Some misfit human of which we’ll leave unnamed shot and killed John Lennon 36 years ago today, changing the course of music and culture forever in amounts we’re still trying to comprehend.
By now the story is twisted scripture — Lennon signs autographs for fans outside his Upper West Side apartment, the Dakota, heads to a recording session with his wife, Yoko Ono, to lay down his last guitar parts on “Walking on Thin Ice,” returns to said apartment, a crazed fan from earlier still there, guns Lennon down with a .38 caliber revolver and a copy of The Catcher in the Rye in his back pocket.
Lennon was 40-years-young, and was carrying the final mix of “Walking on Thin Ice” upon tumbling onto the steps of the front entrance to the Dakota from his bullet wounds.
His legacy immaculate — outspoken progressive, peace activist, half of the greatest songwriting credit ever, and of course, author of “Imagine,” the year we don’t mourn Lennon’s passing will be a sad one.
Though let’s take a minute to pay homage to Yoko, contentious figure to Lennon and the Beatles‘ history she may be, the eery heartbreak foreshadowing on disco-tinged “Walking on Thin Ice” is an unlikely, sobering form of catharsis on this day of remembrance,” Lennon’s guitar work swarthing about underneath the current until it froths up on top:
I may cry someday
But the tears will dry whichever way
And when our hearts return to ashes
It’ll be just a story
