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Nothing was working.
Songs don’t just form out of thin air, they require time and effort. It was an art and there didn’t seem to be much artistry in rushing things. Now there were less than two weeks to get 14 songs done…and properly rehearsed to perform live in front of an audience who knows where — Michael was still banging on about a full day desert concert in Libya. But that was just impractical. And they had big enough problems back home than to try and ship themselves, their equipment, and hundreds of fans to a venue that would require a three-hour ferry on top of the 10 hours of airfare.
And this was all assuming they even had a finished record by the fast-approaching January deadline. The way the sessions were going that seemed unlikely. Twickenham was less of a recording studio than it was a storage unit for Joe McGrath’s film sets. George didn’t see why they couldn’t just be at EMI studios, it had worked for their previous records and it felt more like home to him than the windowless warehouse they were currently in.
That sense of comfortable familiarity was also lacking amongst the band themselves. They were all bickering more and more, not in the brotherly way they used to. He used to be in a band with his mates but now it felt like he was a lowly employee trying to please his demanding boss — two demanding bosses actually. But he couldn’t play the guitar like John or Paul because he wasn’t them. But he knew he was a great player, or at least he used to be good enough, but he didn’t feel like that so much anymore. And he couldn’t sit around waiting for the two to compose a song, as they seemed to expect. He wanted to be playing, writing, working out his own songs, or helping out Richie with his. He was quite fond of Octopus Garden; it was silly and fun, a reprieve from the stress and tension of the great Lennon-McCartney partnership. But those two didn’t seem interested, he and Ringo were just the backing band not songwriters.
And it didn’t help that their every move in the studio was being recorded. Tuning their instruments, learning the right chords, and their “intimate conversations” (Michael’s words) were being recorded. George personally couldn't fathom that anyone would be interested in such minute details of the songwriting process. It made him even more uneasy about the whole thing. He already had a hard time giving Paul suggestions or trying to talk over John and now he felt like he really couldn’t voice his opinions. Even if the crew hadn’t been there, Yoko would be there. He didn’t have anything against her personally and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t interested in her art. But she was an added presence when previously it was just them four in the studio. And she was also a reminder that John was trying to edge out of the band. George knew it was childish jealousy but there was too much constant action for him to feel like he had time to cool down and really process anything.
That’s what he needed: some time away to think about the songs, the band itself, what he wanted to accomplish during these sessions. A break, however permanent it may be, would be good for all of them. That’s what he decided during their lunch break. He wouldn’t make it a big deal, he was used to compartmentalizing and making himself smaller while the others got the glory. He just needed a break to work things out. He didn’t know what would come next but he knew they would see each other around. And so he went out, trying not to let his hurt show after John’s comment about getting Clapton to join the band.
But he felt awful. He was longing for those early years when they had fun together, when writing in the studio was exciting and not a chore. He just wanted them to get back to that — the synergy between them — but he didn’t know how to get them there. What he did know was where he was going, the perfect place to think this all over.