I can’t disagree with this woman more. Madalyn asked me when she was 5 how John died. I told her the truth. How could I not? Should I have ignored her question? Lied? Lying changes nothing. It happened and it was awful and there’s no fixing it, or sanitizing it, or tap-dancing around it. Maybe when she grows up she will think of how she felt when she found out what happened to John, and maybe she’ll want to do something about it so no other kids ever have to feel the way she did. Or the way Sean Lennon must have when he heard his daddy was dead.
I wonder how many times over the course of my lifetime I will fall in love with John Lennon.
It happens a lot.
I am the ultimate Beatles/Lennon fan. But sometimes real life overtakes me. I never entirely stop listening to the lads but they are, occasionally, pushed to the back burner. Once in a while it’s because I’m listening to something new that grabs my attention but, most often, I’ve pulled away from music, in general, while I deal with that bloody nuisance people call “reality”. The Beatles are still there, cropping up on my iPod, peering at me in some form in just about every room in my house, but the hippie-dippy spiritual connection-type stuff fades away. It isn’t lost – more like forgotten. I reach a saturation point, I think, where I have heard the songs so many times that I cease to really listen and they simply become noise. Well-loved noise….but noise, nonetheless.
But then, one day, a song of theirs will come on and, out of the blue, suddenly: I remember. I remember how and why all this started in the first place. I recognize, afresh, their genius. I notice subtle nuances I had begun to overlook. And I fall in love all over again.
Tonight was one of those nights. I’ve been in a phase where John has been removed from my immediate thoughts for quite some time. I went out to run an errand and queued up my iPod in the car. The first song up was “I Feel Fine” and as I heard John singing….it clicked. I have been feeling very blue the past week and, as a result, very tense. Listening to John’s voice I felt the tension draining away. I could wax philosophical about it but probably never do it justice. It’s oh, so much more than just “listening to music I enjoy.” His voice is the missing piece in my dysfunctional jigsaw puzzle of a soul. I hate that I forget that sometimes but I think I have to in order to truly appreciate what he/they mean to me when I come back to them. And I always come back to them.
In theory, I should be totally okay with this, in this specific instance…..but the truth is, it doesn’t sit quite right with me. Not to mention it will probably break my heart to hear it, if I ever do.
John Lennon makes t.v. ad 28 years after death
Awesome. You know I’ll be all over this.
BOCA RATON, Fla. — The state of Florida was the first to have John Lennon “Imagine” license plates, but now more states could be getting them.
Yoko Ono allowed Florida to use Lennon’s self-portrait and the word “Imagine” on a specialty plate, with the money raised from its sale going to the Florida Association of Food Banks.
More than 31,000 of the plates have been sold in Florida.
The company that helped create the plates, Foundation Consultants, is pushing to get the plate in Georgia, South Carolina, Alabama and Illinois first, then the 17 other states that allow specialty license plates. The plates would help generate funds for food banks in each state.
I am currently reading John Lennon: The Life by Phillip Norman. I have not had my ear to the ground re: this particular book so I am not sure what’s the buzz amongst Beatles experts on this author and the job he’s done. My own particular opinion is that I’m not sure I can trust him or his sources. I can’t quite put my finger on the exact reason but he gives off a rather biased vibe to me. It’s as though either A) he had preconceived notions about the people in John’s life, and set out to find “facts” that substantiated those notions, or, B) he formed an opinion quickly based on very little once he actually started researching the book. I am picking up that he’s injected a lot of his own opinions into the story but is stating them as fact. And the majority of his sources are not exactly A-list, either, or didn’t spend enough time with John for me to fully trust their perception of him.
The author often neglects to cite any source at all for his information, leaving me to wonder exactly where he’s getting it and how reliable it is. I have to wonder, for example, about the few women he cites in the book who had illicit relationships with John. I have little respect for, and even less trust in, women who kiss and tell in regards to the Beatles. Think about it — how many hundreds of women have stories about encounters with the Beatles? But how many do you actually hear talking about it? Most, it seems, are content to treasure their memories in private. So I do wonder about the legitimacy of the very few who have let details slip. In fact, the author seems especially fond of the more sordid or scandalous details, most of which are gleefully relayed free of cumbersome details such as source citation. It makes me wonder about his motivation, certainly.
Not only that but he has gotten several facts just plain wrong; facts that should’ve been easy to check for accuracy, or even things he would’ve already known before beginning were he even a moderately ardent fan. For example, he continually refers to “Norm” in A Hard Day’s Night as the Beatles’ “roadie.” “Norm” is absolutely NOT their roadie; he is their manager, based (in position, not personality) on Brian Epstein! That is a very elementary fact and yet he misses it entirely, leading me to wonder if he has even seen the movie at all.
Lastly he has a very irritating fascination with a series of British books featuring a character called William. According to the author, John read these books avidly as a child, and, for some reason, Phillip Norman is obsessed with drawing parallels between John and this William character even though the connection is tenuous, at best. I am only halfway through the book but if I have to read the phrase “Richmal Crompton’s William” one more time I may throw my Kindle out the window.
So, bottom line: I’m taking this one with a big ol’ grain of salt. There have been some interesting tidbits that I feel are substantiated enough as to be generally believable. And I’ve been interested to read quotes from some of the players from whom I haven’t heard much. But as for whether I buy it all as gospel? Heck no. It’s certainly not a threat to become the new definitive biography of John, that’s certain.
Normally at Christmastime I get excited to hear “Happy Xmas (War is Over)” every time it comes on. For some reason, though, this year, it only makes me sad every time I hear it. I wonder why? Instead of touching me and making me think all it’s doing is reminding me that John isn’t here.
Yes, I do know what day it is. And I’m trying not to think about it too much. I have not had a great week, as it is, and if I let the dam break I’m afraid I may never pull it together again.
I miss you, John.