punk rock blues

Friday, March 10, 2006

John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band: 1st Shot Across the Heartbow

On his must-read blog Burning Light, my friend and colleague Carl Simmons has recently posted a review of this record in which he alludes to letting me "write the kick butt"review. Not neccessary. As it turns out Simmons has posted an insightful and thoughtful, track by track dissertaion of this epochal record. One that touches people differently than most 'pop music', especially boys who are now men, motherless and searching for God. There's always been something of the tragic goof in Lennon's work, the brilliant imbecile tearing through the present's wrapping to get to the gifts inside. On this, his 1st 'official' solo album after the breakup of the you know who, Lennon hit the ceiling running, het up and bleeding like an open wound over the big questions, big hurts, big lies.

The bells that open this record tolled (and toll) for us all. The wild coyote yearning of 'Mother' sets the tone for the record, not to mention for at least 2 generations now of intensely earnest and confused men and women. The psuedoscience psychobabblists and the truly lost can both find, if not comfort, then at least balm (and no little fuel) for whatever real emotions they're still in contact with.

The Lennon of 'Plastic Ono Band' sings what he's written like the guy at the next stool in yr neighborhood bar, 2 sheets into the wind and aware of what messes he's made and what messes he's been given. "Mother" is sung from a real son to a dream mother, the mother he, and we, couldn't have. Perhaps the mother of us all. This son cries for and screams at those phantom parents who, being human and frail, can't help but often fall short of the total needs of a child. In the end, all he can do is rage "Mommy don't go, Daddy come home."

In the end, what more needs to be said.

But of course the human condition is more than the totality of it's tragedies, but at this point Lennon was probably beyond the 'I Wanna hold Yr Hand' stage. Having lived through the 6 year windtunnel of Beatlemania, Lennon emerged a man determined to do more than survive, and certainly not one to skate. 'Plastic Ono Band' sounds like it was recorded in that holiest of holy places, the garage. The skeletal backing of Ringo Starr and Klaus Voorman hearkens back to the Sun Studio of Elvis and Orbison. Replete w/curtains of Spectory echo, Lennon created an homage to cracked teenage symphonic rock. Simplistic to the point of idiocy ('Well...... well well well....."), timeless and as tribal as howling wolves, 'Plastic Ono Band' blasted through the Jefferson Starship/Elton John pretense of the day like the best rock and roll always does. Like a mirror.

"God is a concept", he sang, "by which we measure our pain." As good a definition of the undefinable as I've heard. He then goes on to disavow, against doowop piano, all the Jesuses and Elvi and Zimmermen that man had elevated before him, even up to stating what had to be said: 'I don't believe in Beatles' before informing us that 'the dream' was indeed 'over'. A much nicer kiss off than 'Metal Machine Music' but a kiss off nonetheless and one we probably deserved. We called it love but I'll bet there was an element of suffocation to the whole trip for Lennon and the rest themselves. I don't write much about the Beatles because, as one who was there, I find that everyone's got their own Beatles. Memories and mental cartoons we've all sculpted like mini Mt Rushmores based on nothing more specific than the way these 4 men made us feel. Those who grew up with this band know what I'm talking about, you kids can only guess.

W/"Plastic Ono Band" John Lennon, the Smart Beatle of legend set fire to his personal Beatles and tore up some prime rock and roll while dances on the ashes. Would that we all could do as much with the ghosts of our pasts.