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Newsweek Nov. 28, 2005 issue: Lennon Lives

Тема: Джон Леннон - декабрь 1980

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Newsweek Nov. 28, 2005 issue: Lennon Lives
Автор: Corvin   Дата: 23.11.05 14:17:23
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25 years ago, his tragic death launched an endless season of mourning, along with decades' worth of turmoil and infighting among his survivors. The story of one Beatle's afterlife.25 years ago, his tragic death launched an endless season of mourning, along with decades' worth of turmoil and infighting among his survivors. The story of one Beatle's afterlife.

By Jeff Giles
Newsweek

Nov. 28, 2005 issue - Even 25 years later, the details of his death come rushing back, like a flock of dark birds. It is early December in Manhattan. Shortly before 11 p.m. He's just turned 40, and recording albums for the first time in five years. He and his wife are returning from the studio. He insisted on going home without eating because he wants to see Sean, their 5-year-old boy, before bed. He steps out of the limousine, and someone calls out to him. People have been calling out to him since he was very young. Suddenly he is stumbling through the Gothic Dakota building's entranceway, and struggling up the steps to the doorman's desk. He is trailing blood. He is gasping, "I'm shot!" The doorman rushes out, sees that the killer has dropped his gun and kicks it away. Then the doorman starts crying. He turns to the killer. "Do you know what you just did?" Of course he does: "I just shot John Lennon."
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Re: Newsweek Nov. 28, 2005 issue: Lennon Lives
Автор: Corvin   Дата: 23.11.05 14:17:51   
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In the surreal moments before the police arrive, Yoko Ono cradles her husband's head while the killer thumbs through The Catcher in the Rye. The police pull up. They turn Lennon over and, at the sight of all the blood, a rookie officer retches. There's no time to wait for an ambulance, so they carry Lennon to the back of a squad car. A policeman bends over him and, trying to establish if he's conscious, asks a yes-or-no question that has taken the singer 40 years to answer: Do you know who you are? He groans. He seems to. At Roosevelt Hospital, however, Lennon is pronounced dead. Seven surgeons attempt to revive him, but he has already lost 80 percent of the blood in his body. The director of the ER steels himself to tell Ono that her husband has passed away. On the way to the hospital, Ono had ridden in a second squad car, begging a policeman repeatedly, Tell me it isn't true, tell me he's all right. Now the man from the ER finds her sobbing, hysterical, unable to process what he's telling her: Are you saying he is sleeping?In the surreal moments before the police arrive, Yoko Ono cradles her husband's head while the killer thumbs through "The Catcher in the Rye." The police pull up. They turn Lennon over and, at the sight of all the blood, a rookie officer retches. There's no time to wait for an ambulance, so they carry Lennon to the back of a squad car. A policeman bends over him and, trying to establish if he's conscious, asks a yes-or-no question that has taken the singer 40 years to answer: "Do you know who you are?" He groans. He seems to. At Roosevelt Hospital, however, Lennon is pronounced dead. Seven surgeons attempt to revive him, but he has already lost 80 percent of the blood in his body. The director of the ER steels himself to tell Ono that her husband has passed away. On the way to the hospital, Ono had ridden in a second squad car, begging a policeman repeatedly, "Tell me it isn't true, tell me he's all right." Now the man from the ER finds her sobbing, hysterical, unable to process what he's telling her: "Are you saying he is sleeping?"

As of Dec. 8, Ono will have spent a quarter of a century trying to do what the seven surgeons could not do that night: keep John Lennon alive. His murder was so shattering, and so universally felt, because it was brutal and incongruous—the man was a singer, a pacifist, a househusband—but also because there's always been a generation of baby-boomer fans, in particular, whose feelings for his imploring, serrated voice run so deep that it's as if they grew up not just with him but because of him. Still, building Lennon's legacy has been a fraught proposition. That's partly because he left behind a fairly small and uneven body of solo work; partly because the biographer Albert Goldman, having feasted on Elvis Presley's corpse, was thrilled to have a new legend to stick his fork into; and partly because Lennon and Ono had, in their love-struck desire to shut out the world, torched so many bridges. Among the estranged? There's Lennon's first wife, Cynthia, who details severe emotional and financial wounds on behalf of herself and their son, Julian, in her new memoir, "John." And, of course, there's Paul McCartney, who has competed quite nakedly with Lennon's ghost. "You know, this is like a Shakespearean drama almost," says Ono. "Each person has something to be totally miserable about because of the way they were put into this play. I have incredible sympathy for each of them, really." About her late husband's former songwriting partner she adds, "My perspective is that it is probably very hard to be Paul McCartney. There's a certain kind of insecurity that famous people have, I suppose. And he has more than other people because he's more famous, probably." This is the story of how the Shakespearean drama has unfolded since December 1980. This is the story—if it's not too strange a thing to say about the man who sang "Imagine there's no heaven"—of John Lennon's afterlife.

Despite the turmoil and infighting, two things have remained fairly constant since the last day in the life. One, of course, is the universal appeal of the music that Lennon made with the Beatles, though Lennon himself was famously weary of it by the time he died. (In 1976, half a dozen years after the band broke up, McCartney dropped by the Dakota building unexpectedly, guitar in hand; Lennon told him it wasn't the old days, and sent him away.) The Beatles' greatest-hits collection "1" has sold an astonishing 10 million copies since its release in 2000, and occasioned giddy intergenerational bonding. Even 2003's anticlimactic new version of "Let It Be"—a pet project of McCartney's, who had been stewing for 30 years because Lennon had producer Phil Spector orchestrate "The Long and Winding Road" behind his back—managed to sell 1.1 million. It's because of numbers like these that Lennon's estate took in $22 million last year, making him the third most profitable "dead celebrity," according to Forbes, surpassed only by Elvis Presley ($45 million) and Charles M. Schulz ($35 million).

The second constant is how much Lennon the man—with all his failings and contradictions—still resonates with fans. "I loved the Beatles and everything," says Sinead O'Connor, "but we all loved John Lennon better for all the mad things he did—the way he was interested in just tearing open the sky. He was definitely the sexiest of the Beatles because he was angry and edgy. And look at what he did with his fame. He didn't use it to suck [up] and get more money and be liked by everybody. In fact, that's the power of John Lennon to me: he was real. Even in the songs, he was never afraid to show that he was a bit of a bastard, that he had a nasty side to him like the rest of us do. He stood up and showed that, no matter what, you've got to be your f---ing self. So he definitely had a huge influence on me in terms of why I would be a little s--t-kicker. He was my breast milk, you know?"

Unfortunately, translating that sort of reverence into record sales, where Lennon's solo work is concerned, has been tough going. In 1998, the greatest-hits package "Lennon Legend" sold a robust 1.3 million copies. But the latest collection, last month's double-CD "Working Class Hero," disappeared from the charts after selling just 180,000, suggesting that the ceiling's been hit. Lennon made only two solo albums that are indispensable: 1970's raw, furious and heart-rending "The Plastic Ono Band" and the more accessible 1971 classic "Imagine." In the past 15 years or so, they have sold just 153,000 and 412,000 copies respectively. A recent reissue of Lennon's album of oldies, "Rock 'N' Roll," sold a dismal 32,000. Any hope that the well-intentioned, if amateurishly conceived, Broadway musical "Lennon" would revive interest in his often-political solo music died along with the show, when critics pummeled it earlier this year.
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Re: Newsweek Nov. 28, 2005 issue: Lennon Lives
Автор: Corvin   Дата: 23.11.05 14:18:46   
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By all objective accounts, Ono has been a tireless, fan-friendly executor of the Lennon estate—she just announced that his solo music will be available at certain sites online, a welcome decision at a time when she and the Beatles are still boycotting iTunes because Apple bears the same name as the band's longtime company. Still, there are observers who persist in thinking that Ono is a foot soldier of Satan's. The Beatles were split when Yoko sunk her claws into John, and that's a fact, says Bill Harry, who founded Liverpool's Mersey Beat newspaper in 1961 and was a friend of Lennon's for a time. Anyone who knew John before she did—she didn't want to know them. It's like there was a Before Yoko and an After Yoko. I think that, apart from one or two songs, his post-Beatles work was crap. It was awful and naive. She got him involved with the radicals, and it was embarrassing—just diabolical.By all objective accounts, Ono has been a tireless, fan-friendly executor of the Lennon estate—she just announced that his solo music will be available at certain sites online, a welcome decision at a time when she and the Beatles are still boycotting iTunes because Apple bears the same name as the band's longtime company. Still, there are observers who persist in thinking that Ono is a foot soldier of Satan's. "The Beatles were split when Yoko sunk her claws into John, and that's a fact," says Bill Harry, who founded Liverpool's Mersey Beat newspaper in 1961 and was a friend of Lennon's for a time. "Anyone who knew John before she did—she didn't want to know them. It's like there was a Before Yoko and an After Yoko. I think that, apart from one or two songs, his post-Beatles work was crap. It was awful and naive. She got him involved with the radicals, and it was embarrassing—just diabolical."

In person, Ono talks about her late husband's music and message ecstatically, and about the Beatles a bit joylessly: it's as if her face is on a dimmer switch. One fall afternoon at the Dakota, she pads barefoot around the kitchen, a bright, immaculate space overlooking a big, eerie courtyard. Ono is 72 now, but looks 15 years younger in a tight, plunging white top and frayed black jeans. She was up until 3 a.m. writing liner notes for "Working Class Hero," and apologizes in advance for any sentences she does not complete. Ono has spoken to this reporter many times over the past 10 years, and it's impossible not to admire her, particularly when you consider how many years ahead of its time her relationship with Lennon was, with Yoko's taking care of business and John's taking care of Sean—not a bad legacy in itself. It also helps if you take a bit of perverse pleasure in the thought of the famous boys' club that was the Beatles being so threatened by a petite, avant-garde Japanese artist. Ono sits down at her kitchen table. She always gives interviews here—years ago she used to smoke and would fill the ashtray with skinny Capri cigarettes, all placed in a perfect row, like logs bound for the paper mill. Ono knows that, for this particular article, she will be asked more about life after her husband's death than before. "There was a night he woke up and he was crying," she says, less than a minute into the interview. "So I said, 'Why are you crying, John?' And he said, 'If I die before you, those business bastards are going to get you. You and Sean are going to be out on the street'."

By midnight on Dec. 9, 1980—barely an hour after Lennon's murder—5,000 people began to gather outside the Dakota. Ono had been spirited into the building through the rear entrance. She sat in her apartment, watching news coverage, dumbstruck, while the sound of the crowd singing and playing tapes of "Imagine" and "Give Peace a Chance" drifted up. "Hearing his songs in the street was very difficult for me," she says. "I was sitting alone in the bedroom, and John was singing all night." The next day, flowers, gifts and cards flooded in—as did death threats and crank calls about bombs. A morgue attendant sold photos of Lennon's corpse to the tabloids for $10,000. The first of three devastated fans killed herself. Ono begged publicly for the suicides to stop, called for a silent vigil in Central Park and took little Sean to see the piece of ground where his dad had been shot. Julian Lennon, then 17, flew into New York. "If I had had my way, I would have said, 'Please don't go, it's going to be an absolute nightmare'," says his mother, Cynthia, by phone from Spain. "But those were his wishes because he loved his father and wanted to be as close to him as he could." As for her? She pauses, not wanting to criticize Ono, but not wanting to let her off the hook, either. "I wasn't allowed to go, let's put it that way. I had my own way of grieving."

In the years that followed, fans united and mourned on a global scale, while back at the Dakota everything seemed to be imploding, like a solar system when its sun goes out. David Sheff chronicled the period in "The Betrayal of John Lennon," a devastating article published by Playboy in 1984. A security guard whom Sean had grown close to quit abruptly, insisting he was owed back pay and taking a pair of Lennon's glasses, a dozen cassettes, some electronic equipment and a love letter as collateral. A Tarot-card reader whom Ono let live free of charge in a loft filled with Lennon's artwork and original tapes began charging admission to the public. An assistant named Frederic Seaman made off with clothing, more love letters, amplifiers and priceless diaries, and even helped himself to a bath in Lennon's tub. Sheff reported all of the above, and noted that Ono was too lost in grief to notice that anything was missing—until someone offered to sell her John Lennon's diaries.

What's strange is that people like Seaman seemed to feel something like love for Lennon. "Love?" Ono says today. "No, I think it was not love. If it was love, they would have known that John would have wanted his wife respected and protected. I know that I don't own John, but he left me to take care of things." Seaman pleaded guilty to second-degree grand larceny. Years later he published a memoir, as did a co-conspirator, the Tarot-card reader, a housekeeper and Lennon's former lover May Pang. Seaman's memoir portrayed the singer as a Howard Hughes-ish obsessive imprisoned by his wife. He offered it up as follows: "This book is dedicated to the memory of John Lennon. May his music live on forever."

The music did, in fact, flourish. The Beatles had been receding in the collective consciousness, partly, no doubt, because both Lennon's and McCartney's solo work had been in decline. (Ono is commonly accused of having sabotaged her husband's gifts; how she worked her black magic on McCartney is unclear.) "The Beatles seemed to be in the process of being forgotten," says Glenn Glass, a music professor at Indiana University. "There was that horrible 'Sgt. Pepper' movie, and then John's death shocked everybody and reminded them how much the Beatles meant." Lennon and Ono's album "Double Fantasy" had been released a month before his death to mixed reviews, and debuted at No. 24. After Lennon's death, "(Just Like) Starting Over" became the most successful single of his solo career; "Double Fantasy" flew to No. 1 and won the Grammy for Album of the Year.
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Re: Newsweek Nov. 28, 2005 issue: Lennon Lives
Автор: Corvin   Дата: 23.11.05 14:19:48   
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The mother-son relationship flourished, too. Sean Lennon declined to be interviewed for this article, presumably because it's difficult for a musician to find his own path in life while dragging around the neon sign of that last name. (Cynthia Lennon also said her son, Julian, would prefer not to talk.) But 10 years ago, when he was 20, Sean gave this reporter a rare interview at the Dakota. He seemed warm and self-effacing—soft, even—in a way that his genes could not entirely account for. He talked about his childhood, specifically about fear and the struggle not to succumb to it. His father's death floated between the lines. Yeah, that's a biggie, he said. That's a big one. I mean, I grew up being scared that someone would shoot my mom—or me. You know what I mean? And I was justified. He smiled. But growing up in New York, everybody's scared of getting shot.The mother-son relationship flourished, too. Sean Lennon declined to be interviewed for this article, presumably because it's difficult for a musician to find his own path in life while dragging around the neon sign of that last name. (Cynthia Lennon also said her son, Julian, would prefer not to talk.) But 10 years ago, when he was 20, Sean gave this reporter a rare interview at the Dakota. He seemed warm and self-effacing—soft, even—in a way that his genes could not entirely account for. He talked about his childhood, specifically about fear and the struggle not to succumb to it. His father's death floated between the lines. "Yeah, that's a biggie," he said. "That's a big one. I mean, I grew up being scared that someone would shoot my mom—or me. You know what I mean? And I was justified." He smiled. "But growing up in New York, everybody's scared of getting shot."

Sean was growing accustomed to his own accidental celebrity. "At this point, I'm just happy if people are nice to me," he said. "If somebody comes up and says, 'Please can I have your autograph?' I'm, like, 'Sure!' At least they're respecting me as a human being. I mean, sometimes people will treat me like I'm not even a person, like I'm a sideshow freak. They assume all these liberties." He said his mother had always wanted him to be famous, though for an unexpected reason. "She made certain to expose me to the press," he said. "She was worried that if she might ever die or something, I would be an orphan. She thought that at least if the world, or Lennon fans, loved me, I wouldn't just disappear." When "Double Fantasy" won that Grammy, Ono brought Sean onstage with her—and cried when the crowd rose to its feet.

Just when it seemed as if love was all you needed, Lennon's legacy took a body blow in 1988 when Albert Goldman published his poisonous book "The Lives of John Lennon." Even if the conventional image of the singer's final years—years said to have been spent baking bread, romping in Central Park with Sean and in bed with Yoko—always seemed a bit cloying and sanitized, the picture that Goldman painted was appalling. Goldman's Lennon was a gay, schizoid, anorexic heroin addict. Ono he liked less. As John Lahr put it in The New York Times Book Review, "Obviously, Mr. Goldman feels that the wrong Lennon was shot."

Pathographies like "The Lives of John Lennon" can do real damage, but Goldman's book was so transparently malicious that, even as you read it, it seemed to rot from within. "Every single person was annihilated," says Cynthia Lennon. "My mother was called a bulldog and a domineering woman, which was nothing—nothing—like my mother. And he called me a spaniel. I thought, I'd rather be a spaniel than a Rottweiler, which is what he was." Goldman's book was a best seller, but Ono championed the infinitely more humane and convincing "Imagine" documentary as an antidote. Lennon's reputation survived the sliming. There's no way around the fact that he had flashes of unusual cruelty throughout his life and a history of drug use. He acknowledged both himself, and both are enumerated once again in Bob Spitz's new biography, "The Beatles." But by and large, Lennon is not remembered as a tormented junkie. He's remembered either as a moptop or as the man at the white piano—the man who wrote "Imagine," "Give Peace a Chance" and "All You Need Is Love," which amount to the greatest ad campaign for brother- and sisterhood in history.

If Lennon did have a great failing, it was not tawdry but tragic: his inability to be a father to Julian, even after Sean's birth had awakened him to parenthood. (The singer had been effectively abandoned by his own parents, hence the heartbreaking opening line from the "Plastic Ono Band" album: "Mother, you had me but I never had you.") When Cynthia and Lennon divorced in 1968—she'd walked in on him and Yoko—he gave her a one-time payment of about $180,000 and set up a $100,000 trust fund for Julian to share with any future heirs. Cynthia called him, against the advice of her lawyers. He told her she wasn't worth more. When Julian became a pop star in the mid-'80s, he was shaken by the endless comparisons to a father he'd hardly known. Years later, he was infuriated by Ono's reluctance to part with keepsakes to remember him by. He lacerated her publicly, and bought what he could at auction, paying $70,000 for the afghan coat that his dad wore on the cover of "Magical Mystery Tour" and $60,000 for the notes to the tune that McCartney wrote for him when his folks split up, "Hey Jude."

In 1996, Julian reportedly won a multi-million-dollar settlement from his father's estate, but a rapprochement with Ono is not on the horizon. In 1998, Julian released an album he'd worked on for seven years, only to find that Sean's first album was debuting the same day. He remains convinced, says his mother, that it was a publicity stunt made to order by Ono—who vigorously denies it. In any case, it undermined both young men's desire to be judged in their own right. Julian was devastated, says Cynthia. Neither Julian nor Sean, now 42 and 30, has ever released another album, though both mothers say their sons are at work.
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Re: Newsweek Nov. 28, 2005 issue: Lennon Lives
Автор: Corvin   Дата: 23.11.05 14:19:56   
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The years of infighting say something disquieting about what money does to people, but they may say even more about what grief does to people. Over the years, Ono's most persistent adversary has been Paul McCartney. "There have been moments of closeness, and they've hugged on camera," says Mark Lewisohn, an indispensable authority on the Beatles who's now at work on a three-volume biography. "But clearly there were difficult times. What surprised me is that it became public, which it did around the time of Linda's death." In 1998, when Linda McCartney died, Paul talked at length about the fact that Ono had not been invited to the memorial service. It seemed supremely passive-aggressive. But Ono and McCartney had been going at each other for years. She loves to poke at his insecurities—in 1997, she compared Lennon to Mozart and McCartney to Salieri, and she reprised that theme just recently at a British awards show—and he reliably takes the bait and flinches.

The result has been the unseemly sight of McCartney's jousting with the dead. He led a PR campaign to convince people he was every inch the rocker that Lennon was, and famously wanted to reverse the legendary Lennon & McCartney songwriting credit on a few key songs, such as "Yesterday," which he wrote entirely himself. He backed off when it was brought to his attention that, despite whatever consolations there must be in being a billionaire, a genius and a Sir, he was behaving like a child. "Why do I care? I dunno," McCartney told NEWSWEEK in 2003. "I've given up. I'm not going to bother with it. It's very unseemly for me to care, because John's not here and it's like walking on a dead man's grave. I was talking about him as if he were here, and he's not."

That last sentence is the one to rewind: I was talking about him as if he were here, and he's not. After 25 years, McCartney still seems shocked to look across the conference-room table and see Ono's face where the face of his best mate, John, should be. "I don't think he's competitive with John," says Cynthia Lennon, "as much as he is with Yoko." It's as if they've always battled for the pre-eminent right to grieve. But when you think about what was lost when Lennon stepped out of a limousine on Dec. 8, 1980—when you think of him singing "the dream is over" about something as innocent as the breakup of a pop band—you realize that there's enough grief to go around.

With Jac Chebatoris, George Lyle and Stephen Saito

© 2005 Newsweek, Inc.

http://msnbc.msn.com/id/10115403/site/newsweek/
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Re: Newsweek Nov. 28, 2005 issue: Lennon Lives
Автор: Corvin   Дата: 23.11.05 14:20:44   
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Dave Matthews On...'Imagine'Dave Matthews On...'Imagine'

Very often, songs of protest or songs that have some sort of social message are just dated and unlistenable. They're earnest—and they're bulls--t. But this is an absolutely stellar song. It's wrenching. Even if he'd written only "Imagine," he would have been the greatest songwriter of all time. Nobody in a position of power had ever made that clear a statement. It's very hard to look at that song and not say, "Well, you know, he's right" even though he wasn't saying "I'm right." He's just asking you to think about something, which is the genius of it: imagine if everything we take for granted as unchangeable was not there, imagine what the world would be like. And he does it in such a beautiful, humble way that you have to be an insane person not to go, "Touche."
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Re: Newsweek Nov. 28, 2005 issue: Lennon Lives
Автор: Corvin   Дата: 23.11.05 14:21:30   
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Billie Joe Armstrong of Green Day On...'In My Life' Billie Joe Armstrong of Green Day On...'In My Life'

There are two songs I want to be played at my funeral: David Bowie's "Life on Mars" and "In My Life." On the bus late at night, we'd play "In My Life" 15 times in a row. It reflects on everything: sometimes it reads like a tombstone, or your last will. It's not about money. It's about your soul and what you hope to leave behind. It's such a beautiful song—even the drums are so simple—and it's one of the first times that the Beatles were really getting into something of true substance about what was going on down deep in their hearts. It was personal, but it could affect all these other people at the same time. It did me, anyway.
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Re: Newsweek Nov. 28, 2005 issue: Lennon Lives
Автор: Corvin   Дата: 23.11.05 14:22:44   
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Sinead O'connor On...'You Can't Do That'Sinead O'connor On...'You Can't Do That'

If you look at his childhood, he was brought up by his aunt. The mother wasn't there, then she came back, then she died horribly. This was a man who could not stand to be d---ed around by women, or abandoned. He couldn't stand untrustworthy women, and he's not ashamed to be a bit of a bastard. "I told you before, you can't do that"—it's controlling, it's bullying, it's nasty, but it's also beautiful. Where do you ever hear a man telling you, "If you f---ing leave me, I don't know what I'm going to do"? I admire the nastiness of it, and the fact that he didn't try to hide it. It's actually a very beautiful sentiment, but he chose not to say it all sugary sweet, like, "I can't live, if living is without you," and to me that makes him double sexy.
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Re: Newsweek Nov. 28, 2005 issue: Lennon Lives
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Chris Martin Of Coldplay On...'Tomorrow Never Knows' Chris Martin Of Coldplay On...'Tomorrow Never Knows'

"Tomorrow Never Knows" is kind of a microcosm of the whole Beatles thing. On a surface level, it's very catchy and it has an instant drumbeat, but technologically, it's totally out there. They made it with loops of tape all going in different machines—it must have looked like a crazy inventor's room. Even now, people can't make anything that sounds as weird as that. At the same time it's a pop song and a meditation: "Turn off your mind, relax and float downstream." The great people take the same colors and notes as everyone else and do something different.
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Re: Newsweek Nov. 28, 2005 issue: Lennon Lives
Автор: Corvin   Дата: 23.11.05 14:23:55   
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Brandon Flowers of The Killers on... 'God'  Brandon Flowers of The Killers on... 'God'

There'll always be 15-year-olds who discover the Beatles. But I really appreciated Lennon for how strong his solo work was. A lot of people lose it—whatever "it" is—and he didn't. "God" ends with this beautiful thing where he says, "I was the Dreamweaver but now I'm reborn/I was the Walrus, but now I'm John." It just melts my heart every time. It shows that he kind of came full circle. He went through the drugs and everything, but came back to being John and being proud of it and telling the whole world.
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Re: Newsweek Nov. 28, 2005 issue: Lennon Lives
Автор: Corvin   Дата: 23.11.05 14:25:00   
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Фотогалерея памяти Джона (flash): http://msnbc.msn.com/id/10101522/
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Re: Newsweek Nov. 28, 2005 issue: Lennon Lives
Автор: oblako9   Дата: 23.11.05 15:33:54   
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2 Corvin Уважаемый Corvin ! Спасибо ! Это здорово ! Это отлично !
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Огорчение   Ироничная ухмылка   Голливудская улыбка   Я тащусь!   Круто!   Не в себе   Жуть!   Стыд   Сарказм   Злость  
Слезы   Ем   Под кайфом   Сильная злость   Все равно   Болею   Любовь   Подмигиваю   Ты мне нравишься!   Добрый профессор  
Каюк   Скука   Вот это да!!!   Тошнит   Вымученная улыбка   Укушу   Говорю   Валяюсь от смеха   Любопытно   Снесло крышу  
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