Today, John Lennon would have been seventy-five.

That seems almost impossible to credit. In our minds, an image burned in from pictures or movies or television or music, he’s always a young man, never quite reaching middle age. I’m older now than Lennon was when he was killed. We remember him young, because he never had to chance to grow old.

Five years ago, for Lennon’s 70th birthday, I was in a nostalgic mood. I listened to all of his solo music in the run-up to his birthday. I’m not feeling as nostalgic today. This year, I’ve been so overwhelmed with work (it’s a publication week) that I’ve barely kept my head above water and my musical companion this week has been, oddly, the Malcolm in the Middle soundtrack album. I’ll probably queue up an album when I get home from work, or maybe I’ll put A Hard Day’s Night in the DVD player (which I’ve not watched in a few years). I have nothing profound or witty or interesting to say.

Instead, then, let me share a few choice pieces I wrote on John Lennon over the years. 🙂

Happy birthday, John.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *