When George Harrison wrote “Something” in 1968, he was no longer the “quiet Beatle.” He was a songwriter waiting to be heard — standing in the long shadow of Lennon and McCartney, quietly crafting melodies that would one day stand beside theirs as equals. And when “Something” was released in 1969 on Abbey Road, it didn’t just prove that George had arrived — it became one of the most beautiful love songs ever written, a masterpiece of tenderness and restraint that even Frank Sinatra famously called “the greatest love song of the past fifty years.”
It begins with one of the most graceful openings in pop history. The guitar line — simple, descending, and impossibly delicate — feels like a sigh. Then George’s voice enters:
“Something in the way she moves, attracts me like no other lover…”
The line sounds effortless, but it carries the entire mystery of love — that quiet pull toward someone we can’t fully explain. The lyric was originally inspired by a line from James Taylor’s song “Something in the Way She Moves,” which Harrison borrowed as a creative spark. But what he built from it was entirely his own: a hymn not of passion’s fire, but of love’s stillness — the kind that doesn’t demand or declare, but simply is.
Though written for Pattie Boyd, George’s wife at the time, “Something” transcends personal romance. It’s a song about trust — the kind of faith that exists between two souls who no longer need words. “You’re asking me will my love grow, I don’t know, I don’t know…” he sings, and in that humility lies its genius. Unlike McCartney’s confident declarations of love, or Lennon’s urgent confessions, Harrison’s song breathes uncertainty — not fear, but acceptance that love’s beauty lies in its unpredictability.
Musically, “Something” is elegant and understated. Harrison’s melody glides effortlessly between verses, and George Martin’s orchestration — soft strings that never overpower — gives the song a near-spiritual glow. McCartney’s bass line dances beneath it, lyrical and expressive, mirroring the movement of the heart. Ringo Starr’s drumming is subtle yet soulful, guiding the rhythm with the grace of someone who understands when to hold back. Then comes the guitar solo — one of the most exquisite in all of rock music. Every note is a heartbeat, each phrase a conversation between longing and peace. It’s not flashy; it’s felt.
When “Something” was released as a double A-side single with “Come Together,” it became a global hit — The Beatles’ first single written by Harrison to reach No. 1 in the U.S. For the first time, George’s songwriting stood shoulder to shoulder with Lennon and McCartney’s — and for many, it even outshone them. Sinatra, Elvis Presley, and countless others would cover it, each finding new shades of emotion within its quiet perfection.
For George himself, the song marked a turning point — the flowering of his artistic voice. In later years, he would say that “Something” came “out of nowhere,” as if it had written itself. That sense of grace lingers in every note; it’s a song that doesn’t strive to be beautiful — it simply is.
When McCartney performs “Something” today in concert, he begins by playing it on a ukulele — a nod to George’s favorite instrument. As he sings, images of Harrison fill the screens behind him: smiling, gentle, eternal. The audience sings along softly, and for a few moments, time stands still. It’s no longer just a love song between two people — it’s a love song between brothers, between memories, between all who’ve ever loved and lost.
Because “Something” isn’t about romance alone. It’s about the soul’s quiet recognition of another — that wordless moment when you know, without knowing why, that love has found you.
And long after the final note fades, that feeling remains — fragile, infinite, and alive,
like the song itself.