Luciano Pavarot­ti and James Brown are remem­bered as larg­er-than-life per­form­ers with an almost myth­i­cal-seem­ing pres­ence and dis­tinc­tive­ness. But it was­n’t so very long ago that both of them were active — and even active onstage togeth­er. In the video above, the King of the High Cs and the God­fa­ther of Soul get togeth­er on “It’s a Man’s World” in 2002. It hap­pened at the penul­ti­mate Pavarot­ti & Friends con­cert, one of a series of year­ly ben­e­fit shows that ran between 1992 and 2003, and also fea­tured the likes of Andrea Bocel­li, Grace Jones, Sting, and Lou Reed.

“It’s a remark­able per­for­mance on so many lev­els,” writes Tom Tei­cholz at Forbes.com. “James Brown is in top form, his voice strong and pure. He com­mands the stage, and he dom­i­nates — he is in every sense an equal to Pavarot­ti, who sings in Ital­ian with great sub­tle­ty, finesse, and emo­tion. The video is filled with moments of grace — such as when Brown, with a mag­is­te­r­i­al wave of his arm cedes the stage to Pavarot­ti to sing his solo, or when Brown says ‘my Bible says Noah made the Ark’ as if it was tru­ly HIS Bible.”

What’s more, this is hard­ly the James Brown only slight­ly exag­ger­at­ed by Eddie Mur­phy in those Sat­ur­day Night Live hot tub sketch­es a cou­ple of decades ear­li­er. “Brown’s per­for­mance is not about his staged the­atrics, not about his danc­ing, not even real­ly about Brown’s trade­mark grunts and growls,” Tei­cholz writes. “This is about singing and get­ting the song across,” a mis­sion cer­tain­ly not hin­dered by the kind of of orches­tral back­ing they have. “It’s a Man’s World” might seem like the kind of song you “could­n’t sing today,” at least if you take its title at face val­ue. But in any case, how many singers today would want to be sub­ject to com­par­i­son with this par­tic­u­lar ren­di­tion if they did so?

Relat­ed con­tent:

Pavarot­ti Sings with Lou Reed, Sting, James Brown and Oth­er Friends

Aretha Franklin Takes Over for an Ail­ing Luciano Pavarot­ti & Sings Puccini’s “Nes­sun Dor­ma” at the Gram­mys (1998)

Rare Video Cap­tures 29-Year-Old Luciano Pavarot­ti in One of His Ear­li­est Record­ed Per­for­mances (1964)

Two Leg­ends: Weird Al Yankovic “Inter­views” James Brown (1986)

The Best Com­mer­cial Ever? James Brown Sells Miso Soup (1992)

Is Opera Part of Pop Cul­ture? Pret­ty Much Pop #15 with Sean Spyres

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

George Har­ri­son loved the ukulele, and real­ly, what’s not to love? For its dain­ty size, the uke can make a pow­er­ful­ly cheer­ful sound, and it’s an instru­ment both begin­ners and expert play­ers can learn and eas­i­ly car­ry around. As Harrison’s old friend Joe Brown remarked, “You can pick up a ukulele and any­body can learn to play a cou­ple of tunes in a day or even a few hours. And if you want to get good at it, there’s no end to what you can do.” Brown, once a star in his own right, met Har­ri­son and the Bea­t­les in 1962 and remem­bers being impressed with the fel­low uke-lover Harrison’s range of musi­cal tastes: “He loved music, not just rock and roll…. He’d go crack­ers, he’d phone me up and say ‘I’ve got this great record!’ and it would be Hoagy Carmichael and all this Hawai­ian stuff he used to like. George was not a musi­cal snob.”

“Crack­ers” may be the per­fect word for Harrison’s uke-phil­ia; he used it him­self in the adorable note above from 1999. “Every­one I know who is into the ukulele is ‘crack­ers,’” writes George, “you can’t play it and not laugh!” Har­ri­son remained upbeat, even dur­ing his first can­cer scare in 1997, the knife attack at his home in 1999, and the can­cer relapse that even­tu­al­ly took his life in 2001. The ukulele seemed a sweet­ly gen­uine expres­sion of his hope­ful atti­tude. And after Harrison’s death, it seemed to his friends the per­fect way to memo­ri­al­ize him. Joe Brown closed the Har­ri­son trib­ute con­cert at Roy­al Albert Hall with a uke ver­sion of “I’ll See You In My Dreams,” and Paul McCart­ney remem­bered his friend in 2009 by strum­ming “Some­thing” on a ukulele at New York’s Citi Field.

In his remarks, McCart­ney fond­ly rem­i­nisced: “When­ev­er you went round George’s house, after din­ner the ukule­les would come out and you’d inevitably find your­self singing all these old num­bers.” Just above, see Har­ri­son and an old-time acoustic jazz ensem­ble (includ­ing Jools Hol­land on piano) play one of those “old numbers”—“Between The Dev­il and Deep Blue Sea”—in 1988. The song even­tu­al­ly wound up on his last album, the posthu­mous­ly released Brain­washed. Just below, see Har­ri­son, McCart­ney, and Ringo Starr sing a casu­al­ly har­mo­nious ren­di­tion of the 1927 tune “Ain’t She Sweet” while loung­ing pic­nic-style in a park.

In Hawaii, where Har­ri­son owned a 150-acre retreat, and where he was known as Keo­ki, it’s said he bought ukule­les in batch­es and gave them away. The sto­ry may be leg­end, but it cer­tain­ly sounds in char­ac­ter. He was a gen­er­ous soul to the end. Just below, see Har­ri­son strum­ming and whistling away in a home video made short­ly before his death. You can hear the hoarse­ness in his voice from his throat can­cer, but you won’t hear much sad­ness there, I think.

And for good mea­sure:

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Musi­cians Re-Imag­ine the Com­plete Song­book of the Bea­t­les on the Ukulele

Watch George Harrison’s Final Inter­view and Per­for­mance (1997)

George Harrison’s Mys­ti­cal, Fish­eye Self-Por­traits Tak­en in India (1966)

The Ukulele Orches­tra of Great Britain Per­forms The Clash’s “Should I Stay Or Should I Go”

Seri­ous­ly Awe­some Ukulele Cov­ers of “Sul­tans of Swing,” “Sweet Child O’ Mine,” “Thun­der­struck,” and “Smells Like Teen Spir­it”

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

In 1958, Mer­le Hag­gard saw John­ny Cash play in San Quentin, and went on to sing hon­est coun­try songs for coun­try out­laws. In 1982, future Rage Against the Machine gui­tarist Tom Morel­lo saw Joe Strum­mer play with The Clash in Chica­go and went on to play angry right­eous rock for angry punks. Both Cash and Strum­mer, who died less than a year apart, were musi­cal prophets in their way, inspir­ing oth­ers to pick up their mes­sage and car­ry it to the com­mon fan. The same, of course, could be said of Bob Mar­ley. And though those three would like­ly have dif­fer­ent def­i­n­i­tions of the word “redemp­tion,” they shared a belief in music as a force for good.

Just above, hear Cash and Strum­mer sing Marley’s “Redemp­tion Song,” with Morel­lo on gui­tar. Record­ed dur­ing the ses­sions for Cash’s last album, the Rick Rubin-pro­duced Amer­i­can IV: The Man Comes Around, the duet hap­pened more or less by chance.

Says Rubin, “Joe was com­ing every day, because he loved John­ny Cash, and he just hap­pened to be in L.A. on vaca­tion. And he actu­al­ly extend­ed his trip a week longer just to come every day and be around John­ny.” Rubin also record­ed a solo take of Strum­mer singing “Redemp­tion Song” (below), which appeared on Strum­mer’s final album, the posthu­mous­ly released Street­core.

“Orig­i­nal­ly, the song was sup­posed to be a duet, and we record­ed it as a duet,” Rubin con­tin­ues, “But, just in case, both John­ny and Joe sang the whole song sev­er­al times” on their own. The duet ver­sion appears on the third disc, titled Redemp­tion Songs, of the released Cash box set Unearthed, which fea­tures out­takes and alter­nates from the Rubin-pro­duced Amer­i­can Record­ings series of Cash cov­er songs. Seems fit­ting some­how that one of the last songs both Strum­mer and Cash would record would be this one, and that they would sing it togeth­er. As one site suc­cinct­ly put it, the record­ing rep­re­sents “the first true punk rock star and the last. Togeth­er for­ev­er.”

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Relat­ed Con­tent:

Bob Marley’s Redemp­tion Song Final­ly Gets an Offi­cial Video: Watch the Ani­mat­ed Video Made Up of 2747 Draw­ings

Bob Marley’s “Redemp­tion Song” Played by Musi­cians Around the World

Did Joe Strum­mer, Front­man of The Clash, Run the Paris and Lon­don Marathons?

“Joe Strummer’s Lon­don Call­ing”: All 8 Episodes of Strummer’s UK Radio Show Free Online

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

The most streamed Bea­t­les song isn’t “She Loves You,” “Hey Jude,” or “All You Need Is Love.” It isn’t even “Yes­ter­day.” If you were about to guess “Some­thing,” you’re on the right track, at least as far as the source album and song­writer. In fact, it’s George Har­rison’s oth­er sig­na­ture song “Here Comes the Sun,” which has racked up 1,433,830,334 Spo­ti­fy streams as of this writ­ing, near­ly a mil­lion more than “In My Life” right below it. The You Can’t Unhear This video above breaks down what makes “Here Comes the Sun” stand out even amid the for­mi­da­ble Bea­t­les cat­a­log, from its con­cep­tion through its record­ing process.

Though it comes off as a sim­ple song — whose invit­ing qual­i­ty may well have some­thing to do with its out­sized pop­u­lar­i­ty — “Here Comes the Sun” turns out to be the result of a tech­ni­cal­ly com­plex and uncon­ven­tion­al process fair­ly char­ac­ter­is­tic of the late Bea­t­les. Start­ing with a melody craft­ed while play­ing an acoustic gui­tar in Eric Clap­ton’s gar­den (hav­ing recused him­self from yet anoth­er busi­ness meet­ing), Har­ri­son enriched it with such tech­niques as run­ning his gui­tar through a revolv­ing Leslie speak­er meant for an organ and hav­ing his hulk­ing Moog syn­the­siz­er trans­port­ed to Abbey Road so he could add a lay­er of elec­tron­ic sub­lim­i­ty.

At this point in the life of the Bea­t­les, every­one involved could sure­ly feel that the band’s end was near. Regard­less, none of the Fab Four was quite work­ing in iso­la­tion, and indeed, the “Here Comes the Sun” ses­sions — which, of course, end­ed up on Abbey Road, the final album they record­ed — rep­re­sent some of their last work as a unit. It’s not sur­pris­ing that such a con­text would pro­duce, say, John Lennon’s grim­ly descend­ing “I Want You (She’s So Heavy),” which ends side one; what star­tles no mat­ter how many times you hear it is the gen­tle opti­mism with which Har­rison’s side two opens imme­di­ate­ly there­after, espe­cial­ly if you’re not turn­ing an LP over in between.

Even in iso­la­tion, “Here Comes the Sun” has made such a cul­tur­al impact that Carl Sagan lob­bied for its inclu­sion on the Voy­ager “Gold­en Records,” which were launched into out­er space with the intent to give oth­er forms of intel­li­gent life a glimpse of human civ­i­liza­tion. The Bea­t­les also liked the idea, but they did­n’t own the nec­es­sary rights; those belonged to the label EMI, who in the rec­ol­lec­tion of Sagan’s wid­ow Ann Druyan demand­ed a pro­hib­i­tive fee for the song’s use. Had it been includ­ed, per­haps it could’ve end­ed up the first inter­galac­tic hit song — one enjoyed in the orbit of anoth­er sun entire­ly.

Relat­ed con­tent:

The Bea­t­les Release the First Ever Video for “Here Comes the Sun”

Hear The Bea­t­les’ “Here Comes the Sun” With a Re-Dis­cov­ered George Har­ri­son Solo

Flash­mob Per­forms The Bea­t­les’ “Here Comes the Sun” in Madrid Unem­ploy­ment Office

How George Mar­tin Defined the Sound of the Bea­t­les: From String Quar­tets to Back­wards Gui­tar Solos

Watch George Harrison’s Final Inter­view and Per­for­mance (1997)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.