THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, November 19, 1995 TAG: 9511170494
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E7 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY ANN G. SJOERDSMA
LENGTH: Medium: 90 lines
JOHN LENNON observed in the 1960s that the Beatles were ``more popular than Jesus Christ.''
John always thought cosmic. Big. Immortal.
It was an audacious comparison that caused even Beatles worshipers to reflect on their mania. But it was also vintage Lennon, arrogant, irreverent, sly, flip, refreshingly honest, and now, in retrospect, rather innocent. A schoolboyish comment.
Was it true? Probably. But it didn't matter then, and it certainly doesn't now. All that mattered was the energy. The Lennon charge.
Elvis Presley, John's early idol, would never have conceived of such a thought, much less spoken it. He abhorred being called ``The King.'' But Lennon, slain nearly 15 years ago, had no such compunction. He opened his mouth and out came that rebel voice. He even joked about being assassinated.
Lennon had many gifts, one of the most engaging being that of irony. He embraced the Fab Four myth that he and his softer, kinder collaborator Paul McCartney innocently created - with a little help from friends George and Ringo - while he also cheekily exposed it. He was the most wicked of the wicked quipsters. The leader of a gang of fresh, charming blokes.
But he was also the melancholy genius who demanded understanding, then made himself too hard to figure out.
And so it is sad, but perhaps appropriate, that on the day the Beatles are to be resurrected - er, reunited - on tape for millions of television viewers worldwide, the Lennon voice will emanate only from the past, from youth without perspective. He changed popular culture forever, then fell victim to one of ``the little piggies'' groveling in his god-like path.
What energy would a 55-year-old Lennon now generate? What would be his search today? We can only speculate.
In ``The Beatles Anthology,'' a six-hour ABC documentary airing tonight, Wednesday and Thursday, 50-year-old men calling themselves McCartney, Harrison and Starr will reflect on the synergistic formula that was the Beatles and their music. And then there will be Lennon, in film, TV and concert footage, forever youthful. Forever the rebel, long after the rock revolution has ended.
Lennon's widow, Yoko Ono, who might have provided some insight, declined to be interviewed. His first wife, Cynthia, and elder son, Julian, were not consulted for this project.
Of course, we still possess Lennon's music, and we even receive new songs in the ``Anthology,'' but the void is huge. Without Lennon's surreal ``Strawberry Fields Forever'' - where ``nothing's to be hungabout'' - McCartney's sweet, utopian ``Penny Lane'' would not have been traveled. Opposing forces, the two writers, who met as teenagers, meshed and evolved.
When family man Paul is 64, someone will still need him, someone will still feed him. As for John, when we read the news that December day, ``oh boy.'' Oh, boy.
Ideas, concepts and musical interplays drove the Lennon-McCartney collaboration, especially after 1966, and no creation was more brilliant than ``Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.'' Since the '60s, the Beatles have had no songwriting rival: With most of today's sound-alike alternative bands, MTV images remain long after lyrics and melodies fade. Even the rappers, who appear revolutionary, like looking at themselves.
For the ``Anthology,'' McCartney and Harrison finished ``Free as a Bird,'' a melancholy song about family that Lennon started shortly before his death. John turned toward romanticism and sentimentality in his later work; after spending five years at home caring for his son Sean, now 20, he lost some of his edginess. ``Free as a Bird'' marks a rare video ``appearance.''
What would the rebel make of such packaging? Would he object to vocals from the grave?
I imagine John would have hassled with Paul about it, then yielded to the audacity and freshness of the concept. Besides, Yoko approved.
It is somewhat comforting to imagine John Lennon, alive, still responding to creative scenarios and to cultural changes beyond his immediate world; and to believe that Lennon, unlike former bad-boy Mick Jagger, would be forever a malcontent artist, bent on self-expression, not commercial profit.
Since Lennon's death, no rock star has been as much a prophet and poet as he was. Fellow Britisher Elton John started that way, then sold out to a flashy image. Today, he does credit-card commercials. Bruce Springsteen has the grit, but not the gray matter. Most from Lennon's own era have either self-destructed or faded away. Paul McCartney is a notable exception.
Perhaps the McCartney calm and harmony are necessary for survival, and Lennon would have receded even farther into the darkness of New York's Dakota Building, his last home and the scene of his 1980 murder. He had been hiding out for years, enjoying the anonymity that he believed New York afforded him.
But no matter. For tonight, at least, and for two more nights this week, the Lennon energy returns. It's still big. It's still cosmic. And, yes, Beatlemaniacs, it's immortal. MEMO: Ann G. Sjoerdsma is book editor for The Virginian-Pilot. by CNB