Tag Archive: John Lennon


Eros

Barenaked Ladies

If you’re my age (which is 31 – I can no longer be trusted), you probably remember the Barenaked Ladies. They didn’t fit any profile of rock stars, and you weren’t really sure if they were a gimmick band, a serious band, or somewhere in between. They had a gargantuan smash hit with “One Week” in 1998, which I bopped along to the first 100 times I heard it, and was completely sick of the 101st (which was in the same week as the 1st). Seriously, this song was everywhere. Besides being on my CD player (I’m one of the 4 million who bought Stunt), it was all over the radio, in movies and commercials, and blaring in the convertible next to me and my sister at a stop light. We were blaring it too, by the way…

Despite no one having heard of them one week before “One Week” came out, they had actually been around for 6 years, debuting in their native Canada in 1992 with Gordon. It had only three standout tracks: “Brian Wilson,” “If I Had $1,000,000,” and “Be My Yoko Ono.” The third is about a guy who wants his girlfriend to follow him around everywhere he goes, and would even break up his band and give up rock and roll stardom just to be with her. The lyrics include a pun on Ono (”oh no!”) and Ed Robertson doing an amusingly accurate imitation of Yoko’s trill voice effect.

To delusional Beatles fanatics who just can’t admit the truth or let things go, Yoko Ono is responsible for breaking up the Beatles. She’s a demonic witch who cast a spell on John Lennon, making him quit the band, keeping his spirit and his penis in a box for her own purposes and crushing his soul, meanwhile crushing everyone else’s souls by depriving them of the greatest rock and roll band that ever lived. Yadda yadda yadda…

Here’s the juice. John found something with Yoko that was bigger than the Beatles: eros. That’s one of the Greek words for love – the passionate, sexual and romantic love humans feel for other humans. I don’t just mean a roll in the hay, to use a rather innocent term. While sex is definitely involved, that’s only part of it. What John and Yoko had, and what literally billions of other couples have, is a deep, abiding and eternal connection that surpasses words. That connection is physical, emotional and spiritual all at the same time, and it is the most important and momentous thing a person can have with another person. Eros, despite what those Yoko-hating fanatics will tell you, is bigger than the Beatles.

“Oh My Love” captures a large part of the essence of eros. It’s a very simple and sweet song, disarming in the way it floats down slowly on the listener. The song is pretty short, so it’s easy to miss its soft and uncomplicated loveliness. John says his “eyes can see” and his “mind can feel.” It talks about trees and sky and clouds and wind (Yoko has been trying forever as an artist to film the wind), and how John never really experienced any of them before he met Yoko. The simplicity of the beauty here takes my breath away.

Eros, when misused, can turn to zilia, or “jealousy” to us American folk. John experienced that, too, and talks about it in “Jealous Guy.” Though it’s probably addressed specifically to Yoko, it’s really an apology from anyone who’s hurt anyone else in the past. This is probably John’s most naked and honest song, more so than anything on Plastic Ono Band. The first verse lays completely bare in the simplest of terms the progression that ends with John’s destructive behavior. John was always given to jealousy, and it sometimes manifested in the most violent ways. But when he met Yoko, something changed in him; not just his behavior, but his mindset, which gives rise to behavior.

But the ultimate statement of love between the two comes in the form of the song “Oh Yoko!” The arrangement is stupidly simple. The song has five verses, yet only one word is changed from verse to verse, and the chorus is merely one phrase repeated. But by God, if this isn’t one of the prettiest, most touching and gosh-darned lovely songs in the entire world. John reveals here that he just a huge, lovesick puppy dog. If this doesn’t melt your heart into a gooey and flower-smelling puddle, you may as well move to Tibet and become a monk.

days after John’s death, Rolling Stone ran this cover without comment

In all honesty, John’s had a lot of bumps in the road. His volatile personality with the press, his statements about Jesus, his egocentric habits, and his lack of respect for the Queen of England are unfortunate, but those things all fade. The things that last are his enduring spirit of harmony, his dogged quest for mutuality and peace, and of course his eros.

Next: What’s the most epic record of all time?

Primal Scream

The Beatles died their first death in September of 1969 when John Lennon finally quit the band, but nobody knew it outside their tight circle. They were still on the airwaves with new music, since their final album Abbey Road was released that same month. John, at the behest of the other Beatles, had agreed to keep it a secret and not announce his departure publicly. In the meantime, John released “Give Peace a Chance” and “Cold Turkey” under the moniker Plastic Ono Band.

As late as April of 1970, the world was laboring under the delusion that the Beatles were still together, safe in the comfort that all was as it should be, despite the lack of a single release in 6 months. John had kept silent like he promised, but then Paul announced his own departure from the band, simultaneously releasing his first solo album, simply titled McCartney.

Paul beat John to the punch with the announcement of the breakup, put the attention solely on himself, and sold lots of records, the songwriting profits from which would go directly to Paul instead of the Lennon/McCartney team. With all three things, Paul left John royally screwed over. As you might have guessed, John was just a wee bit upset.

This latest act of selfishness on McCartney’s part was just the final straw in a long string of issues and complications John had endured throughout his life. They included the death of his mother, trouble at school, the death of Stuart Sutcliffe, his difficult relationship to his first wife Cynthia – and his physical abuse of her – and the baggage from the birth of his son Julian. That’s a lot of riders on the camel of John’s emotions. So what did he do? He screamed a lot.

Theoretically, primal scream therapy ought to work like a charm. You have a bad experience, you scream, you get it all out, and then it doesn’t bother you anymore. Arthur Janov basically says that we accumulate and hold on to traumatic experiences throughout childhood, and they manifest themselves repeatedly until they are finally let go of through some sort of release. That’s where the screaming comes in.

Despite John Lennon’s ringing endorsement (as well as that of a few other celebrities) that caused its popularity to spike in the early 70s, it fizzled soon afterwards due to the lack of definitive outcomes to prove its effectiveness. Real psychotherapists never put much stock in it, and it now exists as the quintessential psycho-fad.

John Lennon’s first proper solo album came directly out of his primal scream therapy. It was officially called John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band, and it was the very first time the world was looking at John and seeing all his baggage lying nakedly out there for all to see. It’s a complete mess, formless and unregulated, unified only by John’s unhindered exploration of his entire psyche. Imagine has form and appeal that Plastic Ono Band doesn’t, and also has the beauty, grace and focus John found through his experience with primal scream. POB was John in the middle of his scream, and Imagine was where he took a deep breath and said, “let’s see about moving forward.”

However, John was not above personal attacks. There’s just one on Imagine, but it’s a doozy. “How Do You Sleep?” sees John simply letting his vitriol fly, all directed at Paul McCartney. John’s pretty nasty here; he calls Paul “a pretty face,” says he’ll last “a year or two” on his own, and is still holding on to bitterness over the Beatles’ most commercially successful song being the Paul-penned banal toss-off love song “Yesterday.” He insults his prowess as a songwriter, something only a consummate song-spinner like John can feel comfortable doing. The only thing left is calling Paul bad in bed.

The other Beatles must have thought Paul had been a real douche-bag, too. George lent his talents on the slide guitar to “How Do You Sleep?” and guested on 4 other tracks. Ringo was hanging around the studio, but didn’t play. Paul was nowhere to be seen.

Next: John and Yoko – stupidly, sickeningly, beautifully in love.

Discernment

John Lennon had a way of seeing into the truth of things. All the masks people use to hide their true selves were just smoke screens to John. Not only did he not really have any of his own, but he could see past other peoples’ and get a glimpse of who they really were. It’s one of the reasons I admire him so much, for I share that quality. I see what a person projects sub-consciously as well as what they want me to see. Sometimes I’m pretty myopic about certain things, and I often have no idea what to do with my knowledge, but I can usually look at a situation and tell what’s really going on.

The technical term for that is “discernment.” John’s own discernment is no clearer than on the track “Crippled Inside.” Humans have all sorts of masks that they hide behind, and to someone like John (and me), they’re frustrating because they’re so pointless. It’s like an elephant holding up a little twig and saying “You can’t see me!” On “Crippled Inside,” John cuts right to the quick and leaves you with nowhere to hide. Its bouncy and music-hall melody make it easier to swallow, but it’s always gone down pretty easily for me; just like John, I don’t have any masks, either.

John’s frustration with the facetiousness and contrivance of scared little men comes from a simmer to a boil in “Gimme Some Truth.” The sentiment in this song is yet again something I completely understand. Seeing the truth of a matter makes it even more frustrating when people purposely try to conceal it. Politicians are the easiest to blame, and John has some pretty unkind words to say about them. When a politician says something, I know that what they don’t say is even more important than what they do. There’s often a hidden agenda behind their smooth words and breezy attitude, and a si9ngle statement probably doesn’t mean exactly what it says.

Politicians have the gift of spinning something until it revolves around what they want it to revolve around, but it usually doesn’t work on me. I know there’s some hidden side that they’re not discussing nearly every time they open their mouths. The direction they want it to go is usually along the lines of what their constituents and their political party wants to hear. Republicans and Democrats have packages of things they say, and you can almost predict what they’re going to say as if from a script. It just takes a little discernment to unravel their manipulation.

Taking a different than both “Crippled Inside” and “Gimme Some Truth,” the smoky, bluesy hypnosis of “I Don’t Want to Be a Soldier, Mama, I Don’t Want to Die” uses heart and soul instead of the blunt approach of the other two. Instead of talking plainly about lies and deceptions, John reveals on “Soldier” his existential longings, his desire to find his place and finally be comfortable in his own skin. He lists all the things he doesn’t want to be, but what does he want to be?

John and I may share a discerning nature, but John had a big advantage I don’t have, and that’s boldness. My interest in harmony and not starting fights is quite often bigger than my desire for complete honesty. John, on the other hand, saw harmony as something that had to be fought for. It wouldn’t just generate on its own, so we need to work to create it, and then work some more to maintain it. This is great wisdom, and all too often people let their own needs and desires trump the principles of peace, love and coexistence.

“all we are saying is give Jesus a chance!”

What’s ironic is that in fighting for peace and harmony, John Lennon was one of the most controversial figures of his day, generating a lot of discord. Isn’t that term strange? “Fighting for peace.” All in all, John Lennon may have been in the papers as out in front for the struggle for peace, but he didn’t actually create any harmony until his tragic and senseless death. While it’s not true that real artists aren’t appreciated in their own time, it is true that words aren’t usually enough to change people’s hearts. Sometimes things need to get a lot worse before they can get better, and it often takes something as horrible as a murder to put things on a different and more positive path. Just look at Jesus.

Yes, I really did just draw a parallel between John Lennon and Jesus Christ. Deal with it.

Next: it wouldn’t be a John Lennon album without a personal attack or two.

This is a simple but beautiful tribute by Coloradream to John Lennon and his music, life, love and legacy. All you need is love.

Pictures of Rusty

There’s a rather famous photo of John Lennon taken after he moved to Manhattan. It’s a torso-up shot of him with crossed arms, standing on a rooftop, wearing sunglasses and a sleeveless white t-shirt that simply says “New York City.” It’s become an icon of not just John but also the city he adopted. Bohemians, musicians, buskers and freedom writers all over the city have it hanging on their walls, courtesy of the street vendors at just about every corner selling NYC memorabilia of every stripe, classy to chintzy.

Seemingly off-topic for just one second: there’s a guy at my church named Rusty, and he is the epitome of cool. First off, his name’s Rusty; how cool is that? Furthermore, for about 15 years, he managed a shop that sold musical instruments, mainly electric guitars. The pièce de résistance: he looks exactly like John Lennon. Put some mirror shades on him and you’re done. Like I said, new levels of cool.

One Saturday my wife and I were walking home from the Central Park Zoo, like we had many times before. It was springtime in the city, and droves of people were out and about. In New York City, where there are droves of people there are hawkers of various goods. Around Central Park, a particularly popular item to sell is a photo print of a famous New York site or person, including that one of John Lennon in the t-shirt. We passed one such vendor on 5th Ave. when Ruthanne got a quizzical look on her face.

“That guy’s selling a picture of Rusty.”

Befuddled, I turned to look at what she was pointing to. When I did, I gave a disappointed sigh. “No, that’s a picture of John Lennon.”

Blank stare from my wife. “Who?”

“He was a Beatle. He’s very famous.”

“Oh, okay, I’ve heard of the Beatles.” I had a sneaking suspicion that was only because we got Rock Band: The Beatles for the Wii the previous Christmas, but I said nothing. “Wow, John Lennon looks just like Rusty.”

I groaned, utterly defeated by my wife’s complete lack of knowledge about pop culture. “No! Rusty looks just like John Lennon!”

Considering my musical pop culture hyper-awareness. it may seem strange that I married a woman who hears the name George Clinton and thinks, “wait, isn’t it Bill Clinton?” Scratch that – it is strange. What connects us and makes us love each other is bigger than that, though. I can’t put it into words, so I won’t dishonor it by trying.

Let’s just say Ruthanne pays no attention to what’s cool, hip or trendy, and thus has no idea what used to be cool, hip or trendy. She knows what she likes, though, and she’s very nonchalantly impassive about what she likes; no one can convince her to not like it. We spend so much time trying to be cool, and the essence of cool is originality and not caring what other people think. If that’s true, than Ruthanne is probably the coolest person to of ever lived. Cooler than Rusty, and yes, even cooler than John Lennon.

Strawberry Fields

The Washington Arch at WSP

For those 23 months I lived in New York City, I often found myself walking, enjoying the various parts and seeable sights that Manhattan had to offer. I had several favorite places to go. Washington Square Park was an obvious and easy destination; just a block and a half from our apartment, I could just take little stroll and be there instantly.

During the summers, there were two street performers there who were there at least three afternoons a week. They were called Tic and Tac; identical twin brothers from Harlem, the only way you could tell them apart was one of them always wore an American flag bandanna on his head. They often finished each other’s sentences, though I’m pretty sure that was just a script. They did a mostly acrobatic show with lots of audience participation, and witty repartee was a huge part of their act.

Rockefeller Center was another common destination. Besides loving the architecture and design of the outside and the spectacle of the shops, there was the TODAY Show. I had started watching Matt, Meredith, Ann and Al in the mornings on TV shortly after arriving in New York, and once I got my bearings in the city (and the willingness to get my carcass out of bed, dressed and up to 48th St.), I watched the show live on the plaza many times. I even appeared on camera once; it was raining that day, so I got to be right behind where the hosts film the 8:30 segment. Meredith even recognized me when I came back, probably because I proudly wore my Red Sox hat in enemy territory (Meredith is a huge Sox fan). I’ll admit it – I fanboyed a little.

But without question, my favorite spot in Manhattan is a park bench in Central Park, on the east side at the 72nd St. entrance. There’s a circular flagstone mosaic on the ground flanked by several park benches; it simply says IMAGINE in the middle. This is Strawberry Fields, a memorial to John Lennon, right across the street from the Dakota, the posh apartment building where he lived for the last part of his life, and where he was murdered.

I went there on Lennon’s birthday, and on the anniversary of his death, but I would also just go there, just because. I found myself drawn there sometimes. Some magnetic force compelled me. It could have been Lennon’s spirit, but I think it was something bigger – music in general , maybe.

I have great respect for John Lennon, perhaps more than any other rock star. Even the term “rock star” conjures up images that Lennon seems somehow above. He lived his life as a warrior for peace and a living example of the power of love. His zeitgeist is one of enduring hope for millions of people.

That is not to say I agree with everything he said, or even match up with him in thought and deed. He is someone I greatly admire and respect, but not someone I seek to emulate. His life was filled with turmoil, and he spent most of it hurting the people closest to him. For a long time, he allowed the demons of his past to affect his present, thus determining his future. He broke away from his demons when he married Yoko Ono, but in that he proved himself even more un-emulation worthy by cheating on his wife.

Imagine – John Lennon – 9/9/1971

The biggest bone I have with his mindset is expressed in the title song of his 1971 solo album, Imagine. It’s the most popular and iconic song of his solo career, and it has become a totem and a symbol for anyone who seeks to create harmony out of discord. My own experience with it has been different, though, and my perception of “Imagine” comes a little out of left field.

I first heard the song when I was about 7 years old. I was not supposed to be watching MTV (my parents had disallowed it for me and my sister) when I saw the music video. Besides what I instantly thought was an excessively pretty piano riff at the beginning, the first lyric is “Imagine there’s no heaven.” As a 7 year-old Christian with Christian parents, I couldn’t imagine there not being a heaven. When he followed with “It’s easy if you try,” I did actually try. And you know what? It bummed me out. If there was no heaven, there was no God. Even my immature brain could make that connection. And to my young mind, an existence without God was no existence at all. That’s still true for me.

Now that I’m a grown-up (whatever that means…), I understand that the heart of John’s message in “Imagine” is tearing down all the walls that divide people and eliminating all the things people use as weapons against each other. In order to have peace, we must no longer think in a singular way, but instead have the best interests of all people at the forefront of our minds. Things like religion, country and possessions force us to focus on what is only our own and not care about anyone else. We can also use those things for purposes they weren’t intended for, to hurt one another.

So John’s approach is this: if those things cause us to be like that, then why don’t we just get rid of them? What would happen if we did get rid of them? Can you just imagine??? That, in and of itself, is a pretty positive message.

I’ve taken quite some time to come to this, but my own approach is different. John wants to get rid of those things, but I think they’re essential parts of who we are. In particular, religion is woven into our human fabric; it’s our way of understanding God. There can’t be God without there being religion, because he would have no way of talking to us, and that’s not the kind of God he is. We can’t get rid of religion anymore than we can get rid of oxygen.

So what, then? Are we doomed to a selfish, destructive cycle we can’t break out of, repeating the same mistakes over and over? Well, no. Evil things have been done by people in the name of religion, but that doesn’t make religion evil – it makes the people evil. But even people can’t be truly and completely evil. They still have a God spark somewhere inside them, and that gives hope to each one of us.

Sermon over.

The Story of the Beatles and Let It Be is one I can really get into. It’s drama that’s perfectly crafted, like a good play or movie. It has several strong characters, a man vs. man conflict, a very compelling MacGuffin (or series of MacGuffins, being the albums Get Back, Abbey Road, and Let It Be), and a kind of resolution. It even has a fake ending. Peter Jackson would be proud.

Like it or not, that story revolves around the tension between John and Paul. For a long time, that tension served them well – one acted as a foil for the other. Their pessimism/optimism thing worked in a paradigm quite nicely, most notably in the song “Getting Better.” But the problem was that as people change, paradigms change as well. At a certain point, that tension between them turned from a simple paradigm to an actual conflict. They never wrote songs together anymore, and that element of give-and-take was gone from both their songwriting and their personal relationship.

Quite poignantly, we have a chronicle of the disintegration of the John and Paul bond (and thus the disintegration of the Beatles) in Let It Be. Abbey Road was their swan song, but Let It Be revealed why that swan song had to come about in the first place.

It starts off with audio footage from the rooftop concert; John saying some nonsense to introduce a song (“Two of Us” on the record, but something else in the actual concert). You can try to figure out who “Charles Hawtrey” is, how this is “phase one,” or what it means for “Doris [to] get[s] her oats.” Honestly, I don’t think it’s worth it. In the end, that doesn’t get you any more results that just smiling and saying, “oh, John, you so crazy…”

“Two of Us,” was written by Paul McCartney, supposedly about his near-future wife Linda. Beatles fans the world over interpret it as being about John and Paul, though. That’s helped along by the fact that, except for one line in the bridge, the whole thing is a duet between John and Paul. What seals the deal for me is the line, “You and I have memories longer than the road that stretches out ahead.” It’s a rather melancholy testament of a friendship that has a lot of mileage on it. It’s been stretched and warped, smashed and battered, but despite everything, it’s still holding on.

Next up is a beautiful and tender moment from John, a simple guitar piece with little adornment called “Across the Universe.” As with most pieces of great art, John acknowledges that he can’t lay complete claim to its ownership. Here’s what he said on the matter.

Cynthia Lennon, John’s first wife

“I was lying next to my first wife in bed and I was thinking. It started off as a negative song and she must have been going on and on about something. She’d gone to sleep and I kept hearing, ‘Words are flowing out like endless streams…’ I was a bit irritated and I went downstairs and it turned into a sort of cosmic song rather than, ‘Why are you always mouthing off at me?’… The words are purely inspirational and were given to me – except for maybe one or two where I had to resolve a line or something like that. I don’t own it; it came through like that.”

The song’s lyrics are the most poetic John has ever written. They represent a moment where the entire cosmos clicked into perfect order for John, and for a second, he understood everything. Then, the moment was gone, and all he had was the memory, which he made into a song. Good thing he did, too, because now we as listeners can have the same experience of the entire universe making absolute sense when we listen to it.

The phrase “Jai guru deva om” from the lyrics is a Sanskrit saying. It is most commonly paraphrased in English as “victory to God divine,” and the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi commonly invoked this phrase meaning “all glory to Guru Dev,” referring to his spiritual teacher. But I find the literal and dry translation to English to be the most beautiful: “glory to the shining remover of darkness.” This is a marvelous statement about the God I know as an illuminator, a gracious giver of knowledge and understanding.

I’ll also mention Fiona Apple’s marvelous cover version. It’s pretty different from the original; it employs some mechanized techno beats and electronic motifs. Fiona’s vocal delivery is slow and spacey, emphasizing the childlike wonder to be found in the lyrics; that combined with the trip-hop music create something new and exciting. I think John would like Fiona’s cover very much.

Also beautiful (if a little cloying) is “The Long and Winding Road.” Paul’s tendency to tip over into the sentimental is in play here, but it’s completely forgivable in this setting. After all, the Beatles were dead, and their fans all dressed in 7 shades of black. Where’s the harm in a little bittersweet nostalgia? The “long and winding road” the song speaks of most easily matches up to the road the Beatles’ took, the crazy journey they went on since John and Paul first got together with their guitars as teenagers. The song is important, if for no other reason, because it moved every mourning Beatles fan from the Depression stage of grief to the Acceptance stage. They go from thinking, “there’s no point in carrying on” to, “farewell, Beatles; you served us well.”

Producer Phil Spector, genius though he was, added unnecessary window-dressings to “The Long a Winding Road” and “Across the Universe.” Orchestral swells and dramatic embellishments work on some songs, but they only interfere with the beauty and grace inherent here. Pure and simple versions can be heard on Let It Be… Naked, Paul McCartney’s 2003 version of Let It Be that preserves the original spirit of the Get Back sessions. By subtracting what Spector added, they lend more grace and wonder to what was already great.

More on Let It Be on Friday!

The Beatles started out that rooftop concert with “Get Back,” followed immediately by another run-thru of the same song. It’s a driving and catchy ditty with great guitar moments. Like a lot of Beatles songs, the lyrical interpretation is pretty loose. I don’t think Paul wrote with specific persons or situations in mind, but things could have been going on subconsciously that came out in the lyrics. Fans talk out of their asses all the time saying “Jojo is really John Lennon” or “Loretta is really Yoko Ono” or “Paul was looking at Yoko every time he sang ‘get back to where you once belonged.’” While that’s a case of fans creating things that probably weren’t there, I do think there was probably something  churning under the surface, as is fitting the Paul pattern.

After two versions of “Get Back” comes “Don’t Let Me Down.” Even though it wasn’t included on Let It Be, it deserves a quick mention here. It’s yet another chronicle of John’s sexual preoccupation with Yoko, but less adolescent than “Happiness is a Warm Gun.”  It’s sweeter, too, and reveals that John’s a colossal romantic sap. While John and Yoko’s relationship wasn’t particularly healthy, they enjoyed an extremely intimate connection and had a passion that a lot of couples could learn from.

After that comes “I’ve Got a Feeling,” a rapturous, soul-filled number. Paul sings like a southern Baptist preacher filled with the Holy Spirit, jittering in a seizure-like spasm. George’s guitar matches him, his notes seeming to quiver with passion. John even contributes, interjecting his own lyrics over Paul’s chords right in the middle. As the song fades out, John and Paul are singing their own individual lyrics to make a pretty gorgeous soup. It reminds me of the “Hard Day’s Night” years, when their collaboration was a wondrous thing to behold. The lyrics are pretty unspecific, but I think “I’ve Got a Feeling” is one of the most spiritual songs the Beatles ever did. It taps into something wild and free, something unknowable.

Next comes a blast of glorious blues, noisy and reckless, filled with smiling abandon. “One After 909” is a song written by John and Paul when that wondrous collaboration was first beginning, when the Beatles were still the Quarrymen. It had been kicking around since then, and was even recorded back in the Please Please Me days, being scrapped shortly after. Finally, it saw the light of day on Let It Be. I don’t think the Beatles were really intending for it to be one of the new Get Back songs, but were enjoying playing live again and the spontaneity it yields.

“Dig a Pony” is next, a song with meaningless lyrics that, as John put it, “sound good together.” I remember one moment from a documentary that’s stuck with me. It’s from the film Imagine: John Lennon that came out in 1988, chronicling the making of John Lennon’s second solo album, Imagine. Like the album that gives it its name, the film is an incredibly honest glimpse into John’s inner workings, personality, and work habits.

The moment: John recorded the album secluded in a mansion off in the forest, and a Lennon fanatic made his way to that very house. He was dirty, unshaven, shabbily dressed, and a little crazy. John and Yoko met him in the driveway, and there they had a discussion/argument with him in which it really came to bear that John was not all the things his fans expected him to be. This was something John had struggled with ever since he became famous, his public persona being something that he couldn’t quite control. This fan quoted some lyrics from “Dig a Pony,” citing them as inspirational and life-changing. John shook his head in dismay and said, “It’s just words! Words that sound good together!” Clearly, the fan was incredibly disappointed in the man who, until a few seconds ago, had been his idol. The scene ends with John inviting him inside for a bite to eat.

Next comes a snippet of “God Save the Queen,” yet another example of the Beatles being energized and a little giddy at the anything-goes live setting they were in. Then just comes more versions of “I’ve Got a Feeling,” “Don’t Let Me Down” and “Get Back.” The police then promptly shut them down.

Thursday: “glory to the shining remover of darkness.”

In our exploration of The White Album, we come again to George. His side two offering, “Piggies,” is a baroque-esque tune (kitchen sink, much?). It features a riff played on a harpsichord, and the song has cutting and satirical lyrics. The term “piggies” refers to the rich, not to the police. “Pig” as a pejorative term for a policeman has been around since the 19th century, though it rose in popularity during the 60s and 70s among the anti-establishment movement. For the most part, though, it’s an American term. Here, much is made of the ridiculous and harmful behavior of the corporate-minded. It’s even a little violent, though the line “what they need’s a damn good whacking” was added by George’s mother. The song uses a mocking tone both lyrically and musically, even having John make pig snort sounds at points. Frankly, it’s hard to take seriously.

Speaking of hard to take seriously, the next song is “Rocky Raccoon.” It’s even sillier than ”Piggies” and has much less serious subject matter. Here’s another instance of Paul talking out his ass. It’s about a cowboy (honestly) named Rocky Raccoon, who’s named that simply because Paul thought it sounded like a cowboy name. Once again, a lot of the things I don’t like about Paul’s songwriting coalesce into one incredibly infectious tune. Like with so many other Paul songs, it just wore me down. It’s the Oreos all over again.

Another irritating/endearing quality of Paul’s songs is at work in “Why Don’t We Do It In the Road?” Going to India must have been a singularly huge experience for all four Beatles. They must have seen and experienced things they wouldn’t get in any other time or place. Such occasions are simply bursting with potential art for the right mind. John wrote many songs based on his time in India, and so did Paul. But while John wrote about a plea for a friend to rejoin the living and the destruction of nature, Paul wrote about monkeys screwing.

The lyrics of “In the Road” don’t actually take us by surprise considering its dunderheaded title and near-complete lack of lyrics that aren’t in the title. But as is commonly the case with Paul, it’s not about the song but the song-craft. The music and the vocals more than make up for the lack of other elements. I really don’t know why; it’s nothing more than a 12 bar blues repeated 3 times. Against all odds, it gets under my skin with alarming speed, and I can’t help but sing along at the top of my lungs (provided no one is listening, of course).

The sole Ringo moment comes between “Rocky” and “In the Road” with “Don’t Pass Me By.” It’s a pleasant surprise. Most other songs with Ringo on lead vocal are cute and harmless at best, groan-inducing at worst. But here, Ringo puts on a pretty good show. Even more impressive is that it’s the first completely Ringo-penned song the Beatles released. Maybe that was all he needed, to take the reins and have total control.

John with his mum Julia

“I Will” and “Julia” close out the first side, two tender love songs from Paul and John respectively. Paul writes a heart-warming yet exciting pop tune with “I Will” that features some great guitar work. “Julia” is the only Beatles song that John recorded completely on his own with no involvement from the other Beatles. It’s a tribute to his mother who died when John was 17. In a naked and unguarded moment, which was rare from John until Plastic Ono Band, I think he’s trying to explain his relationship with Yoko to the spirit of his mother. John was always very close to his mother, and I think her death changed him into the person we’re all familiar with. Had she not died at that crucial time in his life, we would indeed have seen a very different John, the Beatles, and music history in general.

On Wednesday: can you imagine Paul as a heavy metal rocker?

At its most basic level, art is a narcissistic thing. Musicians and poets in particular make art about themselves. This is how it should be, really; saying something about yourself can often get people to ask themselves if they share that quality. But taken too far, it really stinks. Self-reference can invite the listener in, but when it’s direct and specific, it keeps the listener out. When you talk about yourself in specific terms like naming yourself or the people around you, or talk about things that apply to only you, the listener is unable to relate.

In short, that’s why “Glass Onion” always bothered me and made me roll my eyes. Before you draw and quarter me for speaking ill of St. John Lennon, let me unpack this a little more. The lyrics make reference to a cadre of previous Beatles songs, as well as actually mentioning Paul by name. John makes mention of songs like “Strawberry Fields Forever,” “I Am the Walrus” and “Fixing a Hole,” and that eliminates the possibility of further interpretation. I like interpretation. It means a piece of art has life beyond that injected by the artist.

John wrote this song as a response to fans who read too much into his songs. They had let their interpretations run away with them and started finding things that weren’t there. So instead of telling them directly to shut up and just enjoy the music, John wrote “Glass Onion” to confuse them. I don’t know how that helps matters in the slightest, but it is what it is.

Like “With a Little Help From My Friends,” I first heard “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” as the theme song to a TV show, this time Life Goes On. I didn’t even know it was a Beatles song because it had some faceless woman singing it. It also didn’t have that splendid tack-piano track that really makes the song hold together. The lyrics are sorta silly and very Paul, and threaten to undo it. If the music weren’t so darn infectious, they might.

“Wild Honey Pie,” a short but super-weird interlude, runs straight into another kind of goofy song with a goofy name, “The Continuing Story of Bungalow Bill.” When John was in Rishikesh, he met a well-to-do American kid named Rik Cooke and his better-to-do mother, Nancy Cooke de Herrera. Nancy was the publicist for the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi when the Beatles et al went to study under him. They ingratiated themselves with the rest of the Beatles, but John thought they were real pricks. One day they set out on a hunting trip, native guides and jungle hats and all, with elephant mounts to complete the cliché. A tiger attacked their elephants and Rik, in a lightning reflex moment, shot the tiger with his rifle. Though he immediately snapped a picture with his kill, he had mixed feelings about the incident.

John didn’t, though. Nancy, who retold the story of the incident to anybody who would listen, said it was “kill or be killed,” but John saw it more as “kill or lose our ride.” He was repulsed by the conflict between these rich American snobs finding spiritual enlightenment in the morning, and then thoughtlessly killing wild animals and trampling nature in the afternoon. His reaction was the song “Bungalow Bill.” It’s bouncy and kind of silly, offsetting the disgust John felt when he was writing it. This was one of John’s great skills; couching a pretty serious subject in more harmless surroundings. It’s like crushing aspirin tablets and mixing the powder in chocolate pudding.

On Sunday: while Eric Clapton‘s guitar gently weeps, George Harrison gets lead by the nose.