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**The Concert For Bangladesh - George Harrison & Friends**
★★★★☆

In the summer of 1971, as the world reeled from war, famine, and social upheaval, rock music discovered its conscience. While most musicians were content to sing about peace and love from their ivory towers, George Harrison rolled up his sleeves and did something about it. The Concert For Bangladesh stands as a towering monument to music's power to heal, help, and unite – even if the execution wasn't always flawless.

The genesis of this historic gathering reads like a parable of friendship and compassion. When sitarist Ravi Shankar approached Harrison about the humanitarian crisis unfolding in Bangladesh, the former Beatle didn't hesitate. Refugees were pouring across borders, children were starving, and the international community was largely turning a blind eye. Harrison's response was characteristically direct: organize the biggest benefit concert in rock history, get his famous mates involved, and raise some serious cash.

What followed on August 1st, 1971, at Madison Square Garden were two shows that would establish the template for every charity concert that followed – from Live Aid to Farm Aid and beyond. The triple-LP document of that day captures both the noble intentions and the inevitable rough edges of such an ambitious undertaking.

Musically, the album is a fascinating snapshot of early seventies rock aristocracy letting their hair down for a good cause. Harrison's own contributions form the emotional core of the record, with "Wah-Wah" and "My Sweet Lord" delivered with a spiritual intensity that reminds you why he was always the most mystical Beatle. His guitar work throughout is sublime – tasteful, melodic, and shot through with the Indian influences that had become his signature.

But let's be honest – everyone was really waiting for Bob Dylan. His appearance marked his first major concert performance in years, and while his voice sounds like it's been marinated in whiskey and cigarettes, there's an undeniable power to his stripped-down versions of "A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall" and "Blowin' in the Wind." The latter, in particular, takes on added poignancy given the circumstances, Dylan's weathered vocals lending gravitas to lyrics that had already become anthems of social consciousness.

The evening's most transcendent moment comes courtesy of Ravi Shankar himself, whose sitar performance opens the album with a mesmerizing blend of classical Indian ragas and contemporary urgency. It's a bold statement – placing Eastern music at the forefront of a Western rock concert – and it works brilliantly, setting a tone of cultural unity that permeates the entire project.

Leon Russell emerges as an unlikely hero throughout, his piano work providing a rootsy backbone to many of the performances. His boogie-woogie stylings on "Jumpin' Jack Flash" might seem incongruous with the evening's serious purpose, but they inject a much-needed shot of pure rock and roll energy into proceedings.

The album isn't without its flaws. Some performances feel tentative, the sound quality varies wildly between songs, and there's an occasional sense that some participants are going through the motions. Billy Preston's contributions, while technically proficient, lack the spark of his best work, and several tracks suffer from the inevitable audio compromises that come with recording a live concert in 1971.

Yet these imperfections somehow add to the album's charm. This isn't a slick, over-produced benefit single recorded in comfortable studio conditions – it's a raw, honest document of artists stepping outside their comfort zones for something bigger than themselves. The occasional flat note or missed cue only emphasizes the human element at the heart of the enterprise.

The Concert For Bangladesh raised over $250,000 on the night and millions more through album sales, providing crucial aid to refugees and establishing the blueprint for activist rock that continues today. More importantly, it proved that rock music could be a force for genuine social change rather than just rebellious posturing.

Nearly five decades later, the album endures as both a historical artifact and a surprisingly cohesive musical statement. It's a reminder of a time when rock stars felt a responsibility to use their platforms for more than just self-promotion, and when audiences expected their heroes to stand for something beyond the next hit single. In our current age of carefully managed celebrity activism, there's something refreshingly direct about Harrison's approach: see a problem, gather your friends, plug in your guitars, and get to work.