Today marks the 37th
anniversary of John Lennon's assassination, which is almost as long as he lived, which I find difficult to fathom.
For someone like me, who was born a few months after Lennon died, it’s almost hard to reckon with the fact he ever existed, as his icon-like status practically overwhelms the actual person; the image of John with long hair and granny glasses, or Beatlemania John, or moustachioed Sgt. Pepper John, or 1980 New York City John is as ingrained in the public’s consciousness as the likes of Abraham Lincoln, Charlie Chaplin, Bob Marley or - dare I say it - Adolf Hitler. John's infamous “We’re more popular than Jesus now” mid-60s comment has an unexpectedly canny after-taste, which his untimely death only served to reiterate; nearly wiping out his more unpleasant characteristics in favour of an elevated, whitewashed version.
It may be different if you’re older than me or you ever saw him in person, but it has always felt strange to have been so influenced by a man who - in my eyes - was dead from the very start; my mum saw The Beatles live twice (the first time right at the brink of their fame) but I bet it’s still hard to link the young guy who shook his moptop as they played on the dance floor in front of her with the man who became so intrinsically linked with the late-1960s peace movement.
I guess that's the effect an early death often has on an artist’s image and longevity: James Dean, Buddy Holly, Jimi Hendrix and Bob Marley all suffered a similar fate to the same result. This shouldn’t take away from the fact almost missed in Lennon’s story, in my mind at least; the man was murdered and shouldn’t have died when he did. It’s a sad ending to a life that was genuinely starting over like his final single suggests.
One of the last songs John wrote was Grow Old With Me, which was posthumously released; listening to it has always been bitter-sweet.
For someone like me, who was born a few months after Lennon died, it’s almost hard to reckon with the fact he ever existed, as his icon-like status practically overwhelms the actual person; the image of John with long hair and granny glasses, or Beatlemania John, or moustachioed Sgt. Pepper John, or 1980 New York City John is as ingrained in the public’s consciousness as the likes of Abraham Lincoln, Charlie Chaplin, Bob Marley or - dare I say it - Adolf Hitler. John's infamous “We’re more popular than Jesus now” mid-60s comment has an unexpectedly canny after-taste, which his untimely death only served to reiterate; nearly wiping out his more unpleasant characteristics in favour of an elevated, whitewashed version.
It may be different if you’re older than me or you ever saw him in person, but it has always felt strange to have been so influenced by a man who - in my eyes - was dead from the very start; my mum saw The Beatles live twice (the first time right at the brink of their fame) but I bet it’s still hard to link the young guy who shook his moptop as they played on the dance floor in front of her with the man who became so intrinsically linked with the late-1960s peace movement.
I guess that's the effect an early death often has on an artist’s image and longevity: James Dean, Buddy Holly, Jimi Hendrix and Bob Marley all suffered a similar fate to the same result. This shouldn’t take away from the fact almost missed in Lennon’s story, in my mind at least; the man was murdered and shouldn’t have died when he did. It’s a sad ending to a life that was genuinely starting over like his final single suggests.
One of the last songs John wrote was Grow Old With Me, which was posthumously released; listening to it has always been bitter-sweet.
Shine on, John.