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Eddie Vedder in 1992

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How Pearl Jam's "Unplugged" Performance Captured The Grunge Gods' Pop Cultural Rise

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To commemorate the forthcoming release of RSD exclusive 'MTV Unplugged (3/16/1992),' the Recording Academy spoke with director Joel Gallen about how the then-new band approached their MTV acoustic set
Will Hodge
GRAMMYs
Nov 26, 2019 - 11:55 am

For the last decade or so, Record Store Day and Record Store Day Black Friday have been the venues through which bands have chosen to offer their fans feverishly anticipated album reissues and first-runs on vinyl. One of the most celebrated stars of this year’s Black Friday event—taking place Nov. 29 at participating record stores across the U.S.—is Pearl Jam's MTV Unplugged (3/16/1992), the long-awaited official release of the band's unforgettable acoustic performance from the pioneering MTV show. Recorded on March 16, 1992 and aired less than two months later on May 13, 1992, Pearl Jam's "Unplugged" episode is notable for capturing the band as it successfully navigated an unfamiliar setting in the very early stages of its still-thriving career.  

While bootleg audio files of the performance have been floating around fan circles for years, the Record Store Day Black Friday vinyl release of MTV Unplugged (3/16/1992) marks the first time fans can purchase an official, band-sanctioned version of the album. (It should be noted that previously a DVD of the performance was included in some versions of the 2009 reissue of their debut album Ten, but no standalone audio version was made available at that time.) This vinyl release of MTV Unplugged (3/16/1992) contains all six tracks from the original Unplugged television broadcast, as well as the inclusion of "Oceans," which did not make it to air.

To help commemorate the release of MTV Unplugged (3/16/1992), the Recording Academy spoke with "MTV Unplugged" director Joel Gallen about shooting the noteworthy episode as a first-time director and about how the band—vocalist Eddie Vedder, bassist Jeff Ament, guitarists Stone Gossard and Mike McCready, and then-drummer Dave Abbruzzese—approached their acoustic set with equal parts refined musicality and unfiltered bravado.     

While Gallen's impressive production and directorial resume includes a variety of memorable musical events, movies and comedy specials ("Not Another Teen Movie," "Zoolander," the 2003 Super Bowl Halftime Show, 17 Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremonies, the last 14 years of "Comedy Central Roasts" and the Peabody Award-winning post-September 11 benefit concert special "America: A Tribute to Heroes"), he charted his first professional successes at MTV in the late 1980s and early 1990s. During this prolific period, Gallen produced the MTV Video Music Awards and the MTV Movie Awards, while also working on some of the most memorable episodes of "MTV Unplugged"'s earliest days—including iconic shows from Paul McCartney, Eric Clapton and Pearl Jam.  

Joel Gallen: During my first few years of working on "Unplugged," we used to shoot multiple episodes within a single day to help on production costs and get more bang for our buck. We actually shot three shows on this particular day: one with Boyz II Men, Joe Public and Shanice around two or three in the afternoon, the very famous one with Mariah Carey around seven or eight that night, and then Pearl Jam at about midnight. I remember it was so cold that day and we had just had a snowstorm, so the Pearl Jam fans were waiting outside for hours in the freezing cold. When it was time for the show to actually start taping, they were enthusiastic and ready to go.

Up until that point in my MTV career, I was mostly just a producer. However, I usually operated as a bit of a backseat director and was always very involved with the production work, the editing, getting the right shots, and all that. Once I heard we were going to be doing an "Unplugged" episode with Pearl Jam, I went to Doug Herzog, my boss at MTV, and I told him that I would really like to direct it. Not only was I a big fan and already knew their music, but also it was the third episode of a single-day shoot, which seemed like a lot to ask of any director. In this specific case, that was Larry Jordan, who directed the first two episodes that day. Doug gave me the green light and this ended up being the first show I ever directed in my life.

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At the time, both "Unplugged" and Pearl Jam were in relatively similar places in their career arcs—both were relatively new but equally on the brink of massive stardom and pop-cultural ubiquity. "Unplugged" was still finding its footing as being more than just a television show, having only released Paul McCartney's episode as an album and still being months away from releasing the juggernaut Eric Clapton "Unplugged" album. Similarly, Pearl Jam had experienced some success with the release of their debut album Ten, but at the time of their "Unplugged" taping, had only released "Alive" as their sole single to radio. Because of this, some MTV executives considered having the young band appear on the show at such a crucial momentum-building time as somewhat of a risk.   

Joel Gallen: For the most part, I think most people at MTV were pretty excited about having a Pearl Jam "Unplugged" episode, but there might've been some concern because they were relatively unknown at the time. If there were some MTV folks who did feel that way, they minimized the risk by scheduling them on the same day that we were already recording two huge names: Mariah Carey and Boyz II Men. It might’ve been in their minds that, even if the Pearl Jam "Unplugged" didn’t work, it wouldn't exactly be wasting production funds because we were doing the other two no matter what.

Some of the more conservative executives might've thought Pearl Jam was risky, but it was MTV and rock music was still doing very well on the channel at the time. You have to remember, this was 1992 and about six months after Pearl Jam's "Unplugged," we had the most rock and roll MTV Video Music Awards ever: 5,000 screaming fans on the floor of UCLA's Pauley Pavilion with all the VIP and industry people around the sides. That night, on the same stage we had Pearl Jam, Nirvana, Red Hot Chili Peppers, The Black Crowes, Def Leppard, Eric Clapton, Guns N' Roses with Elton John on piano, and we also did a live remote with U2. That night was actually the second time I got to work with Pearl Jam and we've worked together about 15-20 times since then.

For any trepidation that Pearl Jam's youth and inexperience may have potentially produced in the MTV offices, one would only need to see their seemingly limitless energy, powerfully expressive musical abilities and charismatically emotive frontman commanded every stage on which they performed to have any fears put to rest. Although the acoustic setting of "Unplugged" would find them playing on rented instruments with no real rehearsal just a few short days after completing their grueling first-ever European tour, the band unquestionably rose to the challenge of harnessing their raw electric roar into a more nuanced acoustic approach. While "Unplugged" would require they play without the benefit of some of their signature sonic tools—guitar distortion, amp feedback, wah pedals—they successfully transformed a small slice of their song catalog and, according to Gallen, remained incredibly photogenic in the process.      

Joel Gallen: You know how "Unplugged" works: the band walks out, everybody applauds, and then the rest is their show. Pearl Jam is just spectacular in that kind of setting. The whole band was just so raw and sensational. From a directing standpoint, I just had to try and put my cameras in the right place, anticipate the energy of the band, and react to the moments they were creating. In rehearsal, they gave us no heads up as to what they had planned. They just sort of strummed through the songs, so I didn't know what all they were going to do once the show started.

As a director and producer, I don't know that there’s a better close-up in rock and roll history than Eddie Vedder singing. I’ve shot Bono, I've shot Springsteen, I've shot Prince—I love them all and they all give great close-ups, but there’s no one better than Eddie Vedder. The energy and feeling and passion that you feel coming out of him when he's singing, especially all throughout that "Unplugged," is truly unsurpassed.  

While the band played their more reserved tracks like "Alive," "Oceans" and "Black" in a somewhat composed manner, the more rambunctious numbers like "Jeremy," "State of Love And Trust" and "Even Flow" found the band negotiating the "Unplugged" setting with a more constrained, dog-on-a-chain demeanor. By the time the band hit the escalating climax of the frenetic "Porch," Ament was playing his bass while standing on top of the kick drum as Vedder was creating the most iconic visual of their "Unplugged" set by using a sharpie to write "PRO-CHOICE!!!" down his entire left arm and onto the back of his hand. In fact, eagle-eyed viewers will spot that "Even Flow" was actually played after "Porch" (even though the two songs were broadcast in reverse order) due to the fact that the scrawled exclamation points can be seen on Vedder's hand, peeking out from under the sleeve of his jacket. At the end of "Porch," the broadcast closer, Ament launched his bass offstage to the open arms of his sure-handed guitar tech.           

Joel Gallen: We only had like five or six cameras to work with and I had a super helpful Assistant Director named Christine Clarke, now Christine Bradley, who helped make sure it turned out magical. However, I’ve got to give credit to my long-lens close-up camera operator, John Meikeljon, because he was the one who somehow got an in-focus shot of Eddie writing "PRO-CHOICE!!!" down his arm with a sharpie. It was really such a magnificent visual and a wonderfully emotional moment.

I also thought Jeff's bass toss at the end of "Porch" was a really great closing moment. I’ve been lucky enough to shoot three really cool guitar tosses: Jeff at the Pearl Jam "Unplugged" show, Nirvana's Krist Novoselic at the 1992 VMAs where his bass came back down and hit him on the head, and then Prince's incredibly memorable guitar tossing after he played "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" with Tom Petty and Jeff Lynne at the 2004 Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremony. Quick story: Prince barely made it to rehearsal for that performance and when we got him plugged in, he was just kind of strumming around and making sure his levels were okay. I asked, "You’re going to really give it to us tonight, right?" and he just smiled really big at me and casually said, "Don’t worry about it." That's all he said to me and then later that night he just ferociously unleashed that unforgettable guitar solo during the performance.

As with most "Unplugged" sessions, the band played more songs than could be included in the 30-minute run time of the show’s early days. In Pearl Jam's case, the tracks they recorded that didn’t make it to broadcast were "Oceans" and their cover of Neil Young's "Rockin' In The Free World." While their "Unplugged" version of "Oceans" made its first official appearance on the "MTV Unplugged" DVD that accompanied the band’s 2009 reissue of Ten and it appears on the vinyl release of MTV Unplugged (3/16/1992), their "Unplugged" version of Young's "Rockin' In The Free World" is not included on either the 2009 reissue DVD or the new vinyl release for this year's Record Store Day Black Friday.     

Joel Gallen: I do remember shooting "Rockin' In The Free World" but I don’t know why it didn't make broadcast or get released in audio form. Since it was a part of the encore, maybe they knew it wasn't going to be in there and they played it a bit looser or something like that, but I’m just guessing. Now that I think about it, probably the simple reason why it didn’t make it to broadcast is that "Unplugged" was still a half-hour show at that point and there just wasn’t enough time for it. I mean, what song would you cut to put "Rockin' In The Free World" in its place, that's the question. We weren't going to get a full hour for such a new band, which would've been the only other option. Even Mariah Carey was still only getting a half-hour show at that point.      

For Gallen, directing the Pearl Jam "Unplugged" episode not only signaled the start of his directing career, but it also began his professional relationship with the band and his personal friendship with Vedder. Gallen went on to produce quite a few more memorable moments with Vedder and the band, including their scorching performance of "Rockin' In The Free World" alongside Young at the 1993 MTV Video Music Awards and Vedder's induction speech (and three-song performance) of The Doors at the 1993 Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremony.   

Joel Gallen: I've done a lot of big music shows and events over the years and I still think that with everything that I’ve done, one of the most significant programs with the most personal meaning to me has to be this Pearl Jam "Unplugged" show. When I first played it back in the MTV offices, everyone was really blown away. There’s a reason why Pearl Jam's "Unplugged" has really stood the test of time and why the band has always loved it and cites it as an important moment in their history. The Pearl Jam "Unplugged" episode was also what formed a really cool bond between me and Eddie. We've worked together a lot over the years and almost every time I see him, we end up talking about it in some way. I'm lucky enough to have this beautiful professional and personal connection with the guy and it all started with their "Unplugged" taping.

Nirvana Manager Danny Goldberg Talks 25 Years of 'MTV Unplugged In New York'

Sepultura

Sepultura

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The Roots of 'Roots': Sepultura's Game-Changing Metal Masterpiece At 25

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For the first time since 1997, all four classic members of Sepultura have come together (albeit remotely) to speak at length about 'Roots' and their groundbreaking exploration of their indigenous connections
Ron Hart
GRAMMYs
Apr 9, 2021 - 4:00 am

Upon calling former Sepultura drummer Iggor Cavalera about the 25th anniversary of the Brazilian metal band's 1996 LP Roots, it's impossible not to notice the image that pops up on his WhatsApp profile. It's a tattoo of MF DOOM's mask; he recently got it to honor the beloved and enigmatic rap supervillain upon his passing this past Halloween. Talk swiftly turns to the work of globetrotting hip-hop producer Madlib and his profound knowledge of Brazilian music.

"I've seen Madlib a few times in Sao Paulo," the drummer tells GRAMMY.com. "And I knew he used to go there a lot to look for records and find all this obscure Brazilian stuff. It is so cool to see how he has his own take on how to make this stuff from the '60s and '70s somehow sound modern. Even on the DOOM stuff they did together [2004's Madvillainy], there are a lot of Brazilian references in there, especially from the psychedelic rock side of it."

The revelation of Iggor being a fan of Madlib and DOOM should come as no surprise to any fan of Roots. On that album, the group's classic lineup—guitarist Andreas Kisser, bassist Paulo Pinto Jr., Cavalera and his brother Max on lead throat—fully embraced their Brazilian heritage. They did this by deeply incorporating elements of their country's rich music history into some of the most brutal death metal to emerge from the 1990s.

For the first time since 1997, all four classic members of Sepultura have come together (albeit remotely) to speak at length with GRAMMY.com about Roots and their groundbreaking experiments with their indigenous past—which helped make the album the most polarizing and beloved LP in the band's canon.

"I remember when Roots first came out, it felt like a shock to the system," the singer recalls. "The biggest newspaper in Brazil is the Folha de São Paulo, and they gave us a full-page article. And the writer wrote into the story, 'The samba of the future is metal.' It was so cool to read how they were comparing—how the power of metal and the power of samba are very similar. I remember when we were kids, we used to see the samba schools practicing. And when you see 80 or 90 drummers playing all at once, it's as heavy as a metal band—I promise you."

The elder Cavalera got the ball rolling on the album's centerpiece "Itsari," which found the band venturing deep into the state of Mato Grosso on the eastern end of Brazil. They went there to collaborate with the elusive Xavante, one of the oldest and (sadly) most exploited tribes in the country's savanna region.

The inspiration for "Istari" came from the film At Play In The Fields Of The Lord. "The plot of the movie is about these two Americans who go into the rainforest," he explains. "At first, they are supposed to go and drop bombs to scare away the Indians. But one of them, who is Native American, gets drunk and flies a plane to parachute into the rainforest and start living with the Indians. For some reason, the movie made a huge impact on me, and a lightbulb came on in my head about wanting to record with an indigenous tribe.

"I felt like this is what I am here for, to brave this new frontier," Max continues. "I remember my wife and manager telling me, 'You guys aren't Michael Jackson; you don't have that kind of budget!' But we made it work. I researched for contacts and found this lady Angela, who worked with all the Indian tribes in Brazil. The tribe I originally wanted to record was Kayapos, but they would have just killed all of us [laughs]. They don't f**k around."

However, getting to the Natives and their hidden world proved to be an adventure even before the group boarded the small Cessna to traverse over the jungle.

"At the time I was really afraid of flying," admits Pinto. "Especially in a small plane going over the jungle. The only thing I could see was a green carpet. But after this trip, I started to lose my fear of flying, because I was sitting in the cockpit with the pilot, who was explaining everything to me and how the plane works. There was a lot of turbulence because of the jungle's humidity—and the cabin was not pressurized, so the pilot was talking me through it. It was amazing how he was able to find the tribe just by coordinates."

"A lot of people would go to the Xavantes tribe and treat them almost like they were in a zoo," Iggor says. "It was like you were just this spectator. We, on the other hand, were there to collaborate with them and to exchange cultural ideas. We also wanted to do this as a way of representing them outside of Brazil."

"Most people in Brazil don't interact with the tribes," Max adds. "But my whole life I've been fascinated with them. In fact, on my mother's side, my great-great-grandmother was a true native. She was from the rainforest."

"We were told we could not bring any type of alcohol, no drugs," Pinto Jr. added. "We could only stay outside the limits of the tribe, and we could only cross into their land if we were escorted by one of the natives. For the longest time, it seemed like every time the white man came through it f**ked them up. The natives were always getting screwed. Most people don't seem to respect them, especially the government. So when they have this area that they own and is protected by law, they are very cautious."

Yet it wasn't before long that these amicable outsiders became fast friends with the tribe. A promotional film for Roots now available on YouTube chronicles Sepultura's two days with the Xavantes tribe. And even if you don't fully understand Portuguese, there is nothing lost in translation in the body language between these four young men and these ancient people they learned about in their studies and on the national currency. 

In this footage, the two parties form a human connection in real-time. The Xavantes fully welcome Kisser, Pinto and the Cavaleras into their culture with open hearts and minds.  They encourage them to participate in their dance and prayer rituals and adorning them with their own body paint. Some moments of the film are moving in that regard; the positive impact on the trip indeed remains palpable in their voices.

"It was a life-changing experience, not only as a musician but as a human," admits Kisser, who, along with Pinto Jr., are the only remaining members left in the incarnation of Sepultura who recorded Roots. "It was a privilege to have this interaction with them and earn their attention and respect. We were so excited to be there. I think we spent 48 hours there, and I didn't sleep one minute. There was so much natural adrenaline going through me. At night, I heard sounds I never heard in my life. It's amazing how it created these new sensations in us and new feelings that came out of our music. 

"I think that was the first time I truly realized that time was just a concept," Kisser continues to GRAMMY.com. "The way that they relate to nature and with the animals, the way they relate with the sun. I saw my watch lose all of its meaning because it's only connected to a concept. It was a very powerful thing to observe and see these people at peace with themselves. There was no rush or anxiety to pay bills or go to church. They are a very free people."

"When we were there with the Xavantes, we were writing a song together in real-time," Iggor explains. "So in order for them to figure out what they were going to sing about, they needed to wait until one of the elders had a dream. That's the only way they feel they can write music—if it was in a dream. So we had to wait a whole day for an elder to have that dream and the inspiration for the song, which served as a spiritual connection with us."

"We are all very grateful we were able to bring that vibe to the record," Pinto Jr. tells us. "We achieved a very special moment with that connection with the Xavantes. We didn't want to go through any politicians to make it happen. It was 100 percent cultural and spiritual, and I think we achieved the purity of that purpose."

The other major factor that gives Roots its multicultural perspective is the involvement of renowned Brazilian percussion master Carlinhos Brown, though the group reveals he wasn't their first choice.

"The first idea we had was to work with Naná Vasconcelos," explains Pinto Jr., referring to the renowned Brazilian percussionist who has played alongside Don Cherry, Brian Eno and Pat Metheny. "Sadly, he wasn't available at the time. But he was the main guy we initially thought about because he was so highly regarded as a percussionist. He was one of the masters."

"For us, percussion was always heavy in our lives, certainly heavier than any metal band," adds Kisser. "If you go to the Carnival in Rio and see the parades with these 500-person drum ensembles, there's no way to describe the feeling of hearing them all together. All we wanted to do was put heavy guitars over them. But then, of course, we began to explore different rhythms and harmonies."

As it turned out, the Bahia-born Brown, who has worked with such Brazilian legends as Caetano Veloso, Sergio Mendes, João Gilberto, Djavan, and João Bosco in addition to his own successful career as a star in his own right, proved to be a perfect match. 

"We had the pleasure to work with Carlinhos, who is a genius," Kisser says, aglow. "A fantastic mind, a fantastic soul; he was so crucial for us on Roots."

"We wound up meeting Carlinhos at an MTV Awards show here in Brazil," explains Pinto Jr. "We met him through the MTV director who was a good friend of ours. We had discussed with her what we were looking to do on Roots and she said, 'Oh you should meet Carlinhos, he's on the show as well.' So we got to talking and found out quickly how very well we jammed together."

"Out of all the countries in South America, Brazil has the biggest population of Africans, and that is something we wanted to convey on Roots," Iggor says. "Bringing in someone like Carlinhos Brown, who represented the whole African side of Brazil, was very important for us in order to portray those themes and ideals on this record. It wasn't just about the roots of native Brazilians, but also those who came after them as well."

"When we met him, I felt like we really connected spiritually," Max adds. "Like in the beginning of 'Ratamahatta' when the both of us are singing these Indian chants, there was no rehearsal for that. It was just me and him in the vocal booth. I began calling up to our ancestors from inside the booth, and I'm glad the producer was smart enough to record it."

"For 'Canyon Jam,' our intent was to utilize the full possibilities of the compact disc," reveals Kisser in reference to the atmospheric, instrumental hidden track on Roots. "And in the case of Roots, we were really exploring that extra time without concerns, and to really be free like the Xavantes tribe who gave us that concept about dealing with time. 'Canyon Jam' was with Carlinhos Brown and done with no plan. It was just us and Ross Robinson, who inputted all of the microphones all throughout the canyon, like miles and miles of cable, and put them in different positions. It was really open. Carlinhos was really kind and guided us to really different vibes and grooves. It was very of the moment."

One other key aspect of Roots that really calls up the spirits of their musical heritage is "Jasco," an acoustic instrumental track by Kisser that not only serves as an homage to heady nugs but the guitar work of the legendary ECM composer Egberto Gismonti. 

"Egberto Gismonti is such a fantastic performer and composer," Kisser tells GRAMMY.com. "He plays that 10-string acoustic guitar, and when he plays the low strings it gives off this weird, fantastic vibe. He uses these harmonies that really represent the vibe of the jungle and the interior of the country. I had Egberto in mind when I did 'Jasco'. I tuned the lowest string to D in order to give the impression of the Amazon rainforest—at least in my head (laughs)." 

Back when Sepultura created Roots in the mid-90s, heavy metal had only begun to spread its wings in the global village of modern music. This occurred thanks to the inventive work of peers like Mike Patton (who alongside members of Korn and House of Pain appear on the album track "Lookaway"), China's Tang Dynasty and Israel's Orphaned Children. 

Yet it took a group like Sepultura, whose acclaim among their high profile peers and open-minded fans of metal helped them break through the overwhelming whiteness of modern metal. As such, they paved a new road for groups like Botswana's Overthrust, Indonesia's Siksakubur and India's Demonic Resurrection to not only survive but thrive in a genre oftentimes too blinded by its collective European heritage. 

"I think that was the coolest thing about Roots," Iggor admits. "Especially in the metal world, where we know there is still a lot of closed-minded mentality and people with macho bulls**t. And for us to do an album like Roots, I think it was a real eye-opener for those types of guys to see that you can still make some pretty heavy stuff and leave room to expand and try new things."

"I remember the older bands would take on a different melody or something in a song but it wouldn't be 100 percent immersive," Pinto Jr. surmises. "For us, being Brazilian, this kind of music was all around us regardless, whether we liked it or not. It's been part of our lives for all this time."

"To me, Roots is such a cool record in that regard," adds Max. "Because apart from all of the Indian stuff, some of these songs are the heaviest we ever did together like 'Cutthroat' and 'Ambush' which is about Chico Mendes who, to me, is a Brazilian hero from the rainforest. I knew this was going to be a divisive album. But that's what happens when you roll the dice. I think the record has really evolved over time, though. We've been to about 80 countries, and in a weird way, Roots left its mark on all of those places. It's so cool to hear how this record is still influencing people to this day."

In all this looking back at Roots on its 25th anniversary, though the album was crafted during a period of great interpersonal strife amongst the members of this lineup, each of them recalls its creation with a fondness that supersedes any bitterness or regret towards the era. The pride each of these men has about the making of Rootsrises above any animosity they may have had.

"I have to mention Ross Robinson," interjects Kisser. "Without Ross, none of this would be possible. Andy Wallace as well. And Roadrunner. Everyone was really crucial in making what Roots is—this balance of everyone in the right place putting in the right input, and in equal measure. That's why it's still so powerful today. But I think amidst all of the chaos backstage with all of us really fighting a lot, I don't think Roots would have been possible as well. 

"It was a turmoil that really helped our art in the end," he continues. "It kept that fire in us, and really helped us survive each other. We disagreed on a lot of topics. But in the times when we would be playing together and jamming, nobody invaded that realm. It was really sacred and we kept it that way."

"It makes me wonder that if Roots were to be released today, if it could win a GRAMMY," adds Max, who continues to expand upon the album's global directions with his group Soulfly. "I'm very proud of how it left such a big mark on the world of metal."

Nearly 30 Years After Their Debut, Body Count's 'Carnivore' Is The Thrash-Metal Band's Most Fully Realized Album

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Pat Monahan

Pat Monahan in 2002

Photo: Martin Philbey/Redferns/Getty Images

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Train's Pat Monahan Revisits Every Song On 'Drops Of Jupiter' 20 Years Later: "I'm A Lot Happier Than I Was Back Then"

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Pat Monahan wrote Train's most successful album, 2001's 'Drops of Jupiter,' in a whirlwind of sudden fame and destabilizing grief. Now, he looks back on it with two decades' worth of hindsight
Morgan Enos
GRAMMYs
Mar 26, 2021 - 6:34 am

What do the Rolling Stones' session pianist Chuck Leavell and Leonard Cohen's string orchestrator Paul Buckmaster have in common? They both appeared on Train's "Drops of Jupiter." 

While the song may conjure the Y2K adult-contemporary boom more than those vintage artists, the two studio veterans' presence speaks volumes. No matter which way your tastes flicker, "Drops of Jupiter" is a classy tune. Not that Train singer, Pat Monahan, was thinking about that at the time. A married father in his late twenties touring the world on their early hit "Meet Virginia," Monahan felt destabilized by sudden fame, struggling to square his his tour life with his home life.

Sure, he might have commanded a stage in front of adoring fans, but that didn't mean much while crying on a payphone near the venue afterward. Why? At the time, his mother was terminally ill—and her eventual passing is what inspired "Drops of Jupiter," released on their album of the same name 20 years ago on March 27, 2001. In the hit song, Monahan wonders where his mother might be: "But tell me, did you sail across the sun?/ Did you make it to the Milky Way/ To see the lights all faded/ And that heaven is overrated? " he asks.

"I wrote that song in 15 minutes," Monahan tells GRAMMY.com over Zoom. "I fell asleep and woke up and it was like my mom tapped on the shoulder, and she was like, 'Let's go. I've got it for you. Let's go write this.' And it was a story about her telling me what the afterlife was."

While Monahan admits the title track—which was nominated for Record Of The Year and Best Rock Performance By A Duo Or Group With Vocal at the 2002 GRAMMY Awards show— "consumed" the album, other tunes like "I Wish You Would," "Hopeless" and "Something More" provide further breadcrumbs as to his state of mind.

As for the rest of the album? Monahan, now the only sole founding member in the band, mostly stands by it, even if he admits he was miserable at the time. GRAMMY.com spoke with Monahan about memories behind every song on Drops of Jupiter, how Leavell and Buckmaster got involved, and why he's happy never to return to this well of sorrow.

Does it feel like Drops of Jupiter came out two decades ago?

I never really think about that, but yeah. I suppose it does. A lot has happened in 20 years. I'm a lot happier than I was back then. I think that whole album is based on a lot of sadness and questions and really not having faith in the future, but now, it's a different life that I live. So, it's pretty cool to look back at that.

What was going on in your emotional life at the time?

Well, I was in a bad relationship, and I was traveling so much and I had children. It was after the first album that had "Meet Virginia" on it. It was still a time [when] there was no real money. We sold a million albums but it didn't mean that I was living in any type of luxury at all. The only thing I was able to do at that point was to pay off my credit card debt. 

We were traveling the U.S. and Canada. We may have even gone to Australia with it, but we never really went to Europe or anything. There wasn't a big push in Europe for "Meet Virginia," so writing the second record was, I would say, more pressure than I've ever felt in my life. 

We knew [we needed to write] some type of song that people would care about or the chances of making another record were going to be slim.

Tell me about "She's On Fire."

"She's On Fire" was a fantasy. There were moments on that first tour that I met a lot of people, and I was seeing so many beautiful faces and meeting boys and girls and everything you could think of. But I was married, so there was no anything I could do about any kind of attraction I might have had. So, I had to write songs instead. "She's On Fire," I think, was a fantasy of, like, "Man. This is the magic of what a relationship should feel like."

We thought that was an obvious first single. We just thought that was the coolest song ever. When we listen now, it's obvious that it's not. But nobody else thought it was a first single, and we were really surprised. So everything obvious in my career is never the single. I should never judge what a single sounds like because it's the weird ones that make it to the forefront of radio and peoples' brains.

What about it struck you guys as the obvious first single?

It had tempo. We thought [sings hook] "She's on fiiiiiire!" would appeal to whether you liked pop radio or country radio or whatever. That sat there in a great American way. Americana, I should say.

I'm looking at the chart position. It did respectably.

It did OK. Not like we imagined. And I think it came from the fact that "Drops of Jupiter" was so big that it still had some momentum, even though the second single was supposed to be a song called "Something More." But it got dumped because of 9/11. We shot a music video for it [where] I was climbing up a sky-rise building and 9/11 happened and everything changed.

So, we went to "She's On Fire," but it was years—It seemed like two years after "Drops of Jupiter." Sometimes, a song can be so big that it can consume the entire album, and that's kind of what happened.

Tell me about "I Wish You Would."

That was more about a fantasy of what I had always hoped to go home to. Being on the road for months and months and months and coming home, my fantasy was to come home to someone who was as excited to see me come home as I was excited to be home. That kind of thing. That's what that song's about.

That entire album is either me apologizing for shit or hoping for things, and it continued into the next album, with "Calling All Angels." That was the end of that period for me.

From what you've described regarding the first few tunes, it seems like there was a tension between home life and tour life.

Of course! I mean, I was 28, 29. My son was born when I was 23, and I was sober. I had been sober for a long time because I knew what it was going to take for a guy from Erie, Pennsylvania, to try to be successful to be in a potentially dangerous industry. Everyone around me was partying and having multiple fun relationships and I was just working.

Now, we get to the big one. Obviously, a product of grief. A really personal one and also the biggest hit.

Yep. You know, somebody asked me the other day about that, because I had lost my mother that year and we were writing and it was hard to be inspired by anything when a boy loses his mom. It was very tragic. 

But somebody asked me, "How do you feel that potentially the biggest song of your career means so much to you?" I was like, "Wow, I've never really thought about that." It wasn't a fluke. It wasn't like, "Oh yeah, we just came up with [mimics guitar riff] 'Doo-dow-now-now!' or whatever." It's a really heartfelt moment for me, so I guess I should be more appreciative. I've never really thought about that.

I wrote that song in 15 minutes, man. I fell asleep and woke up and it was like my mom tapped on the shoulder, and she was like, "Let's go. I've got it for you. Let's go write this." And it was a story about her telling me what the afterlife was. "I can swim through the planets if I want to. I can do whatever I want."

One thing about "Drops of Jupiter" that a lot of people don't talk about is that it had two veterans on it—Paul Buckmaster and Chuck Leavell.

Chuck Leavell, man. He made that song as magical as it could have been because he gave it that bounce. [mimics piano-and-drums groove] I think he played it three times and we were like, "That's good. You're good. Thank you!" He's that special?

Was that the label's push, to get a pro on there?

No, actually. That was Brendan O'Brien. We recorded that record in Atlanta, and we did not have "Drops of Jupiter." I wasn't a Pearl Jam fan, but there's a song called "Better Man" that was on the radio, so I asked if I could look into that producer, and it was Brendan O'Brien.

When I asked if I could get Brendan O'Brien, they laughed at me: "Dude, you're not a big enough band." He was about to record the Limp Bizkit album, and something happened where it was postponed or whatever and Fred Durst backed out, or something. So, Brendan, all of a sudden, was open and he took the project.

Chuck Leavell is also a Georgian, and he owns a tree farm in Georgia. He called Chuck because Chuck was an hour away and he came and did it, and it was that easy.

How about Paul Buckmaster? His string arrangement is gorgeous.

That was actually [music executive] Donnie Ienner's idea. When we didn't have a single, we also had an agreement in the band that we weren't to write outside the band. Which really put shackles on us, but we weren't aware of it at the time. You protect things that you end up breaking.

I was being asked to meet Donnie Ienner in New York, and he was about to say, "You have to write outside the band. It's time." Because we didn't have the hit he wanted. It was two days before that meeting when I dreamt "Drops of Jupiter."

So, I went to New York to have that meeting with him and I had a demo of it in my pocket. That's when I played it for him. At the time, Almost Famous was the biggest movie in the country and Elton John's songs were all over it. So as soon as Donnie heard the song, he was like, "Paul Buckmaster has to do the strings." He was so fired up about this whole thing.

Before I knew I would be doing this interview, I learned Leavell and Buckmaster were involved from a Rick Beato deconstruction on YouTube. Have you seen that?

Yeah, I have. It's pretty interesting!

Did it teach you anything about your own song, in a way?

You know what it taught me? Humans will overthink anything! Why did he throw that ball that way? Well, I'll tell you why! Because in fifth grade, he met a girl called Sheila! Who knows what anything is, you know?

The next tune is "It's About You."

That was an attempt to write a hit song. This is what you get stuck doing sometimes. 

Let's say you're making a sad album. Today would be different than it was when I was trying to become something. Today, you could go make a sad album and then 15 minutes later go make a different album. And you have a computer, so you can make three albums in a week, or whatever.

But when you have one chance to make an album and it potentially costs a couple of hundred thousand dollars, you start to want to feed the machine that's going to feed you. That was a song that we thought, "Man, it's got tempo and this cool drum bit and whatever."

We played it for years live and people seemed to like it because we needed that type of song, but it didn't make a huge impression on people.

I'm a songwriter myself, and I think we all have material that feels like juvenilia. It's not us anymore. Can you still inhabit the self that made this album?

Of course. It's like looking at—I wouldn't say a lesser me, but a part of me that needed to do this to be better at certain things.

My manager and I talked the other day and he was like, "Man, we're listening to these songs you wrote that didn't make the album. There's a handful of them. Your melodies are so much more complex and thought-through and better." When I think of "It's About You," I just think of [mimics goofy cadence]. There's no melody there. It's just a guy trying to rap who can't.

It's funny in some regard, but in another way, I needed to be a young guy trying to figure stuff out.

How about "Hopeless"?

That was a pretty important song to me.

Tell me about it.

When I was [touring], "Hopeless" was, like, I was hopeless. I felt hopeless all the time. It's a wild trip. The importance of love in a human body, that need for love and affection and somebody to look at you with love, is so necessary. I was writing songs just like, "Man, I'm writing as a voyeur. I'm writing somebody else's life, but it's just like a reflection of my own."

How about "Respect"?

That was a very particular song about a guy that I went to grade school who I and my friends didn't treat properly. We're friends today and I love him a lot. He's a wonderful guy. But I have a lot of regret about a certain couple of years of my young childhood life.

Not beating people up or anything. It wasn't like that. But it was "bully" enough that it excluded him. And that exclusion made us, the others, feel closer. That's what happens when kids are not kind. I really regretted that and still do, and that's what that song is about. Everybody needs respect, and now I know that, so I'm sorry.

How did he react to the song?

You know, he's such the kind of fella—he's a bodybuilder and could beat me up 1,000 times a day if he wanted. 

His lesson during that wasn't to hold a grudge, thankfully. His lesson was "I've just got to get through this," and he did. And he became a big, tough, strong guy so he wouldn't have to deal with guys like me and other people anymore. We all learned what we were supposed to, I suppose.

"Let It Roll."

That was the biggest song about my mom. That was the heartbreaking "I'm lost now." I was on tour during the "Meet Virginia" days with no cellphone, no Internet, no connection to anybody. 

The way I found out my mother was terminally ill was [through] my sister. [She] said, "Hey, so-and-so's coming to your concert tonight." She came and left me a card and the card said, "Your mom's really sick. You need to call her." 

So after the show, I went outside the venue to a payphone and just cried on the phone with my mom for an hour, with her telling me that she was going to be sick for what we hoped was going to be a long time, but it wasn't. She was gone quickly, but that's what that song is about: "I don't know how to let this thing roll, but I've just got to remember you'll be in me forever."

That's so rough, dude.

It's so f**king hardcore, dude. You don't want to have that moment ever.

"Something More."

It wasn't the magic that "Drops of Jupiter" was, but we thought it at the time. That was my speaking out against the life I was living: "I'll get through this and I'll be something more." You think you're something more right now, that you're above this, but it's going to flip.

It was at a weird time because as I said before, we were trying to write only within the band. Our drummer at the time, his name is Scott. He wasn't writing anything, so I was like, "Dude, learn how to write. We all have to write within this project. Go do it." 

So he got the keyboard and wrote the [mimics vamp] because he was a novice writer. He was writing whatever he felt in those weird minor keys and stuff. Nobody else was really writing that, so it became a fun little project to jump-start somebody's writing style.

Before we hit the last three songs, tell me what it was like to be frightened and on tour and newly famous during that boom for the music industry. I guess it was a boom, right? In the early 2000s? That high of being on stage versus sobbing on the payphone with your mom, that's such a crash to Earth.

It never really felt like a boom. It just never did. Because there's a thing that happened where "Meet Virginia," it was an underground [success]. When people find a new band, it's like ownership. I found them, I turned you on to them, you like them because of me—it's ownership. A feeling of "I just found my jam."

"Drops of Jupiter" was so big on pop radio that we almost had to transition from real fans to now pop fans. And pop fans are fickle. They deteriorate. They move on to the next thing. So, it wasn't a boom. It was a transition, and we had to figure out how to get used to it. 

Like, did we just lose all the people we gained by touring for three years with a little old song that's like a cool car? And now we're in a Bentley and they're like, 'You've changed'? We had to figure out how to navigate that.

We've got four minutes left. "Whipping Boy."

Yeah, that was me just being me. We were listening to records that were, like, Sparklehorse. At the time, Whiskeytown, when Ryan Adams just started that project, and his guitar tone. We were trying to emulate some of those vibes. That was the darker side of what we loved musically.

How about "Getaway"? 

That was my jam at the time because I got to play the vibraphone on it. It just felt "jazz" to me, and I grew up listening to jazz. That was a song kind of about my parents' relationship.

Lastly, we've got "Mississippi."

That was the sleeper. That was everybody's favorite song on the album.

Whoa.

It was "vibe." You know, nowadays—and I think it's really cool; I like where music's at—we listen to vibes. Instead of "Hey, check out this album," it's more of a playlist of things that have whatever in common. That was our vibe song. I'd like to make a record of vibe songs like "Mississippi" someday.

I've got one last question. Where did the muse—or whatever you want to call it—lead you from Drops of Jupiter?

Well, it went from "Somebody please come and help me" to finding real love. True love from somebody I'm supposed to be with. 

So then, when I wrote "Hey, Soul Sister" and "If It's Love" and the happier songs, this was also a transition because people were like, "Well, that's not the same sad guy that I remember, so I'm not sure if this is for me." And I'm like, "Well, that's good because I'm going to stay here. I don't want to go back to that other thing! Your joy is coming from real misery from me, and I've got to move on, too."

How Coldplay's 'Parachutes' Ushered In A New Wave Of Mild-Mannered Guitar Bands

John Lennon in 1970

John Lennon in 1970

 

Photo: Chris Walter/WireImage

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Now That I Showed You What I Been Through: 50 Years Of 'John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band'

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After The Beatles' split and before 'Imagine,' Lennon recorded a jarring audio confessional that remains indelible in 2020
Ana Leorne
GRAMMYs
Dec 29, 2020 - 4:25 pm

John Lennon asked The Beatles for a "divorce," and he got his wish. After the group's breakup in 1970, quarreling and competition were the norm between himself, Paul McCartney, George Harrison and Ringo Starr. In Lennon's case, this tension added to a slightly tainted reputation derived from the public's disappointment upon The Beatles' end, his unpopular marriage to Yoko Ono and an artistic dispersion. The latter resulted from an ongoing quest to find his spot in a world he'd grown frustrated with yet to which he desperately wanted to belong. As evidenced by his songs and remarks, Lennon's efforts to find himself often left him feeling empty, and he regularly lacked unconditional trust or engagement.

Standing in the way of this self-discovery process was an inability to resolve past traumas, which was one of the main reasons why Lennon decided to undergo Arthur Janov's primal scream program. He had the apparent goal of finally dealing with childhood wounds related to his mother's death and feelings of rejection linked to his father's absence. But the treatment also addressed the recent pain of losing his other family—the one Lennon had shared a life with for the past decade. In short, how could he go forward when he didn't know which way he was facing?

Lennon channeled all this into his debut solo album, John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band, which turns 50 this month. (December 2020 also marks the 40th anniversary of his murder.) Released as a companion to Ono's concurrent solo debut, Yoko Ono/Plastic Ono Band, Lennon's album was therapy in its purest form: raw and self-referential. This intimacy was also apparent in the recording process: Apart from Lennon and Ono, the latter of whom is credited on the album sleeve for contributing "wind," the only other musicians were Starr and bassist Klaus Voormann, along with former Beatles roadie Mal Evans (for "tea and sympathy"), pianist Billy Preston and Phil Spector, who played piano on "Love" and "God," respectively.

When a cycle doesn't end fast enough, there's often a tendency to accelerate it, and Lennon was a man on a mission. The previous year, Lennon had been creatively disengaged from the Let It Be sessions and generally disapproving of the approach McCartney and producer George Martin wanted for Abbey Road, as he attempted to destroy the entity he helped create. This self-sabotaging process, which coincided with his dangerous affair with heroin, often translated into a deafening silence that Beatles scholar Stephanie Piotrowski describes in her Ph.D. dissertation as "part of Lennon's agenda to break The Beatles' myth."

But silence wasn't his sole strategy. It progressively became apparent throughout his solo career—culminating with his GRAMMY-winning final album with Ono, Double Fantasy (1980)—that Ono was his new partner-in-crime in McCartney's stead. For anyone unable to take a hint, in September 1969, he privately told the other three Beatles he was leaving the group. Their financial manager, Allen Klein, asked them to keep this development a secret for as long as possible, fearing the news would undermine sales of the forthcoming album, Let It Be (1970), which was taking forever to mix and master. 

Read: History Of: Walk To London's Famed Abbey Road Studios With The Beatles

Lennon's apparent hurry to break free makes it odd that Plastic Ono Band only came out in December 1970, rendering him the last Beatle to release a proper debut album. (This, of course, if we don't count three previous experimental albums with Ono: Two Virgins, in 1968, and Life With The Lions and Wedding Album, both in 1969. And don't forget the hastily put-together Live Peace In Toronto 1969, which partly consisted of early rock covers and featured Ono, guitarist Eric Clapton, bassist Voormann and drummer Alan White.)

Spector was supposed to be producing, but he was missing in action when the sessions began, leading Lennon to publish a full-page ad in Billboard saying, "Phil! John is ready this weekend." His relative absence ended up being a blessing in disguise: Spector's trademark "Wall of Sound" style probably wouldn't have suited the album's ethos. Lennon and Ono's minimalist approach matched the content better, allowing the emotional outpouring to sound adequately barer. 

Revolving around themes of healing, surrender and replacement, Plastic Ono Band is a prime example of Lennon's songwriting particularities. These include his remarkable ability to craft instant hooks, focus on the lyrical element and rely on subjectivity in storytelling, which contrasted with McCartney's general preference for third-person points of view. 

Always with a way with words, Lennon refrained from complicating his message, choosing direct statements ("Hold On," "Look At Me") over the elusive metaphors and cryptic references he often returned to during The Beatles' later years. This aspect made the album vaguely echo his mid-'60s confessional period that produced "Help!" and "In My Life," transpiring as a matured reflection of what it felt like to feel lost in the eye of the hurricane.

For all its sincerity and the psychological commitment that it symbolized to Lennon,

the album encountered a mixed reception at best; it was also quickly eclipsed by the release of Imagine nine months later, in 1971. Similar to what had happened with McCartney's self-titled debut, some critics accused John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band of being a product of self-preoccupation and void egotism. This harsh perception mostly came from the absurdly high expectations following The Beatles' breakup. 

"This is the album of a man of black bile," Geoffrey Cannon declared in a 1970 review for The Guardian. "Lennon's album makes a deep impression, if more on him than us … This is declamation, not music. It's not about freedom and love, but madness and pain."

Read: The Beatles Take Aim With 1966's 'Revolver': For The Record 

Even though Imagine eventually became Lennon's indisputable legacy—the title track was inducted into the GRAMMY Hall Of Fame in 1999, seven years after Lennon's posthumous Lifetime Achievement Award—Plastic Ono Band was still properly cherished. Fans embraced its relatability. It's easier to identify with one's idol opening up about their problems of love and loss than hearing them discuss overly abstract concepts, the renunciatory "God" and tender "Love" being exceptions.

But it also helped that the album didn't become as heavy an institution as Imagine did. Less over(ab)used by pop culture and more grounded in both content and form, Plastic Ono Band felt more human and accessible, despite coming from the myth-ridden colossus called John Lennon.

In September 1980, three months before his death, Lennon gave an extensive interview to David Sheff for Playboy magazine. Sheff asked what Ono had done for him. "She showed me the possibility of the alternative," Lennon replied. "'You don't have to do this.' 'I don't? Really? But-but-but-but-but...'" Although he was referring to his temporary retirement from music to dedicate himself to being a house husband fully, one could see Plastic Ono Band as the dénouement of a similar epiphany 10 years prior. It kick-started a new life Lennon knew would be radically different from everything he had previously experienced.

In addition to representing a threshold moment for Lennon, the album underwent a mutation with regard to its critical reception. Over the decades, Plastic Ono Band received praise that was anything but a given at its release. In 2020, the album ranked at No. 85 in Rolling Stone's 500 Greatest Albums Of All Time list. "Lennon's [...] pure, raw core of confession [...] is years ahead of punk," the list's album entry reads. 

However, perhaps Lennon acerbically summed it up best in his Rolling Stone interview with four words that remain jarring to read: "The Beatles was nothing."

It's Not Always Going To Be This Grey: George Harrison's 'All Things Must Pass' At 50

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George Harrison c.1970/1971

George Harrison c.1970/1971

Photo: GAB Archive/Redferns

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It's Not Always Going To Be This Grey: George Harrison's 'All Things Must Pass' At 50

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On the 50th anniversary of the chart-topping, GRAMMY-nominated album, GRAMMY.com explores all the reasons why 'All Things Must Pass' remains an important landmark in George Harrison's legacy and his most enduring solo testimony
Ana Leorne
GRAMMYs
Nov 27, 2020 - 7:33 am

In 1970, Let It Be, the documentary chronicling The Beatles' final studio album of the same name, hit theaters worldwide, providing a blunt answer to the whys and the hows for those who might still be in denial about the group's inevitable separation. The film unmercifully exposed numerous cracks in their interpersonal relationships, only letting us see fragments of what had once been a cohesive, seemingly indivisible unit. Although incredibly frustrating to many fans, this portrayal proved crucial for an adequate understanding of each member's personal and professional motivations at the time—particularly George Harrison, whose creative persona was undergoing a vital and revolutionary change.

Those sessions, which author Peter Doggett describes in his book, "You Never Give Me Your Money," as "a drama with no movement or character development," showcase Harrison's growing exasperation with the part he'd been given to play within The Beatles' equation as well as a certain impatience and dissatisfaction replacing his acquiescence of previous years. Recently returned from a stay with Bob Dylan at Woodstock to what he would later call "The Beatles' winter of discontent" in "The Beatles Anthology," Harrison continued to see his musical contributions systematically met with disdain from his bandmates. It soon became obvious that challenging the John Lennon/Paul McCartney power axis would be an impossible task while the band was still together—a realization that further accelerated The Beatles' disintegration.

All Things Must Pass is a direct result of this unmaking. Released November 27, 1970, All Things Must Pass was technically Harrison's third studio album yet his first fully realized solo release following two slightly niche LPs prior: Wonderwall Music (1968), the mostly instrumental soundtrack to Joe Massot's film, Wonderwall, and Electronic Sound (1969), a two-track avant-garde project.

The imbalance in group dynamics made evident in the Let It Be documentary is essential to understand the genesis of All Things Must Pass since the two projects are irrevocably intertwined—perhaps more so than Lennon's or McCartney's respective debuts, John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band and McCartney, which also released in 1970. While his bandmates had long made peace with their prime status as composers, Harrison's mounting refusal to be repeatedly pushed to second best was reaching a boiling point, and his creativity soared in proportion. By then, the material he'd been putting in the drawer was far too vast to fit in a single album alone. 

For The Record: Harrison's 'All Things Must Pass'

For anyone doubting Harrison's ability to stand on his own two feet as a solo artist, All Things Must Pass must have hit like a ton of bricks. Composed of three records, two LPs plus an extra disc titled Apple Jam that mostly contained improvised instrumentals, the album emerged as Harrison's definite and irrevocable declaration of independence. 

Still, the album was colored with references to a painful recent past: These are visible in the cryptic album art showing Harrison in his Friar Park estate surrounded by four gnomes, often interpreted as the musician removing himself from The Beatles' collective identity. There are also the not-so-veiled attacks on his bandmates in "Wah-Wah," the sad contemplation of a breakup in "Isn't It A Pity?" and the inclusion of several compositions that had been turned down by The Beatles, such as "Art Of Dying," "Let It Down" and the album's title track, which Harrison can be seen playing to the other three in Let It Be.

The album, recorded between May and October in 1970, gathered an impressive supergroup of backing musicians that included bassist (and Revolver cover artist) Klaus Voormann, members of Badfinger and Delaney & Bonnie, Let It Be keyboardist Billy Preston, Eric Clapton and even Ringo Starr, the only Beatle who seemed to have no major feud with the other three. 

Although Harrison had a very clear idea of what he wanted, things did not always go so smoothly. By summer, sessions came to a temporary halt as he made regular visits to see his dying mother in Liverpool. At the same time, further pressure came from EMI, who grew preoccupied with the alarming costs that a triple album would ensue. This, combined with Clapton's escalating heroin addiction and infatuation with Harrison's wife, Pattie Boyd, who he would eventually marry, contributed to a strained ambience that might at times have struck a chord of déjà vu for the Beatle. 

Producer Phil Spector's erratic behavior didn't help either: Having been recruited by both Harrison and Lennon for their solo debuts following his impressive work on Let It Be, he was frequently unfit to function or nowhere to be found, forcing Harrison to take production matters into his own hands.

Despite all the delays and behind-the-scenes tension, some of it still resulting from the ongoing legal disputes between the four Beatles, All Things Must Pass triumphed. The album received a nomination for Album Of The Year at the 1972 GRAMMYs, while its No. 1 single "My Sweet Lord," for which Harrison was sued for copyright infringement and ultimately lost, was nominated for Record Of The Year. All Things Must Pass was ultimately inducted into the GRAMMY Hall Of Fame in 2014; Harrison was honored with the Recording Academy's Lifetime Achievement Award one year later.

While a triple album could have easily been dismissed as self-indulgence as pop crossed over to the individualistic '70s, the reception of All Things Must Pass was so indisputably solid and favorable that some music critics claimed it eclipsed Lennon's and McCartney's solo efforts. Maybe it was the surprise factor, too. Melody Maker's Richard Williams would best summarize this in his review of the album with the famous line, "Garbo talks! - Harrison is free!"—a reference fitting of how it felt to witness "the quiet one" finally raising his voice. 

All Things Must Pass opened the gates to a world the public had only glimpsed during The Beatles years, proclaiming a coming of age that had been delayed for too long. Encapsulating Harrison's serenity without falling into a trap of passiveness, the album acted simultaneously as epilogue and opening chapter by precipitating both public and personal healing.

But the ghost of Beatles past would still come back to haunt Harrison as he, like the other three, quickly realized one doesn't simply cease to be a Beatle. Recurrent comparisons and undeclared fights both in and outside the charts persisted throughout the years, bringing back the vestiges of a narrative he hadn't fully absconded yet no longer defined him. "We've been nostalgia since 1967," Doggett quotes Harrison as saying at the time of the album's release, commenting on The Beatles' inability to escape a very specific, even if outdated, image that had been crystallized in the public's collective imagination. 

Fifty years later, All Things Must Pass remains an important landmark in George Harrison's legacy and his most enduring solo testimony—something music journalist Paul Du Noyer points out on the text "When 1 Becomes 4" as a slight irony, since the title refers precisely to "the impermanence of things." But more than that, the album is a fascinating and detailed snapshot of the exact moment Harrison officially announced he was willing to move on from a game whose rules had long ceased to serve him.

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