David Sheff
All We Are Saying

"(Double fantasy, ed.) I'm only saying this because she might change her mind. Something might change. Like, now I'm in my new studio or now I'm in the middle of the ocean. Who can say what will happen?"

I don't know about you, but I confess that, reading the last lines of "All We Are Saying" by David Sheff (a text that fully reports the last interview given in 1980 by John Lennon to the American edition of Playboy magazine), a shiver ran down my spine. Yes, because four decades after Lennon's tragic death, one cannot help but think about how cynical and deceitful fate can be.

But beyond this, reading the book, which is by the very person who interviewed Lennon that autumn of 1980, David Sheff (at the time a young bold journalist at the beginning of his career with such a significant interviewee), confirmed to me how enigmatic, complex, and contradictory a man like John Lennon could be (the same cannot really be said about his wife Yoko Ono, who occasionally participates in the interview but without conveying great empathy, at least not as much as John). And for this reason, I am sharing my impressions of the book, even though it is the third time that, within Debaser, I have reviewed works by Lennon or related to him. It is precisely the kaleidoscopic nature of the man that still intrigues me today, many years after his disappearance.

The interview unfolds over several days, while John & Yoko are busy recording the album "Double Fantasy". In this regard, John expresses great satisfaction with what has been recorded as evidence of his innate tendency to embrace ideas and projects that may not always be as valid as they might seem at first glance (I have always personally considered "Double Fantasy" an LP below any expectations towards John's songwriting abilities, a sort of intimate album in line with a certain retreat into the private sphere that was prevalent at the end of the 1970s).

But beyond that, some theses put forward by the illustrious interviewee cannot help but seem questionable or even laughable, especially now decades later. When asked to explain why he had been absent from the music scene since 1975, John Lennon comes out praising the choice (or did someone named Yoko induce him to choose?) of the househusband life, taking care of his child Sean and baking loaves of bread (which he claims turned out well). With all due respect to those who diligently raise children (and that was not the case with John towards his first son Julian), one should also hustle to earn a living in the meantime (in his case by composing and recording songs) and that should not be sidelined. Just imagine, for instance, a frequently fathering Paul McCartney who takes time off from the recording studios just to be a full-time househusband. Or another genius artist like Pablo Picasso who leaves painting, colors, and brushes to be a dad and also a part-time baker. I mean, Lennon's choice might have been driven by other underlying reasons such as creative block, whereas the shrewd spouse was off doing a seasoned businesswoman (note that John always shows a sympathetic and deferential attitude toward Yoko, who, older than him, somewhat played a maternal role in their relationship).

Equally questionable is then asserting, as the two do in a part of the interview, that their choice of domestic commitment is so revolutionary given that the prevailing capitalist system prefers single, gay, or lesbian consumers. Reading this made my eyes widen, both because the choice for gays or lesbians is today (as it was in 1980) just tolerated but not encouraged (not to mention that being single is a transient condition), and because when two adults decide to bring a child into the world, it necessarily entails a series of natural or induced needs tied to a new life that certainly do not hinder (quite the opposite) the mechanisms of a capitalist system (how can one deny it?). Frankly, I tend to think that a couple like John Lennon and Yoko Ono never had anything remotely similar to a social-communist entity (if anything, they were pacifists during a time when the refusal of the Vietnam War was particularly felt).

But appearing reductive, in my view, is John's analysis of The Beatles' musical production. It is scrutinized (mostly) track by track, specifying who was the true author of each single song, whether it be Paul McCartney or John Lennon. This is partially true because, while the initial compositional spark might come from a single individual, what always made the difference was the synergy of four musicians who, in the recording studio along with arranger George Martin, brought out the best in themselves and testified to the existence of an unparalleled and almost magical musical alchemy. And so John, Paul, George (who in the book's interview undeservedly appears as some sort of renowned young supporting character), and Ringo created a fundamental quartet in the history of 20th-century music (not for nothing have their solo careers after the split not matched what was achieved before in synergy).

Having said all this, "All We Are Saying" is nonetheless worthy of reading in order to try to decipher the flow of thoughts (and consequent attitudes) of a surprising and impulsive man like John Lennon. In fact, reading the book spontaneously evoked in me the thought of what someone so whimsical and multifaceted as John might have said if, God willing, he had continued to live despite unbalanced fans with a quick draw, giving another interview (say on the occasion of his fiftieth birthday): would he have changed his mind on various topics? Would he still have been deferent and in love with Yoko Ono? No one can say, and all we have today is his extensive and eclectic musical repertoire that is occasionally replayed and appreciated. A treasure of inestimable value for generations to come.