The Encyclopedia of Dead Rock Stars (72 page)

By now the successful Lennon was showing some arrogance in his otherwise jocular stage presence. Consuming vast amounts of alcohol – and starting to experiment with drugs (both readily affordable and available) – the musician was already tiring of the write/record/tour merry-go-round. His first book,
In His Own Write
– an Edward Lear-esque collection he saw as an opportunity to express personal thoughts – gave him a diversion and was published early in 1964. Not all were in favour of what was admittedly a fairly indulgent piece of work: the MP Charles Curran described Lennon as ‘in a state of
near-
literacy’ having ‘picked up bits of Tennyson, Browning and Stevenson, while keeping one ear on the football results’. No matter – the character-driven style he was nurturing bloomed in drug-fuelled Lennon songs like 1967’s ‘I am the Walrus’, ‘Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds’ and ‘Strawberry Fields Forever’ (for many his masterpiece, though, almost unthinkably, the first Beatles single not to top the UK chart since 1963). Lennon’s acerbic side was occasionally expressed without mere words: he was rumoured to have slapped Cynthia at least once and was not at this stage prepared to take fatherhood seriously – only the life-changing experience of his marriage breakup could prompt that. Powell described him as frequently tripping out on LSD on return from tours and spending hours in front of the television, and she believes that their relationship ended at this time. For his part, Lennon described 1966 as his ‘fat Elvis’ period.

Lennon tends to the Pang, while Nilsson quenches the thirst

‘Life is what happens when you are busy making other plans.’

John Lennon

The man most people see as the key figure in the world’s most popular group made headlines with virtually every quote. After upsetting a few dignitaries with his extremely mild ‘rattle your jewellery’ gag at the 1963 Royal Variety Performance, Lennon’s ‘more popular than Jesus’ remark was to create an international incident three years on. Again, the luxury of hindsight shows us that what he meant is as understandable now as the saying of it back then was foolish. But the fact is that The Beatles probably
were
a bigger draw than Christianity at the time: US concerts were still inundated with screaming masses – to such an extent that Lennon, wishing to be seen as an artist as opposed to a figurehead, instigated their cessation after Candlestick Park in August 1966. And the other Beatles agreed with him. For Brian Epstein, this was a huge blow, possibly even a first step towards his tragic death the following year (
August 1967)
– another loss of a key figure in Lennon’s life. His relationship with the manager was frequently a close one, though the persistent rumours about the nature of their friendship can be discounted.

On 9 November 1966 – five years to the day that he’d met Epstein – Lennon made the acquaintance that was to shape the remainder of his life. Although they were not to become lovers for another year, Lennon attended Yoko Ono’s exhibition at London’s Indica Gallery, and was blown away by both this mysterious Japanese artist and the highly conceptual work he felt elevated her to a higher plane than most of the women he’d met professionally. But before he could start any lasting liaison with Ono, three major relationships in Lennon’s world had to give. The subsequent, predictable collapse of Lennon’s marriage was echoed by that of his relationship with the press, who, with the new affair imminent, rounded scathingly on Ono as the spanner in The Beatles’ works. McCartney was not far behind – his and Lennon’s affiliation had soured during the intervening years. By 1968 Lennon and Ono were inseparable, considering themselves as ‘one’, to the chagrin of colleagues. The pair were vehement in their denouncing of US military presence in Vietnam, which caused further resentment in a country that still hadn’t fully forgiven Lennon for ‘Jesusgate’. Despite this – and the widespread belief that the Beatle was being tailed by the FBI – the couple remained in New York, Lennon’s home for the last twelve years of his life.

One American less than happy with John Lennon’s presence in his country was teenager Mark Chapman. A fan in his younger days, Chapman had now discarded the toy soldiers restyled as Beatles with guitars. The born-again Christian was irritated by the ‘supercilious’ comments of the central figure he’d once loved, whom he now saw as having betrayed his ideals. Chapman managed to quell his distaste. For a while.

Although producing the occasional record afterwards, The Beatles were effectively over by the end of 1969, Lennon gaining further headline inches following the return of his MBE. By now Lennon – who’d married Ono in April of that year – was already recording avantgarde work with his partner, including the notorious
Two Virgins
(1968), which gave the press even more ammunition with its full-frontal nude shot of the couple on the cover. His solo career was to be both less consistent and (understandably) less commercially viable than that with his earlier earth-shattering band. Under the banner of The Plastic Ono Band, Lennon and his wife – plus a variety of musicians who came and went – still produced challenging work; their songs usually carried a message, whether promoting global unity (‘Give Peace a Chance’, 1969) or warning of the dangers of hard drugs (‘Cold Turkey’, 1969). The couple’s love was tested only once, by a 1974 split that caused Lennon to fall apart and spend most of his time on drinking bouts with pal Harry Nilsson. Pulling himself together, Lennon then scored a US number one with another old mucker, Elton John (‘Whatever Gets You through the Night’, 1974), having returned to Yoko, who then became pregnant with his second son, Sean. Replenished and content, Lennon happily took a back seat from professional life that was to last until 1980.

‘I’ll probably be popped off by some loony!’

John Lennon, interviewed during the sixties

Early that year, Mark Chapman attempted suicide. The severely depressed 24-year-old had drifted through a number of jobs, his self-esteem was shot and his marriage (to, not uncoincidentally, a Japanese-American woman) a failure. As he fell into unconsciousness, Chapman had what he later described as a ‘vision’, which he believed – wrongly, as the world was to discover – had cured his ills. Although briefly invigorated, his good mood did not last. Chapman clearly had no idea how unwell he was. Living in Honolulu, in an alcoholic and drug-induced haze, and unable to work, he whiled away his hours at a library – where a book of photos caught his eye. The cover showed the man he had idolized as a boy, a man now living in
his
country, in luxury and in love. Angered by the picture, Chapman finally lost touch with reality and began plotting to kill John Lennon.

In October 1980, Lennon broke several years of silence to promote a new record that many had no idea was even planned,
Double Fantasy.
As a collection, the album fell short of past masterpieces but was held together by one or two pleasing moments, his and Yoko’s continued devotion very much the main thrust, and its lead single ‘(Just Like) Starting Over’ fared well on both sides of the Atlantic. During the first week of December, Lennon gave a last interview (an exclusive with DJ Andy Peebles, which Radio One delightedly aired over two days) showing him at his pithy and playful best. Just forty-eight hours after the final transmission, the most influential musician of his generation was gunned down at the doorway to his Manhattan apartment.

On 6 December, Mark Chapman had arrived in the city, and blown more money than he could afford on a room at the Sheraton and a hooker. The next day he laid low; in the early hours of 8 December, he called his estranged wife, knowing this was to be the day. That afternoon, Chapman staked his place among other Lennon fans outside the Dakota Building, securing his supposed hero’s autograph at 5.30 pm before the musician left for the studio. For five hours, Chapman waited in turmoil, voices in his head repeating, ‘He’s mine! Let me kill him!’ In his possession were the signed copy of
Double Fantasy,
a paperback of J D Salinger’s novel
Catcher in the Rye
… and a .38. Lennon returned at 10.50 pm, following Ono out of their limousine. As he approached the main gate, he glanced at Chapman, vaguely recognizing the young man to whom he’d spoken earlier that day. Hearing his name called, Lennon turned once more as Chapman – now in combat stance – unloaded five bullets in the legend’s direction. Lennon was hit four times, in the back and neck, saying only, ‘Help me!’, before he collapsed. Rushed to Roosevelt Hospital in the back of a squad car, Lennon died shortly after arrival, his internal organs destroyed and having lost 80 per cent blood volume. Chapman remained where he was, reading.

The final loss in John Lennon’s tale was for the world as a whole. While America broadcast the news live on television – ABC sports anchor Howard Cosell interrupted an NFL game to impart the ‘unspeakable tragedy’ – Britain awoke to hear the shocking news early on Tuesday morning. Mourning akin to that for JFK followed in Lennon’s adopted home; in the UK, this was unprecedented. ‘(Just Like) Starting Over’, which had slipped out of the Top Twenty, made a remarkable reversal to top the charts as the nation’s grief placed a barrage of Lennon tunes back in the listings. The follow-up, ‘Woman’, also reached number one, as did the now iconic ‘Imagine’, with ‘Happy Xmas (War Is Over)’ close behind, the country’s festivities muted. As distraught fans gathered in continued vigil across the world, a variety of tributes from other artists began with Roxy Music’s cloying take on Lennon’s ‘Jealous Guy’ (1981); other offerings emerged over the years from Elton John, Mike Oldfield, Queen and Paul McCartney – whose original reaction of ‘It’s a drag’ had caused no small upset. For her part, Yoko Ono showed astonishing fortitude, protecting her young son and asking for forgiveness for a man now considered Public Enemy Number One.

Mark Chapman caused some surprise by pleading a straight ‘guilty’ in court, which saw him incarcerated for twenty years. With bail refused in 2000, he remains in jail – having on 8 December 1980 achieved the ‘recognition’ he’d believed was rightly his. By the final minute of that day, 100 million people across the globe knew his name.

See also
Harry Nilsson (
January 1994); George Harrison (
November 2001); Billy Preston (
June 2006)