The Quiet Beatle's Deafening Silence: Why George Harrison's Solo Tours Were Rarer Than Hen's Teeth and Twice as Prickly

A former Beatle who preferred his gardening to his guitar-slinging proves that some things must pass – including the desire to please punters who just wanted to hear 'Yesterday' one more bloody time.

• Harrison's entire solo touring career consisted of precisely two proper outings: the catastrophic 1974 "Dark Hoarse" tour and the triumphant 1991 Japanese jaunt with Eric Clapton

• The Quiet Beatle included only his own Beatles compositions in live sets, pointedly ignoring Lennon-McCartney crowd-pleasers (though he made one notable exception)

• Critics savaged his 1974 performances whilst praising his swansong 1991 shows, proving that sometimes absence really does make the heart grow fonder

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Here Come the Sun Kings – and then they promptly bugger off again. If you were hoping to catch George Harrison strutting about on stage belting out Beatles classics, you'd have had better luck spotting Lord Lucan at a Rotary Club dinner. The man who gave us "Something" – which Frank Sinatra rather generously called "the greatest love song of the past 50 years" – seemed to regard live performance with all the enthusiasm of a vegetarian eyeing up a bacon butty.

The Dark Horse Gallops Into Disaster (1974)

Let's start with the car crash, shall we? Harrison's 1974 North American tour with Ravi Shankar was a 45-show marathon that proved beyond reasonable doubt that some Beatles were better left unplugged. Critics witheringly called it "The Dark Hoarse Tour" – a pun so dreadful it would make even a seasoned Private Eye hack wince.

Our George had managed to wear out his voice in the run up to these dates, damaging momentum for most of both the album and supporting concerts. Nothing quite says "professional preparation" like turning up to your first major solo tour sounding like you've been gargling with gravel and disappointment. Harrison was allegedly using cocaine like it was going out of business during the tour, which rather explains why his performances had all the coherence of a Beatles reunion organised by Yoko Ono.

But here's where it gets properly interesting from a Beatles perspective: Harrison included just four Beatles songs: his own compositions "Something", "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" and "For You Blue", and the Lennon–McCartney song "In My Life". Yes, you read that correctly – the man systematically ignored every crowd-pleasing Lennon-McCartney number except one, presumably to prove some sort of point about artistic integrity. It's rather like opening a fish and chip shop and only serving the mushy peas.

Some 750,000 people attended the concerts, which grossed a total of around $4 million, proving that punters will pay good money to watch a train wreck in slow motion. The critics, naturally, had a field day. Harrison was criticised for failing to respect the public's nostalgia for the Beatles, his choosing to afford considerable stage-time to Shankar's ensemble, his spiritual pronouncements and on-stage demeanour, and particularly the rough quality of his singing voice.

At the tour's press conference, Harrison displayed the sort of diplomatic finesse that would make Boris Johnson look like Kofi Annan. "I don't think the Beatles were that good," he said. "Paul is a fine bass player, but he's a bit overpowering at times. To tell the truth, I'd join a band with John Lennon any day, but I couldn't join a band with Paul McCartney." Nothing quite like burning bridges whilst standing on them, is there?

The whole debacle left such a sour taste that Harrison would focus instead on making records, though even that pursuit would eventually slow to a trickle. He'd retreat to his cave – or rather, his magnificent Friar Park estate – like a wounded animal, not to emerge for live performances again until 1991.

Bangladesh: The Exception That Proved the Rule

Before we get to the happy ending, let's tip our hats to the one shining moment in Harrison's live career: the Concert for Bangladesh. The concerts were attended by a total of 40,000 people, and the initial gate receipts raised close to $250,000 for Bangladesh relief. Here was Harrison at his absolute best – organising rock's first major charity concert, a full 14 years before Bob Geldof got the Live Aid bug.

"Harrison had put it together; and he pulled it off", as Rolling Stone's Jon Landau wrote. The Concert for Bangladesh live album included three of Harrison's best-known Beatles songs: "While My Guitar Gently Weeps", "Here Comes the Sun" and "Something". Again, notice the pattern – exclusively his own Beatles compositions, with nary a "Hey Jude" or "Let It Be" in sight.

The album won the Grammy Award for Album of the Year, with Ringo Starr attending the awards ceremony in Nashville and carrying off a tray of Grammys, one for each of the featured performers. One imagines Ringo rather enjoyed collecting awards on behalf of absent friends – probably reminded him of the good old days when he'd turn up for photo shoots whilst the others were having another creative tantrum.

The Japanese Redemption Tour (1991)

Seventeen years. That's how long Harrison stayed off the road after the 1974 debacle. It would actually be more like 17 years before Harrison mounted another major tour, and it wouldn't be anywhere near the U.S. When Eric Clapton – bless his cotton socks – convinced George to do a dozen shows in Japan, it was rather like coaxing a hermit crab out of its shell with promises of the finest sushi and politest audiences money could buy.

"Eric suggested to me it would be a good time if I wanted to do a concert tour because he was not working and him and his band were available to become my band," Harrison said. Nothing quite like having Slowhand as your backing band, is there? It's rather like having Michelangelo paint your garden shed – technically overkill, but bloody impressive nonetheless.

Initially, George turned Clapton down, because apparently even Eric Clapton's considerable charm wasn't enough to immediately overcome 17 years of stage fright. "I'd actually turned it down! I thought a lot about it, and then I sent his manager a fax saying, 'Thanks for the great offer but I don't think so.' Then I just swam around my swimming pool and I was thinking, 'I shoulda really done it'".

The man literally had to talk himself into performing by doing laps. There's something beautifully British about that level of self-doubt and subsequent regret.

Wanting to avoid another 1974-style vocal blowout, and to make sure he was ready for his first tour in 17 years, Harrison quit smoking in advance of the trek. Professional preparation at last! "I feel better than I have in 20 years. I'm very straight. I don't even drink," he told the Chicago Tribune.

The setlist was a Beatles fan's dream, relatively speaking. They played a 25-song set on opening night, ranging from "Taxman," "Something" and "Piggies" to "My Sweet Lord," "Give Me Love" and "Got My Mind Set on You". "A lot of the songs that I had done, I had wrote them and then I recorded them, I sang it that one time on the record, and never, ever done them since," George said. The man was literally rediscovering his own catalogue – rather like finding a fiver in an old jacket pocket, only considerably more musical.

Critics, having spent 17 years sharpening their knives, were forced to put them away. Fan reaction was ecstatic for the concerts, as were most of the write-ups in the rock press. Billboard magazine described Live in Japan as "a skin-tinglin' romp, delicious and indispensable", whilst praising Harrison's "splendidly nuanced" singing.

Not everyone was convinced, mind you. Billy Altman wrote in Entertainment Weekly: "you'd need a case of Coke to crack the crust on Harrison, who sounds so woefully out of shape that it's a wonder no medical advisers are listed in the credits". Ouch. Even in triumph, poor George couldn't escape a kicking.

The Beatles Songs He'd Actually Perform

Throughout his sparse touring career, Harrison maintained an almost militant stance regarding which Beatles songs he'd dignify with a live performance. It was exclusively his own compositions – "Something," "While My Guitar Gently Weeps," "Here Comes the Sun," "Taxman," "I Want to Tell You," "Old Brown Shoe," "If I Needed Someone," and "Piggies" – with the singular exception of "In My Life" during the 1974 tour.

Harrison said that "I Want to Tell You" was selected (and opened each concert) because he had performed it with the Fab Four in Tokyo in 1965, and it provided a link to the past. There's something rather touching about that – a man connecting with his younger self across the decades, when the world was simpler and Beatles mania was just beginning to properly take hold.

One can hardly blame him for avoiding the Lennon-McCartney catalogue. Why would you want to sing someone else's songs when you've got "Something" in your back pocket? It's rather like having a Rolls-Royce in the garage and choosing to take the bus.

Commercial Success: A Tale of Two Tours

The financial stories of Harrison's two major tours tell quite different tales. The 1974 disaster was, paradoxically, a commercial success despite the critical mauling. Meanwhile, the 1991 triumph was more modest in scale but infinitely more satisfying artistically.

Harrison's post-1974 reluctance to tour had profound effects on his commercial prospects as a live artist. Following the Japanese excursion, Harrison talked about embarking on a bigger U.S. tour, following in the footsteps of Paul McCartney's recent Beatles-centric mega-tours. But these plans, like so many of Harrison's touring ambitions, evaporated faster than morning dew on a Henley lawn.

Harrison performed live on occasion in the '90s, but he never toured again. Live in Japan also ended up as the last new release in Harrison's lifetime. That's quite a legacy – your final bow captured for posterity, sounding rather magnificent for a man who spent most of his career claiming he'd rather be gardening.

The Critics' Verdicts: From Pillorying to Praise

The critical response to Harrison's live performances underwent a complete transformation between 1974 and 1991, rather like watching a caterpillar become a butterfly – if the caterpillar had spent 17 years hiding in a very expensive cocoon.

The 1974 reviews were uniformly brutal. Harrison was allegedly using cocaine like it was going out of business during the tour as he fuelled himself through the gruelling run of dates. The drugs may have provided Harrison with the energy he needed but it didn't do his voice any favours and led to some diabolical shows. Critics noted his spiritual pronouncements, his insistence on showcasing Ravi Shankar, and his apparent disdain for audience expectations.

By 1991, the critical tide had turned completely. Roger Catlin views Live in Japan as "a remarkable live set, featuring Harrison … playing a repertoire that blends the best of his Beatles writing with his solo material". Parke Puterbaugh wrote: "by and large this is a rocking, extroverted performance, and that is where Clapton and band, providing a solid foundation, helped firm up Harrison's repertoire and resolve".

The transformation was remarkable. Here was a man who'd been written off as a live performer returning to prove that, given the right circumstances and sufficient time to prepare, he could still deliver the goods. "After three or four nights of doing the concerts, my ego was satisfied," Harrison reflected.

The Royal Albert Hall Swan Song

Harrison's final full performance came at the Royal Albert Hall in April 1992, just a few days before the British General Election. The evening was acting as a benefit concert for the Natural Law Party. A party founded in 1992 on "the principles of Transcendental Meditation", the laws of nature, and their application to all levels of government, seemed the perfect fit for George Harrison at the time.

It was quintessentially Harrison – performing for a cause most people had never heard of, supporting politicians who believed in levitation, and doing it all with complete sincerity. Harrison banned all commercial filming of the performance but, luckily, the touching performance of his 1969 tune 'Something' has surfaced online.

Harrison invited fellow Beatle, Ringo Starr as well as Joe Walsh, Gary Moore and Harrison's son Dhani Harrison to come onstage for the performances of 'While My Guitar Gently Weeps' and 'Roll Over Beethoven.' There's something rather beautiful about that final moment – three generations of musicians sharing the stage, with the Quiet Beatle finally comfortable enough to let his music do the talking.

The Rarest of Breeds

In the end, George Harrison's live career reads like a masterclass in how to frustrate both critics and fans whilst somehow maintaining your artistic integrity. He performed live less frequently than Halley's Comet appears, was more selective about his setlists than a Michelin-starred chef choosing ingredients, and yet somehow managed to create moments of genuine transcendence when the mood took him.

"I'm the kind of person who would love to play whenever I felt like, with a band, and it might as well be the Holiday Inn in Nebraska – somewhere where no one knows you and you're in a band situation just playing music", Harrison once mused. The superstardom, he could leave out quite happily.

In an era when musicians tour until they drop and festival circuits groan under the weight of endless reunions and comeback tours, there's something refreshingly honest about Harrison's approach. He did it when he wanted to, how he wanted to, and sod the consequences. The man who wrote "All Things Must Pass" understood better than most that sometimes the most powerful statement you can make is knowing when to stop.

And isn't that just beautifully, stubbornly, magnificently George?