Way back in the dawn of time, when I was 10, I was over at Cousin Diane’s house. There was a ritual in her life at that time, which was playing The Concert for Bangladesh (vinyl of course), at ear piercing volume. The album was a boxed set, a 3 LP volume with a booklet. I poured over that booklet time and again as I endured the deafening sound. That was where I first saw Bob Dylan and his raised fists, father of time looking Leon Russell, Eric Clapton, and Badfinger, and wool hatted Billy Preston. And of course, it was where I first saw George Harrison. In his white suit, and orange shirt with the Hare Krishna logo on the lapel. And that long beard. And I listened. I heard the audience roar at the opening chords of "My Sweet Lord." I heard George introduce "a friend of us all." And I heard him play. As I grew, I kept listening, and the older I became, the further I looked back. And the further I looked back, the more I found. Like where George’s sound came from: Carl Perkins, Chuck Berry, Big Bill Broonzy, and Elmore James. I’d say that’s not too bad for a bus driver’s son from Liverpool to imagine himself all the way to middle America, and eventually help bring it all back home. Don’t forget it was those British Invasion groups that brought R ‘n’ B back to America, where it had been born.

We’ve all lost a little piece of ourselves today. Whether or not he was your favorite Beatle doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if he was as good a writer or singer as the main guys, just like it doesn’t matter with the other three. In fact, it doesn’t matter if you were a Beatles fan at all. The fact is, those songs (and those four guys) are an indelible print on the fabric of this world. Any one of those parts within the songs that our children’s children, and we will forever hear travel on an equal path. As I ponder today’s sad news, I think of George’s playing on things like "And I Love Her," "Norwegian Wood," "Octopus’ Garden," "Old Brown Shoe," "And Your Bird Can Sing." And of course there are the classics: "Something," "Here Comes The Sun," "I Me Mine" among them.

As I got older and got into the guitar, it was his slide that always floored me. His playing was impeccable. He adhered to the less is more approach. George Harrison didn’t need a thousand notes and fretboard theatrics to get his point across. George Harrison let you feel it at its core. I’m not going to say that all his solo stuff brought the world to its knees. But it’s in there as well. In hits like "Give Me Love (Give Me Peace On Earth)," "All Those Years Ago," "Crackerbox Palace," the great "When We Was Fab," and of course the seminal "My Sweet Lord." Album tracks like "Beautiful Girl," "Beware Of Darkness," "Sue Me Sue You Blues," "Pure Smokey," and many others. You can also hear it on other people’s albums in some brilliant guest appearances: Lennon’s "Give Me Some Truth," Dylan’s "Under The Red Sky," Ringo’s "Photograph" (co-authored with George), and Cream’s "Badge" (under the pseudonym L’Angelo Misterioso). And dare not any of you forget my beloved Traveling Wilburys.

I was lucky enough to see one of George’s rare appearances. It was the big Bob Dylan 30^th Anniversary Celebration. It was the first time George had been on a New York City stage in 21 years. Chrissie Hynde introduced him. "Are you ready for another guitar hero?" she asked. "Let me give you a little clue: Hallelujah! Hare Krishna! YEAH YEAH YEAH—GEORGE HARRISON!" He sounded good, looked happy. He strummed an acoustic and sang a couple of songs. It was the thrill of the night.

He also told us great things. "It’s easier to give a sigh and be like all the rest, who stand around and crucify you while you do your best." "Watch out now, take care, beware of greedy leaders, they’ll take you where you should not go." "Sunrise doesn’t last all morning, a cloudburst doesn’t last all day." "If it’s not love that you need, then I’ll try my best to make everything succeed." "Think for yourself." He was a humble contributor. He was a spiritual man. The music (and the news) tells us that he wasn’t afraid to die. One thing we may know is that the band just got a little groovier in heaven. I could go on and on.

But I won’t. As for me, maybe tonight I’ll watch A Hard Day’s Night or The Concert for Bangla Desh. Maybe I’ll make a bedtime tape of George songs for my kids. Then maybe I’ll do what people all over the world with a guitar will do: I’ll hold it while it gently weeps for the sad truth that no guitar will ever be played by George Harrison again. At least not here on this Earth.