George Harrison was many things—an exceptional songwriter who could stand toe-to-toe with John Lennon and Paul McCartney, a gifted guitarist who left a lasting impact on the music world, and, perhaps most importantly, a man filled with joy and humor.
While most know Harrison for his spiritual nature, he also had an unrelenting love for comedy. His favorite way to cleanse his soul was through laughter, and this side of him, often overlooked, was just as important to his character as his music.
Though Harrison is most celebrated for his contributions to The Beatles and his solo career, his comedic side often flew under the radar. After The Beatles split, Harrison even ventured into producing comedy films, notably Monty Python’s The Life of Brian, where he made a beloved cameo.
What seemed like a frivolous investment for a wealthy rock star was much more—Harrison remortgaged his house to fund the film, showing just how deeply he was committed to making people laugh. He wasn’t just a supporter of comedy; he lived it, always ready to pull an elaborate prank on his friends.
One of Harrison’s most famous pranks involved Genesis drummer Phil Collins. Though Collins and Harrison would later form a strong friendship, their relationship had a rocky start—without Collins even realizing it. This prank began with a 19-year-old Collins being called in as a session musician for Harrison’s debut solo album, All Things Must Pass, in 1970.
At the time, Collins idolized The Beatles and could hardly believe his luck. His manager received a call from Ringo Starr’s chauffeur, saying they needed a percussionist, and Collins jumped at the chance.
Recalling the moment to Classic Rock, Collins said: “I went down to Abbey Road, and there was Harrison, Ringo, Billy Preston, Klaus Voormann, and Phil Spector. We started working on the song.”
All Things Must Pass marked Harrison’s liberation from The Beatles, allowing him to flex his creative muscles without having to answer to Lennon or McCartney. For Harrison, it was a turning point in his career. For Collins, however, the session became a frustrating experience.
Unsure of what to play, Collins explained: “No one told me what to do. Every time we started, Phil Spector would say, ‘Let’s hear guitar and drums’ or ‘Let’s hear bass and drums.’ I’m not a conga player, and my hands were bleeding.”
Collins, feeling nervous and out of place, began borrowing cigarettes from Ringo, despite not being a smoker. After two hours of waiting for his turn to play, Spector finally gave Collins the go-ahead, saying, “Okay, congas, you play this time.”
But Collins’ microphone had been turned off the whole time, leaving everyone in the room laughing at his misfortune. His hands were shot, and his nerves frayed, marking an inauspicious start to what would later become a legendary music career.
Through it all, Harrison’s good-natured humor shone through, even in moments that left others feeling a little worse for wear. But for Collins, what began as a nerve-wracking experience eventually blossomed into a friendship grounded in laughter and mutual respect.
