi Shankar and others met with George and delicately suggested some changes. Shankar was quietly adamant that perhaps he should be limited to just an opening set. While George grudgingly agreed to shorten Shankar’s participation, he steadfastly refused to alter his show in any other way and, as the tour continued, he became increasingly impatient and angry with his audience. He would scold them when they would not respond to Shankar’s set or his own Krishna-based songs. As if to further frustrate audiences, he took to altering lyrics to the Beatles songs as well as some of his better-known solo material.

George remained defiant as the poor response and savage reviews continued to dog the tour. ‘You know, I didn’t force you or anybody at gunpoint to come and see me,’ said Harrison backstage before one of the concerts. ‘And I don’t care if nobody comes to see me. I don’t give a shit. It doesn’t matter to me. I’m going to do what I feel within myself.’

Unfortunately, this was not an isolated outburst. With the negative vibe a constant companion on the tour, George was at his most moody, altering, sometimes on an hourly basis, between cynicism and euphoria. There were charges, made primarily through George’s business manager, that Ravi Shankar had been taking advantage of him financially – a charge George would vehemently deny.

By the time the George Harrison and Friends tour concluded with a Madison Square Garden show in New York on 20 December 1974, George was fairly happy with the results. The tour, despite often playing to less-than-full houses, had managed to gross a quite respectable $4 million. While never spectacular, through a gradual lessening of expectations by reviewers and audiences alike, the concerts had evolved into a good, if never great, experience. George was happy with small victories.

But one need only look into his eyes and assay his body language to know that the tour had ended just in time. And that the best Christmas present anybody could give him would be to leave him alone.

And let him rest.

In the days and weeks following the conclusion of the tour, George would publicly speculate that his first solo tour would most likely be his last. The less than stellar response to the tour was said to be a contributing factor. The physical and emotional rigours of touring also could be considered a defining moment in his decision not to tour again. But George, in looking back on the 1974 tour, felt there was a philosophical reason never to perform again.

‘I’d go out there onstage and you’d just get stoned because there was so much reefer going about. I just thought, Do I actually have anything in common with these people?’