It's been 30 years since John Lennon was murdered, and there's a big buzz about the anniversary. I suppose I ought to add my bit ...
Imagine is possibly the worst song ever written. It is shallow, it is empty, it is tedious and it is self-indulgent. It only takes two of those lumpen piano chords (he loved that right-left-right-left
vamping, didn't he?) to send me screaming for a soundproof room.
Worse than that, it is so nauseatingly hypocritical that it turns my stomach. "Imagine no possessions" from a millionaire; "Imagine all the pee-pull living life in peace" from a wife-beater.
Peter Risdon has an anecdote which sums it up for me:
"It’s only a fucking song."This, from a "Working-Class Hero".
I came across this somewhere recently. Lennon was, apparently, being visited in New York by a friend from Liverpool. Seeing Yoko Ono’s walk-in chiller for storing fur coats, the friend said, “Imagine no possessions, eh, John?”
John replied as above.