George had always been a student of what was written about him. It often amused, frustrated and just plain drove him crazy to watch as the press, as well as the authors of numerous books about the Beatles, they distorted the facts, played up the sensational and basically moulded his life and times into something with which he was never completely comfortable.

And so, driven largely by ego and the self-assuredness that only he could tell his story, George, in 1979, set out to tell his story his way by writing the autobiography I, Me, Mine. From the outset, George was not content to do the typical life story. Rather, he chose to pen a quaint, nostalgic look back at his life that was low-key, heartfelt and, admittedly, insightful and philosophical without the benefit of sleaze, exploitation and sensation. The book would also contain one-of-a-kind photos from his private collection as well as reproductions of the hand-written lyrics of his favourite songs.

The tone of George’s writing was straightforward and whimsical; more a vanity project than anything, so that despite his status as an ex-Beatle, the book would not necessarily appeal to the masses. George sensed that and so, rather than approach a mainstream publisher, he chose to publish a limited, signed edition of 2,000 copies (at a cost of a whopping £148) when the book was published in August 1979. Eventually the book would find a home with mainstream publisher Simon & Schuster in 1982.

Not unexpectedly, I, Me, Mine sold out in record time. Reviews were generally mixed. The one person who took savage exception to George’s book was John Lennon.

‘I was hurt by George’s book,’ recalled Lennon. ‘He put a book out privately on his life that, by glaring omission, says that my influence on his life is absolutely zilch and nil. In his book, which is purportedly this clarity of vision of his influence on each song he wrote, he remembers every two-bit sax player or guitarist he met in subsequent years. I’m not in the book. It’s a love–hate relationship and I think George still bears resentment towards me for being a daddy who left home. He would not agree with this but that’s my feeling about it. I was just hurt. I was just left out as if I didn’t exist.’

Word of John’s displeasure eventually got back to George. In other times, George’s answer to John’s anger would have been to make an excuse or refuse to answer him at all. But George was in a different place at this point in his life and was legitimately saddened by John’s feelings. So much so that, midway through 1980, he called John at his residence at the Dakota Hotel in New York. John was out but George left a message: ‘Please call George. He’s very anxious to talk to you.’ John’s response upon reading the message was, ‘Well, it’s kind of George to call after forgetting to mention me in his book.’

John never returned the call.

Midway through 1980, George was once again ready to enter the studio and record the album that would be titled Somewhere in England. The executives at Warner Bros. were particularly happy at the news. While they had taken on the entire Dark Horse label, they knew the reality was that George Harrison would ultimately be the only artist on the roster to turn a profit. They also felt that they had got George at his creative and commercial peak and were anxious to strike while the iron was hot.

George was in a mellow, philosophical mood and his religion, in a less fervent but no less positive sense, was once again an influence on his writing and in such songs as ‘Lay His Head’, ‘Sat Singing’ and ‘Tears of the World’. The sessions, featuring a collection of old friends including Ringo Starr, Tom Scott and Willie Weeks, were an easy-going affair that was finished by the appointed deadline. George was in good spirits when he delivered the master tapes and the surreal cover art. He was sure Warner Bros. would love Somewhere in England.

They hated everything about it. They felt the music was uniformly weak, the songs not even remotely commercial. Things were so dire that the WB suits even found the cover art uninteresting. Warner Bros. rejected the album and, in not too delicate terms, told him to go back to the studio and redo it to their satisfaction.

This was the first time that George had faced this kind of creative rejection at the hands of corporate America and he resented it, so much so that he considered repeating his tactic with A&M that had led him to Warner Bros. But while he would not soon forget the slight and it would colour future dealings with the label, George amazingly put his ego aside and willingly went back into the studio, eliminated four songs that had meant a lot to him, replaced them with other songs and redid the cover art.

On 9 December 1980, George was awakened from a sound sleep by the telephone ringing. There was a sense of dread as he picked up the receiver. It was his late mother’s older sister with truly sad news. John Lennon had been shot and killed by an obsessed fan.

George was distraught at the news. He reportedly broke into waves of sobs. His idyllic world had been forever destroyed. Shortly after receiving the news, George received another call from the Beatles’ former publicist Derek Taylor. Taylor, as delicately as possible, suggested that it would probably be best if George released some statement to the press as soon as possible to avoid being hounded. George was in no mood to be dealing with that chore. He stammered, ‘I can’t now – maybe later,’ and hung up the phone.

Less than an hour later, the phone rang yet again. It was Derek Taylor, softly insisting that it was in George’s best interest that he release some kind of statement as soon as possible. George reluctantly agreed, and the pair hammered out a statement that was dispatched to all the major news agencies that night. It read: ‘After all we went through together I had and still have great love and respect for John Lennon. I am shocked and stunned. To rob life is the ultimate robbery in life. This perpetual encroachment on other people’s space is taken to the limit with the use of a gun. It is an outrage that people can take other people’s lives when they obviously haven’t got their own lives in order.’

The remainder of the night was a surreal series of events. George was suddenly overcome and in a state of terror and panic. His mania for privacy had suddenly burst forth in waves of paranoia. He was concerned that John’s death might be the beginning of some dark conspiracy to assassinate all the Beatles. George’s grounds manager, responding to George’s fears, raced to a shed and emerged with a long length of chain. He moved swiftly to the front of the grounds, slammed shut the wrought-iron gates and wrapped the length of chain around it, securing it from the inside. Word of John’s death had spread quickly and a crowd began gathering outside George’s home. Despite standing quietly in solemn reverence, there was a sense of unease in the air which was why George’s house manager called the police. Within minutes, a line of squad cars pulled to a stop in front of the property. A number of bobbies emerged and formed a human wall between the rapidly surging crowd and the Harrison mansion.

Inside the house, George stared off into space, chanting quietly.

Later that day, musicians began arriving at George’s home, unsure about whether or not George would have the resolve to work. George was totally distracted, awash in the emotions of sadness and fear. But despite suggestions that he might want to take a few days off, George insisted that the best thing for him to do was to go into the studio and continue to work on Somewhere in England.

Obviously the sessions from that point onward were extremely sombre. Although George would occasionally manage a wan smile when he heard something he liked, for the most part, the reworking of Somewhere in England, already a chore in the face of Warner Bros.’ rejection, had become a solemn undertaking.

George was casting far and wide in an attempt to pay homage somehow to his slain friend on the album, but his initial attempts at coming up with a fitting musical tribute were coming across as stilted and trite. Finally he turned to a song that was not even on the album’s set list, All Those Years Ago. Originally a song that George had given to Ringo, George now saw appropriate sentiment and heartfelt emotion in the nostalgic lyrics. He did a quick pass on the song, adding lyrics that reflected his feelings towards John and the tragedy. George felt the tribute would be complete if Paul and Ringo participated in the recording of the song, and so the occasion of the recording of All Those Years Ago was bittersweet, with more than a few tears shed. And, in the case of George and Paul, nearly a lifetime of creative and emotional conflicts were at least temporarily put aside as the surviving members of the Beatles gathered to honour a fallen comrade.

Somewhere in England was released in May 1981 and proved to be one of George’s most successful albums, rising to number 11 in the US charts and number 13 in the UK. But George was overjoyed with the fact that ‘All Those Years Ago’, released as a single, rose to number 2 in the American listings and number 13 in the United Kingdom charts.

But by the time Somewhere in England hit the charts, George had already dropped from sight. With the death of John and his problems with Warner Bros. still fresh in his mind, the musician pulled back behind the walls of his English mansion, tended to his garden and played at the devoted husband and father. He was the modern equivalent of a feudal lord, entertaining friends such as rock stars Rod Stewart, David Gilmour and Alvin Lee at home and in pubs and restaurants in and around his neighbourhood.

George’s on-again, off-again relationship with drugs was back on, with George indulging in hashish, although, according to reports, not to an extreme extent. From a religious perspective, George was also on the move. He was still very much a disciple of Krishna but he seemed to modify his religious journey from the time of John’s death. He would chant, but now his banter was more metaphysical than traditional.

Closing in on his fortieth year, George was becoming introspective. The consensus was that he was delving so deep into self that he might not ever return to anything approaching a public life.

Whenever the climate in England turned cold, George would be off to Australia and his home overlooking the Great Barrier Reef or to the two-storey mansion that was his Hawaiian retreat. However, the reality was that he could never get far enough away to avoid the paparazzi, who continued to stalk him even in his most private moments, asking inane questions and sticking cameras in his face. In years gone by this would have been an annoyance, but with the death of John Lennon still fresh in his mind George was constantly in dread of any intrusion on his privacy and would often be rude in the face of even a harmless request for an autograph.

So much of his time in tropical climates was proving to be an inspiration, and soon George found himself writing songs and preparing to return to the studio. It was, however, a creative excitement blunted by the previous problems with Warner Bros., one that made George edgy and defiant as he returned to the recording studio.

George’s normally nominal control in the studio slipped into a near-manic case of perfectionism. Songs were being recorded and recorded ad infinitum, and the slightest imperfection, imagined or real, would send George and his group of bemused and frustrated musicians back to the studio to try it again. Long before the sessions that produced the album Gone Troppo were completed, the passion had left George and he was struggling with flagging interest just to get the album completed. By the time George turned in Gone Troppo, he did not care. And neither did Warner Bros.

Not that there was anything inherently wrong with the album. The production values were high. The music was well played. In fact, the entire album was nothing if not competent. The problem that Warner Bros. saw was with George’s songs. To a one they seemed lyrically lazy and obvious. It was as if the well had gone dry and George had run out of things to say.

The lethargy exhibited by George in not wanting to do anything to promote the album and Warner Bros.’ general dissatisfaction with it resulted in Gone Troppo literally being dead on arrival. The album went no higher than number 108 in the American charts and the desperation stab at a single, ‘Wake Up, My Love’, stalled at number 53.

George was willing to shoulder some of the blame for the abysmal failure of Gone Troppo, citing his unwillingness to jump up and down and be a rock star clown for the sake of selling records. Although possessed of an admittedly healthy ego, the musician was loath at this late date to put it in the direction of what he considered simple-minded publicity. But he was also not letting Warner Bros. off the hook: he claimed that Warner Bros. ignored Gone Troppo and did little to promote the record.

No matter who was to blame, George took the failure of Gone Troppo as a sign to back away from making music and hinted, in very disillusioned tones, that the leave of absence from the music business might be permanent. ‘I got a bit tired of it, to tell you the truth. It’s one thing making a record but if nobody plays it on the radio, what’s the point of spending months in the studio?’

George returned to semi-retirement, putting most of his business acumen to work as a hands-on producer, ramrodding a series of critically successful films for his Handmade production company. Taking a bit of a busman’s holiday, George, along with Eric Clapton and Ringo Starr, appeared in a cameo scene from his company’s film Water. He would also occasionally venture into his home studio and write and record some songs, but those were primarily for his own amusement and not with an eye towards making another record.

Personally, George had seemingly evolved into the perfect domestic. He and Olivia would occasionally go out to dinner with friends or throw a party in their home but, for the most part, were content to stay at home, watch their child grow and, for George, to get down in the dirt and remove weeds from his garden.

And unlike his marriage to Pattie, George was not imposing his sedentary lifestyle on Olivia. George’s wife was a woman of the earth, somebody with simple tastes and simple ideals who saw the home as their own private heaven and was more than willing to live as unglamorous and unencumbered a lifestyle as possible. To say that George and Olivia were on the same wavelength was pure understatement. They were, in fact, true soul mates.

But beneath the seeming tranquillity, there was an angry side to George that was beginning to make its presence felt. Those in George’s inner circle more and more began to see a surly, temperamental man who was likely to lash out in impatience for no reason. George’s spiritual and religious identity was again starting to slip and, by 1983, he was almost completely estranged from his friends in the Indian religious and musical community. Olivia reportedly was confused by her husband’s recent change of mood but, realising George was reacting out of boredom and an ongoing sense of not being fulfilled that would be with him forever, encouraged George to stay busy. She had seen her husband like this before, although never with this intensity.

Controversy also began to swirl around the relationship of George and Olivia through the mid-eighties. Although it never amounted to more than rumours, stories began to surface that George had reverted to his womanising ways and that he had had numerous affairs, some rumoured to have been under his own roof during his years with Olivia. George and Olivia would vehemently deny these charges over the years and none could ever be proven.

One very real threat to their marriage was George’s return to heavy drug use and, in particular, cocaine. Reportedly, George had initially attempted to hide his drug use from Olivia but eventually he confronted her with his fondness for cocaine. Olivia took it hard. She was upset that George had been keeping this secret from her and she could not understand why the drug had become such an important part of her husband’s life. She hoped George would grow away from the drug and so she stood silently by and hoped for the best.

Many’s the night that George would entertain friends with cocaine at his home and would often ring up the neighbourhood dealer to bring him more when his stash ran low. Often, at the encouragement of his friends, George was sinking deeper into a drug morass. Although only into his early forties, George was looking much older. His mood swings were notorious and it was apparent that he was slowly but surely slipping into a deep depression.

The reasons for George’s descent into hell were many and varied. There was the persistent and haunting spectre of John Lennon; his death continued to sit on George’s shoulder like a gargoyle. His ego had been damaged by the failure of Gone Troppo as well as the fear that he and his music did not matter any more. But probably the worst calamity for George Harrison in later life was that he no longer had a creative challenge to keep him going from day to day. Was there a cure? Olivia seemed to have the right idea. She loved him but she left him alone, knowing that this was something that George would have to pull himself out of.

How George ultimately pulled out of his funk is open to conjecture. One theory is that George was worried about the impact his depression was having on his wife and son, which, according to those in George’s inner circle, was considerable. Another is that George finally rediscovered the joy, rather than the cut-throat dollars and cents side, of music. He began spending more time in his studio and the stream of musician friends stopping by to jam increased.

In recent years, George had been approached on several occasions to play live for a number of benefit concerts, but had respectfully declined. By 1984, however, George was once again anxious to play again. His first opportunity came in December 1984 when, while in Australia for a prolonged stay, he was coaxed by his musician friend Jon Lord to join Lord’s band, the heavy metal group Deep Purple, on stage for a couple of numbers. The type of music Deep Purple played was loud and aggressive, definitely not the type of music George preferred. But he was beaming that night as he rocked out like he had not done in years.

In July 1985, the road back continued when, purely as a lark, he recorded the unreleased Bob Dylan song, ‘I Don’t Want to Do It’, for the soundtrack for the trashy B-film sex comedy Porky’s Revenge. Then a high point came when he was invited by his lifelong idol, legendary guitarist Carl Perkins, to join an all-star jam on 21 October 1985 celebrating Carl’s rockabilly musical life.

‘I thought I was wasting my time,’ recalled Perkins, ‘because I read he would never go before a live audience any more.’

Perkins was surprised when George readily agreed. George was happy to discover that his old friends Eric Clapton and Ringo Starr had also agreed to perform, which added to his comfort level. Other musicians included Dave Edmunds, Roseanne Cash and the members of the then hot rockabilly revival band the Stray Cats. Days before the show George invited all the musicians to his house for a pre-show dinner. That George was totally at ease among his peers was not lost on those musicians who attended the dinner.

‘He just opened the door himself, in jeans, a sweater and his slippers,’ remembered Roseanne Cash. ‘He was very sweet. He has a genuine personality that just wants things to be good.’

Slim Jim Phantom of the Stray Cats also related how George went out of his way to put everybody at ease. ‘There’s no pretence about him, none.’

After a dinner of pasta, mussels and red wine, the musicians repaired to George’s music room where they jammed, playing rockabilly standards until four in the morning.

George’s ease turned into a bundle of nerves on the night the Carl Perkins special was taped. Backstage before the show, he was pacing back and forth, tuning and returning his guitar and, for the first time in a long time, a cigarette was dangling from his lips. When George first hit the stage, he was uptight; barely moving from his spot on the stage and laying down able but unspectacular guitar lines. Perkins was sensing that George had a touch of stage fright, and so he introduced George by yelling out into the audience, ‘George Harrison, everybody! Don’t he look good?’ during the song ‘Everybody’s Trying to Be My Baby’: George smiled and began to loosen up. For the remainder of the show, it was obvious that George was having fun again.

Slim Jim Phantom raved about George’s performance. ‘He can still play and, man, he sings like a bird. Just fabulous.’

Backstage, Olivia watched the show, tears welling up in her eyes. She had not seen her husband this happy in years. Later she would joyously explain, ‘That’s my old George.’