Mr. Speaker, last weekend while in New York City I made my way to Strawberry Fields in Central Park to join a small crowd at a makeshift shrine to the memory of George Harrison. The mound of flowers, pictures and tributes accompanied by strains of Beatles songs gave me pause to reflect.
I was about 14 when the Beatles exploded on the world. Drawn by the strong, lyrical guitar solos I made a decision that set the course for my life. I bought a used guitar for five bucks and a book of nine basic chords. My parents were not thrilled when a few years and two bands later I took the vice-principal up on his offer and left school for rock and roll on the road rather than get my hair cut.
The drone of Norwegian Wood , the melding of Indian and western themes in Within You, Without You , the raw emotion of Something and While My Guitar Gently Weeps will endure. For me personally it is the melodic ring and lyrical optimism of Here Comes The Sun that defines George Harrison.
Coming from that kid in the early sixties who, influenced by Harrison's brilliant simplicity, picked up a guitar and lived a dream, I say thanks to George.