No matter what I read or hear about John Lennon, my love for him never dies, or even slightly lessens. He was a sexual deviant, a drug addict, in some cases a real asshole and with every gross, appalling, sickening story I hear, I know there is nothing he could have done that I could not forgive. Because no matter how many women (or men) he fucked, no matter how many interns he pissed on, no matter how much heroin he injected or how much coke he snorted, John Lennon remained a genius, a true artist whose contribution to the world of music – fuck, to the world, period – is worth more than any menial temptation he succumbed to, any failing of the human ego.
What I love about his work that, in my opinion, sets him apart from other lyricists: he said what he wanted to say in the most honest, open way possible without using either too few or too many words. Albert Einstein once said, “Everything should be made as simple as possible, but not simpler.” And Lennon did just that beautifully, poetically, but never with pomp or pretension. That is why I love him so much. I’ll never forget how I felt the first time I heard Working Class Hero – the pain, the anger, the frustration, the fucking contempt all caught so potently in just 171 words. Man, he had a gift. Imagine (of course!) and Nowhere Man remain, to this day, 2 of the absolute best songs ever written, in my opinion. He may have been one emotionally disturbed individual, but nothing he did or said could outweigh the gift he gave to us all: the world, as he saw it.