When George Harrison wrote “Here Comes the Sun” in the garden of Eric Clapton’s home, it wasn’t just spring returning — it was him. After months of exhaustion, business turmoil, and gray London skies, George escaped the noise and found peace among the trees. He picked up an acoustic guitar, let the sunlight fall across his face, and quietly wrote one of the most beautiful songs ever born — a hymn to renewal, hope, and the simple miracle of warmth after cold.
The first notes sparkle like morning light — delicate, golden, unhurried. “Here comes the sun, doo-doo-doo-doo…” he sings, his voice tender and pure, carrying the kind of joy that doesn’t shout — it smiles. You can almost feel the frost melting away. This isn’t just a celebration of nature; it’s a man reclaiming his faith in life. Every chord glows with gratitude, every harmony feels like a window opening after a long winter.
💬 “It’s alright.” The words are small, but the feeling behind them is infinite. In George’s voice, that phrase becomes a quiet promise — that pain passes, that light returns, that love outlasts despair. The other Beatles — Paul, John, and Ringo — weave around him with reverence: gentle harmonies, soft percussion, and a melody so effortless it feels eternal. It’s not the sound of a band fighting or fading; it’s the sound of four souls in rare, perfect harmony.
Musically, “Here Comes the Sun” is simplicity turned to grace. Its shifting time signatures move like breathing — organic, alive. The acoustic guitar shimmers with sincerity, while the Moog synthesizer, new at the time, adds a dreamlike glow. Nothing is wasted, nothing forced. The song radiates peace because it was written in peace — by a man who finally stepped out of the shadows and into his own light.
Decades later, “Here Comes the Sun” has become more than a Beatles classic. It’s a universal prayer. It plays at weddings, at funerals, in hospital rooms and classrooms — anywhere people need reminding that darkness is never the end. George’s gentle voice still carries that same reassurance: that after every night of doubt, the sun does rise again.
When Paul performs it now, you can see it in his eyes — he’s not just singing George’s song; he’s feeling him there. The warmth of that friendship, that brotherhood, still glows through every note.
Because “Here Comes the Sun” isn’t just about weather or seasons — it’s about the soul’s quiet rebirth.
And even now, as decades pass and voices fade, George’s light still shines on — softly, endlessly, like the dawn itself.