(The Praeger Singer-Songwriter Collection) Ben Urish, Ken Bielen-The Words and Music of John Lennon-Praeger (2007) (7 page)

Lennon had earlier criticized the teacher from Rishikesh in his veiled attack

on the guru in the Beatle song “Sexy Sadie” from the White Album. Lennon

rejects all leaders who have
the
answer, opting instead to have “found out”

for himself.

In the final verse, Lennon deals with drugs and the false high that “dope

and cocaine” present. It is an empty place. He again brings up religion,

interestingly combining the religions of Christianity and Beatlemania as he

sings of “Jesus” and “Paul” in the same line, a typical example of Lennon’s

20 The Words and Music of John Lennon

punning wordplay, this time to make a serious point. Later, in the album

track “God,” he sings of how he believes in neither Jesus nor Beatles.

Finally, Lennon tells the listener what he has learned. You have to “feel

your own pain.” None of the answers he has addressed in the five verses

helped him come to terms with his malaise. He had to face what hurt him

inside without drugs or religion or fame or good feelings from giving his

wealth to good causes or registered charities as buffers, and finds himself

better for it.

Lennon’s vocals start with sneering and build to a snarl, partnered with a

spitting, sputtering guitar sounding like an electric power box shorting out.

The guitar solo is only a couple of quickly struck notes repeated a few times,

which is yet another example of Lennon’s minimalist musical expression. The

anger and pain combine until finally Lennon’s vocalizing is reduced to a shrill

bark, in an approximation of the earlier guitar solo. The track is a particularly

strong one in an album of exceptional material.

Lennon then sings of the sleight-of-hand imposed on the masses by the

upper class in a song more complex than most listeners consider. In “Working

Class Hero,” he details how the listener is hegemonically raised to strive for a

dream that will always be just out of reach. The “working class hero” is living

an illusion. He is “doped with religion” and is told there is “room at the top.”

Only the bloodthirsty who can learn to “smile as you kill,” those whose phi-

losophy is directly opposed to the peace and freedom from hate that Lennon

called for and sang about, will get to the mansion on the hillside.

Yet, the refrain declares that a “working class hero is something to be.” It

seems, though, that Lennon is being sarcastic in the statement. The working-

class heroes are merely “fucking peasants” who are manipulated and exploited

at every turn by the powers that be.

Using what appear to be his own experiences, Lennon sings of how the

masses are molded from the time they come out of the womb to be sheep

or followers in the employ of the wealthy. As in “I Found Out,” he speaks

out of pain. The pain was so great that he became numb to it. Lennon sings,

“They hate you if you’re clever,” which seems to be a direct expression of his

youthful troubles in school. The thought carries forward as paralyzing fear

until the working-class hero “can’t really function.”

The only instrument is Lennon’s acoustic, steadily-churning guitar, help-

ing the song to capture something of a folk troubadour ambiance. To some,

the song seems to have been inspired by the work of Bob Dylan, an ironic

observation in view of Lennon’s disavowal of “Zimmerman” as a false idol in

“God” later in the album. The song was left off many U.S. radio station play

lists because twice in the lyrics Lennon employs the adjective “fucking.” In

the years since Lennon’s passing, he has had the “Working Class Hero” man-

tle placed on him as a positive attribute, a possible misreading of the song.

He ends the song by singing, “If you want to be a hero, well just follow me.”

But in the context of the album, that line is decidedly ironic, as is the entire

Gimme Some Truth, 1970–1973 21

song. Fans must view Lennon as the “real” working-class hero, who had seen

through the manipulation and tried to lift the veil for others. It is part of the

odd “martyrdom” layered over Lennon’s senseless and brutal killing. One

can only wonder what the self-aware and healthily cynical Lennon himself

might have said about it all.

At one point Lennon sings about the “folks on the hill,” and it is hard not

to imagine him singing “fools” instead of “folks” since it would fit and make

sense in context. But if he did have “fools” in the lyrics, then the link to Paul

McCartney’s Beatles song “The Fool on the Hill” would be too distracting

from Lennon’s message.

In a song that parallels “Hold On,” Lennon again sings of himself and his

wife, and then casts his net to encompass the world, in “Isolation.” A simple

piano and drums support Lennon’s tentative vocals. An organ then joins in

as the vocals become vibrant and wailing. He starts the song by focusing on

the relationship between Ono and himself. He observes that people have a

perception that, because he is rich and famous, his dream has come true. But,

like everyone else, he fears loneliness and “isolation.” He notes that Ono

and he are trying to make the world a better place, but they continue to face

opposition, which leads to another form of isolation.

He does not blame anyone. In a passage inspired by the old rhythm and

blues song “I Apologize,” Lennon admits that he does not expect anyone to

truly understand. After all, everyone has been taught the same, and we are

all “victim(s) of the insane.” Lennon’s hope is that the pervasive fear that

isolates people will not cause the end of the world. The song is direct and

moving, with Lennon giving an animated and nuanced vocal performance.

A driving rhythmic piano and incessant drumbeat underscore “Remem-

ber,” a song visiting the memories of childhood with remorse when seen

from the adult perspective. The song looks back to childhood events and

perspectives with an awareness that has changed their meaning. “Remember

today,” Lennon sings, as a way to cope with the childhood memories that

are now traumatic in hindsight. The first section recalls childhood stories

of heroic escape, but the rest of the song indicates there can be no fanciful

escape from one’s past, but then implies that perhaps escape is not needed

after all.

Lennon quotes from the old rhythm and blues classic “Bring It on Home to

Me” with the line, “If you ever change your mind about leaving it all behind,”

but in a vastly different context. Here it is not an invitation to come home

to a loved one, but an admonition of such action’s impossibility, and a call to

face what the present is in an awareness of the past. The chorus then allows

for forgiveness, saying, “don’t feel sorry” and “don’t you worry” about past

actions or their consequences. Lennon ends the song with the start of a British

nursery rhyme commemorating Guy Fawkes, a conspirator who unsuccessfully

tried to cause the death of King James I and the members of a joint session

of Parliament on November 5, 1605, by setting off explosives. “Remember,

22 The Words and Music of John Lennon

remember, the fifth of November,” Lennon sings, interrupted by the sounds

of a quick explosion. It is a stark ending to a surprisingly poignant song, the

rupture of childhood trauma echoing in the adult in the form of half-recalled

nursery rhymes.

A series of simple cartoon drawings titled “Love is ...” was first syndicated

in 1970 and may have been part of the inspiration for the lyrical structure of

the gentle song “Love.” Lennon’s hushed voice provides a litany of what love

is, ranging from the intriguing “Love is needing, needing to be loved” to

the poetic though somewhat perplexing “Love is real, real is love.” The near

greeting-card simplicity of some of the lyrics runs the risk of being maudlin

out of context, but surrounded by the weighty anguish of the rest of the

album, this reassuring assessment of the power of love to comfort and shelter

keeps it centered in its sincerity and is yet another example of the album’s

emotional depth and complexity. Even in an ocean of angst, Lennon could

find an oasis of hope.

In an interview in 1970 shortly after the album’s release, Lennon said

that he thought the song might make a good single.2 Released as a single in

England almost two years after Lennon’s killing to help promote the
John

Lennon Collection
CD, the slightly remixed song made it to number 27 on

the British charts 12 years after its debut on this album.3

“Well Well Well” is a song of restlessness and uneasiness, and the narrator

does not understand why he and his partner feel that way. They enjoy a meal

together. The couple walks under the “English sky.” They discuss the issues

of the day: “revolution” and “women’s liberation.” Perhaps their pangs of

guilt lie in the fact that they can sit and ponder things and take action or

not take action since they can do whatever they want with their time and

money.

Lennon, Ringo Starr, and Klaus Voorman create a harsh, power-trio

sound and Starr’s playing is quite effective. Lennon employs crackling guitar

through a middle section where he screams the title with real power and

abandon. Lennon’s work on this cut is of a piece with his playing on Ono’s

companion album, and these sorts of tracks provide the best evidence for

those who wish to argue that the Lennon-Ono collaborations influenced the

punk rock sounds emerging later in the decade.

The refrain of “Well Well Well” hints at a self-mocking commentary on

the verses, which also include similar stances such as when the protagonists

talk of revolution “just like two liberals in the sun.” On a composing demo

released on
Acoustic,
the lyrics are different. Researchers have said Lennon

sings that his love “looks so beautiful I could wee.” But Lennon is singing in

a slightly nasal voice, some consonants are dropped, and the guitar plays over

his voice at points. It is not clear, but he could very well be singing the more

conventional word “weep.”

“OK?” Lennon asks as “Look at Me” begins, setting the theme for a

song that is all about needing to be assured by the self and others. Lennon

Gimme Some Truth, 1970–1973 23

repeats lines of simple questions and simple phrases in the song. His narra-

tor struggles with his reason for being. He wonders aloud who or what he

is “supposed to be.” And, building on the being, he ponders what action he

should take, and what he should do for his “love.” The song does not hint

at whether Lennon is singing about who he is and what he should do in his

romantic relationship, or if the questions apply more generally to his place

in the world. “Please look at me,” he sings, as if he will cease to be if not

acknowledged. Again, it is reminiscent of a child imploring a disinterested

parent for attention.

The song was composed in 1968 and was considered for The Beatles’

White Album. It does bear some structural resemblance to “Dear Prudence”

and even more to “Julia” from that album, though it is faster paced than

either of those songs. Sandwiched between the proto-punk sounds of “Well

Well Well” and the lyrical sledgehammer of “God,” the song functions as

a respite from the album’s instrumental and lyrical intensity. Emotionally,

though, “Look at Me” is just as strong as any track on the album. The earnest

uncertainty and the exposed questions are buoyed along by Lennon’s finger-

picking styled guitar work. There’s a genuine innocence and a fragile honesty

to the song that give it an evocative power.

A year after stating that the Beatles’ “Ballad of John and Yoko” was a

prayer, John Lennon sang, “I don’t believe in Jesus.” Nor did he believe

in God, except as a “concept by which we measure our pain.” In the song

simply titled “God,” Lennon describes God as a concept of the human imagi-

nation, and not a concept that would lead to inner peace or transcendence.

Rather, God was a rule by which anguish or suffering is measured.

Lennon first connected God, or at least Christianity, and suffering in the

Beatles song “Girl.” He asks whether the girl was taught as a child that pain

leads to pleasure. In the 1970
Rolling Stone
interview, Lennon stated he was

trying to say something in “Girl” about a need to be “tortured” before one

can get to heaven.

“God” goes on to become an attack on false prophets, both sacred and

secular. The lyrics form a litany that begins with sacred icons (Jesus, Buddha)

and turns to popular figures (Elvis, The Beatles). For Lennon, these images

are false gods, and the understanding of reality comes from a clear view of

the self.

Not only does Lennon refuse faith, but he rejects all systems and institu-

tions. Interestingly, Lennon commented that, at one time, he had intended to

leave a section of the song lyricless, so listeners could add to the list on their

own. Lennon went on in the song to disavow his belief in “Zimmerman,”