John Lennon & The Plastic Ono Band: The Plastic Ono Band - 1970
As for me - John Lennon was never my favourite Beatle - personally he came across as cynical, sneering and often unnecessarily bitter. He just never endeared himself to me (not that he needed to, of course). However - and maybe perversely - I find his solo work disarmingly honest and touching as well as melodically appealing. I have to admit to having a great affection for Imagine, Mind Games and Walls And Bridges in particular. I return to them with a surprising regularity and enthusiasm. Like George Harrison, I miss him a lot, musically. I love Mind Games dearly.
Anyway, this is a raw, edgy and angst-ridden solo album from John Lennon, his first "proper" solo piece of work. Lennon explores all sorts of mother and parental issues, anxiety about relationships and some cynical, political protest thrown in, all inspired, so the perceived wisdom goes, by his recent "primal scream" therapy. He was letting it all out as if the recording studio was his therapist's couch. Therefore it is, unsurprisingly, a difficult listen in parts.
Similar to Paul McCartney's 1970 solo release, McCartney, it is musically basic - guitar, bass and drums for the most part with occasional piano and keyboards. However, its sparse sound adds to its appeal for me as I have always found parts of Imagine to be somewhat over-orchestrated. Old mate Ringo Starr is on drums throughout, giving it considerable gravitas too. I listen to this material and think how much better it is than some of the material that can be found, for example, on The Beatles' Let It Be album, White Album or the early Paul McCartney solo offerings. Despite the many criticisms of Lennon's early solo work, it does sound to me as if he has got his mojo back - this is bristling, open-sore stuff that is alive, exemplified in its buzzy, confrontational guitar sounds in many places.
That said, there is still a bit of a homemade ambience to proceedings and a lyrical self-indulgence that makes it the inferior album, for me, to Imagine, Mind Games and Walls And Bridges. I know many critics praise its rawness and confessional, heart-on-sleeve approach with the same breath that they criticise Mind Games, but I prefer the latter by miles.
So, back to 1970 - let's lay down on that couch and talk about our mother, then....
Mother is a yearning, heartfelt opener with anguished vocals and a great backing sound to it. The last minute or so, however, finds Lennon repeating the same lyrics over and over until it becomes irritating. The song has Lennon expressing his annoyance and disappointment with his parents in a way that makes him sound a bit like a dissatisfied teenager, unfortunately. Pull yourself together, man - I thought you were "bigger than Jesus"? What it shows is that even the great John Lennon had the same insecurities and hang-ups as many others did, so much so that it seemed to dominate his life at this point.
The far shorter (sub two minute) Hold On, though, has an absolutely sumptuous bass on it from the talented Klaus Voorman. It ends too soon for my liking but it is still one of the album's better cuts.
The scratchy, fuzz guitar-driven I Found Out is bluesy and confrontational and has Lennon shocking the world when he sings of "some of you sitting there with your cock in your hand...". This was pretty racy stuff for 1970. This was Lennon at his most acerbically-scathing and world-weary - something that is definitely perpetuated on the next track. Here, Lennon hits out at gurus in an obvious swipe at Harrison alongside his regular jibes at McCartney. Only reliable old Ringo gets away with it. Anyway, Lennon's tongue now soaked in acid, Working Class Hero continues the mood brilliantly, as he channels his inner Dylan and produces a superbly cynical protest song.
There is clearly no doubt by now that for all his loved-up times and Joy Of Sex bearded bedroom bliss with Yoko Ono, Lennon's world is not a particularly happy one. The bleak and very typically Lennon ballad Isolation only serves to reinforce that feeling. Surely the omnipresent Yoko would have eased his feelings of isolation? Obviously not.
While the album's cover shows John and Yoko enjoying a pastoral, peaceful scene under a tree - giving off a similar air to the cover of Wings' Wild Life - this was anything but a relaxed album. Remember, for example, is musically upbeat, with a pounding drum sound, augmented by a clunky piano but again it is a questioning song, one of serious disillusion. It actually has hints of McCartney about it, for me, as indeed does the tender Love, which was the first chilled-out love song on the album. It has a sincere, innocent tenderness to it that is surprising, given the nature of most of the album.
The buzzy guitar-driven but repetitive Well Well Well has echoes of The White Album in some ways. Maybe it is Ringo's muscular but rhythmic drumming. It is supposed to be a song about Lennon's daily life with Yoko. It ends with him screaming. Read into that what you will about his state of mind. He was always an impossible person to read. Whatever, what is for sure is that it goes on way too long and, like Mother only more so, it becomes utterly tiresome by the last two minutes. Things are restored with the quietly reflective Look At Me, which is acoustically beautiful and Beatles-esque, but is deeply self-analytical once more. This is a very vacillating album, mood-wise.
Now - having thus far questioned his entire existence and his life, there can be only one more thing to question - God. The track bearing the deity's name is a marvellous slice of Lennon cynicism sung over a stark piano, bass and drum backing. "God is a concept by which we measure our pain...". Heavy stuff. Lennon then proceeds to list everything he doesn't believe in, incredibly convincingly and aggressively, eschewing, amongst other things, all the guru stuff, then Elvis and Dylan, until finally saying "I don't believe in Beatles...". This was possibly Lennon's most powerful, post-Beatles song of all. "I was the walrus, but now I'm John...". What a great line and what a moving song. It is terribly sad when he sings "the dream is over" at the song's denouement. Because he was right.
Personally, I find the short, painful My Mummy's Dead to be unlistenable, so I do not include it when playing the album digitally, replacing it with the two chanting, tub-thumping protest songs, Power To The People and Give Peace A Chance. So, when I listen, God is followed by the fist-pumping unity of Power To The People. I find that quite apt. I do understand, though, Mummy's vital position on the original album, ending it on a starkly disturbing, anguishing note.
While I acknowledge this album's importance in the whole story, give me the warmer tones of Mind Games all day long.
