Of all that has been written and said about the break-up of The Beatles and its co-incidence with the end of the 1960s, the most graphic and enduring account is the horses’ mouth, ‘lived it, breathed it‘ depiction by John Lennon on his 1970 solo album ‘PLASTIC ONO BAND.‘
With his first release since The Beatles officially split up earlier that year (prior to the break-up he had released three albums of largely experimental music with second wife, Japanese conceptual artist Yoko Ono), Lennon not so much takes stock of himself after virtually eight years at the head of a seismic cultural phenomenon known as The Beatles, but puts everything it amounted to into psychological stocks – at which he throws a mixture of cold water and acid.
The only thing spared in the catharsis is a deep love for his wife, their union the sole element of this intensely personal piece to emerge without a coating of cynicism or anger.
Yet Yoko Ono is not the only woman to shape his thinking. Mother Julia, knocked down and killed by an off-duty policeman driving while drunk in their native Liverpool 13 years before, is the subject of two heart-wrenching songs that open and close a record of the most extraordinary self-analysis.
As a consequence of his life experiences, ‘John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band‘ is without equal as a statement of personal expression, raw in its intensity, unflinching with regard to heartfelt emotion and profundity.
Having found new outlets for his material even while The Beatles were still active, the constraints Lennon had begun to feel as a member of the group coincided with meeting Ono in late 1966 (when married to first wife Cynthia) and it was she who averted him to other creative possibilities.
By the time they were husband and wife in March 1969, aside from going to bed in the name of world peace and having a hit single with the pacifist anthem ‘Give Peace A Chance,’ the Lennon’s were putting together a scratch rock group – the ‘Plastic Ono Band’ encompassing whatever array of musicians they were working with at the time.
The first fruits of the project were the singles ‘Cold Turkey‘ – a terse rock song describing his withdrawal after a brief addiction to heroin – and the philosophical anthem ‘Instant Karma‘ in which Lennon campaigns for human togetherness and positivity.
In setting out these credentials of personal revelation alongside hopes for world unity, Lennon appeared to be creating a manifesto for his work as a solo artist. These themes are evident on ‘Plastic Ono Band‘ – but more often than not he licks his emotional wounds rather than present a vision of personal and political destiny.
Even before any lyrical allusions to his former combo, there is an immediate sense of Lennon putting distance between himself – the lone wolf – and the sounds he was once so instrumental in creating.
Eschewing any form of technical glamour, the stripped back presentation could not be further removed from ornate Beatle arrangements – the ‘Plastic Ono Band’ in this case taking the form of Lennon (guitars/piano), Klaus Voormann (bass), Ringo Starr (drums) with occasional keyboard contributions from co-producer Phil Spector and Beatles acolyte Billy Preston.
That said, the first sound to be heard is the tolling, funereal bells which open ‘Mother‘ – a harrowing evocation not simply of her loss, but his anguish at being abandoned as a child, Lennon’s Liverpool childhood passing without involvement from either parent.
Closing each verse with ‘I just got to tell you, goodbye,’ it seems Lennon is parting with his grief. But the playing increases in urgency as John, leading the trio from piano, brings the song to a conclusion by repeatedly screaming the heartbreaking, child-like refrain of ‘Mama don’t go, Daddy come home‘ – the pain in his voice making the last thirty seconds almost unbearable.
Less harrowing, but again showing him in a state of emotional fragility is ‘Hold On.’ Imploring himself, Yoko and the world to have faith in overcoming challenges they face, John offers up his hopes over a delicate guitar melody. At one minute 52 the shortest song on the record (aside from a brief reflection of his dead Mother at the end), it is also the most upbeat.
On ‘I Found Out‘ Lennon returns to the hard-rocking framework of ‘Cold Turkey‘ but focusing on the nefarious aspects of religion rather than drugs.
Over slashes of electric guitar he complains ‘the freaks on the phone, won’t leave me alone,’ his ire dripping from lines such as ‘there ain’t no Jesus gonna come from the sky‘ and ‘I seen through junkies, I been through it all.’ The next line, however, he loads with ambiguity, Lennon seemingly throwing his infamous ‘Beatles more popular then Jesus‘ remark of 1965, back at his detractors:
‘I seen religion from Jesus to Paul,’ snaps Lennon, laying out a warning against religious exploitation and the worship of idols.
Similar in its edgy, almost brutal construction is ‘Well, Well, Well,’ Lennon, Voormann and Starr operating as a top-notch power trio. There is a feeling of liberation amidst the pounding, John aggressive yet content in what he and Yoko (eating, walking, sex) are sharing – but the delights of domesticity are then usurped by larger considerations.
Two years before with ‘Revolution‘ he questioned what it would entail, but for him and his wife it was now a pressing subject:
‘We sat and talked of revolution, just like two liberals in the sun/We talked of women’s revolution and how the hell we could get things done.’
In the summer of 1970, prior to recording ‘Plastic Ono Band‘, Lennon had undergone primal scream therapy in a bid to overcome his inner conflict, the stark delivery of ‘Well, Well, Well,’ making it almost a musical equivalent. Given the subject matter it remains very much a period piece, but with its proto-punk overtones, at least five years ahead of the game.
In contrast ‘Love‘ finds Lennon being wistfully poetic and although the subject of his affections is not mentioned by name in this lilting lullaby, the inference is even greater on the achingly poignant ‘Isolation.’
On an album of superlative vocal performances, he loads every line with serene resonance. From behind a Hammond organ Lennon decorates ‘Isolation‘ with affecting couplets such as (‘People say we got it made, don’t they know we’re so afraid‘ – ‘Just a boy and a little girl, trying to change the whole wide world‘ – ‘The world is just a little town, everybody trying to put us down‘), each one deeply sincere, but never veering toward self-pity.
On ‘Look At Me‘ however, he appears wracked by self-doubt, answering his own question of ‘Who am I‘ with ‘nobody knows but me,’ as if to counter the commentators eager to have their say on his identity – these meditations on uncertainty set to a melody reminiscent of ‘Julia‘ from ‘The White Album.’
The urgent piano riffs on side two opener ‘Remember‘ sound a direct lift from ‘A Day in the Life,’ Lennon looking back beyond ‘Sgt. Pepper‘ to his childhood and a time when the difference between right and wrong, good and evil was so much clearer, (‘Remember when you were young, how the hero was never hung/Always got a way‘).
As the song unfolds the melodic hooks, generated by John at the piano, sink in as much as the lyrics, anybody familiar with the musical arrangements and vocal phrasing of Jeff Lynne instantly aware of the influence.
But Lennon himself is not adverse to borrowing a phrase, ‘if you ever change your mind, about leaving it all behind‘ written previously by Sam Cooke for ‘Bring It On Home To Me‘ (a song John would later cover on his ‘Rock N Roll‘ album).
If ‘Remember‘ is intended as a reminder of days past, then ‘Working Class Hero‘ gives clear instruction not to forget how society is set against individual and creative expression – those who prosper doing so by exploiting the insecurities and gullibility of the masses.
Performed by Lennon as a plaintive folk song on acoustic guitar, ‘Working Class Hero‘ finds him at his most inspirationaly acerbic, the sneer in his monotone delivery emphasising the absurdity and contradictions of authority – but there is also an inkling of irritation at the kowtowing rank and file who give the establishment a free ride.
‘There’s room at the top they are telling you still, but first you must learn how to smile as you kill/If you want to be like the folks on the hill.’
Containing the same expletive in verses two and four (in the lyrics on the inner sleeve it is replaced with an asterisk – this long before the days of Parental Advisory stickers), not even Bob Dylan had been so caustic and judgemental in raging against social acquiescence.
Nowhere on ‘Plastic Ono Band‘ is there to be found a hint of compromise, Lennon saving his most graphic observations until almost the end – by the time ‘God‘ comes to a close, a series of historical figures have been stripped of their aura and the 60s as an ideal, buried.
With arguably the most expressive passage of singing in the entire history of rock music, he opens by stating: ‘God is a concept by which we measure our pain.’
Aware he has just set out the most profound lyric ever composed, John continues tinkling the ivories and repeats it. With the scene set, Lennon comes up with a group of names and philosophies in which he does not believe – who among others include Bible, tarot, Hitler, Jesus, Kennedy, Buddha, mantra, yoga, kings.
With Billy Preston providing faint strains of what sounds like a church organ – Lennon perhaps showing a wicked sense of irony on a song entitled ‘God‘ – his list eventually reaches the cornerstones of contemporary culture, ‘I don’t believe in Elvis, I don’t believe in Zimmerman‘ before the ultimate deal-breaker in demi-God distancing: ‘I don’t believe in Beatles.’
(Goodness knows what poor Ringo must have thought across the room, splendidly keeping time on the drums).
He does, however, believe in him and Yoko, which he now considers ‘reality‘ and whether referring to The Beatles or the 60s (possibly both) sings, ‘the dream is over.’ To his friends he says ‘carry on‘ but reiterates his point in repeating ‘the dream is over‘ as the last line.
Only he is not quite finished. Having left the listener reeling with ‘God‘ no sooner does it fade before a 49 second epilogue comes into earshot, John singing ‘My Mummy’s Dead‘ to the nursery rhyme strains of ‘Three Blind Mice.’
When he sings ‘I can’t get it through my head, though its been so many years, my Mummy’s dead,’ is he saying everything happening to him since, the wealth, fame and adulation, has not reduced his sadness? Because his hurt manifests in ‘I can’t explain, so much pain,’ has Lennon decided to book-end the record in such a way? Her death the one thing connecting his pre-Beatles existence and life as it is now.
In the series of utterly compelling interviews he gave to Rolling Stone magazine shortly after ‘Plastic Ono Band‘ was released, Lennon described the album as ‘the best thing I’ve ever done. It’s realistic, it’s true, first person music if you like‘.
Whether or not it is the finest record to bear his name is open to debate – given several masterpieces in the The Beatles canon – but full of rancour and bitter reflection, it remains a blazing statement.
The most sustained and by far his strongest solo LP, there are Beatle-aficionados who dislike the record, but anyone who has ever heard ‘Plastic Ono Band‘ will not have forgotten it.
In 1979 Rolling Stone stated: ‘Plastic Ono Band remains his testament; divided, bitter and utterly uncompromising, qualities one expects to emerge again as Lennon makes his way into the 80s.’
The tragedy being (‘Double Fantasy‘ apart) we were never able to find out.
JOHN LENNON/PLASTIC ONO BAND – Released December 1970; Produced by John Lennon, Yoko Ono & Phil Spector.
Mother/Hold On/I Found Out/Working Class Hero/ Isolation/ Remember/Love/Well, Well, Well/Look at Me/God/My Mummy’s Dead;
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