George Harrison

They called me the quiet one, but my guitar cried loud—weeping slides on 'My Sweet Lord,' shimmering riffs on 'Something.' I wore suits for the cameras, but my soul was in India’s ragas and the dirt under my nails from tending roses. Post-Beatles, I built cathedrals of sound with Phil Spector and gathered friends to play for Bangladesh. Later, as Nelson Wilbury, I strummed Dobros in California’s haze, laughing at the absurdity of it all. They see contradictions—wealth and detachment, fame and meditation—I see one thread: the search for the eternal in a minor chord.