The Ballad of Harry & Yoko

Due to foreseen events (and no more avoidable because of it), I was unable to write up any further thoughts on the subject of last month’s Radio Ulster chat with Mr. Bailie. That person was the lovely Ms. Ono, who was for so long maligned, until, at least, the triumphant release of the ONO BOX in 1992. This began her rehabilitation into received wisdom, where she was finally viewed as, certainly, acceptable. By the time of last year’s Between My Head & The Sky, it seemed only just and natural that she receive five star reviews all the way around. In view of such late-in-life popularity, it would hardly be fair not to say a few words about her.

Ms. Ono

Fortunately, the feature star of this month’s discussion (“Delightfully shambolic” Own Personal Opinion) was Harry Nilsson, with whom Ms. Ono had crossed paths, swords, and wires in his lifetime. He was the performer known most widely for the high notes on Everybody’s Talkin’ and the definitive recording of Without You, neither of which was a Mr. Nilsson composition. Like Ms. Ono‘s, his song writing was respected amongst his peers, but it was not for this skill that the public at large knew either of them.

Mr. Nilsson

Of course, in discussing both parties, it soon becomes apparent that one topic is unavoidable. It proves almost impossible to speak about their lives or put them in an historical context without mention of Mr. Lennon. So great is the shadow that the Beatles cast over pop music (a clause almost as boring to write as to read) that this could be said, idly, of every artist or group, but of Mr. Nilsson and Ms. Ono it is a literal truth: Mr. Lennon played an important part in their lives or, as Mr. Lennon always seemed particularly needy, they played an important part in his.

The famed ‘Lost Weekend’ episode is, perhaps, most illustrative of this. Ms. Ono sent Mr. Lennon from their home for fifteen months in order that he might mature; he ran off to California to act drunkenly and outrageously with Mr. Nilsson instead. In this period, Ms. Ono made her first record without aid from Mr. Lennon, while Mr. Nilsson and Mr. Lennon recorded their only full album together, a collaboration that seemed, for a long time, inevitable. For what it is worth (a pinch of salt), I think A Story is Ms. Ono’s finest release, while Pussycats is Mr. Nilsson’s worst.

Mr. Taylor, the Beatles Press Officer, wrote the liner notes to Mr. Nilsson‘s second album, Aerial Ballet, describing him thus: “He is the something else the Beatles are.” While, of course, Ms. Ono is something else altogether.

It would probably be too easy to see these life-long associates of Mr. Lennon as representing, on one hand, his populist talents and songwriterly diligence and, on another, his provocative interest in the avant-garde. So easy, in fact, that one could put it in a table.

For each of them, the assassination of Mr. Lennon in 1980 would direct their public persona for the following decade, at least. Ms. Ono would, famously, become a professional widow, including Mr. Lennon’s blood-spattered spectacles on the cover her first album after his death, 1981’s Season of Glass. Mr. Nilsson, alternatively, would reduce his recorded output, for those last fourteen years of his life, to one-off appearances on soundtrack and tribute albums, preferring to concentrate his efforts on campaigning with the Coalition to Stop Gun Violence. He even broke his rule about never performing live by organising appearances at a number of Beatlefest conventions over the years. The one album he recorded after Mr. Lennon’s death (1994’s Papa’s Got A Brown New Robe) was never released, while Ms. Ono has released many records since. For both, the period after December 1980 was about preserving the memory of John Lennon and making sure that his death was not in vain.

But, of course, this is the easy way to present it; to say that, as western philosophy is to Mr. Plato, so is most pop music to the Beatles: a footnote. The Beatles oeuvre encompassed such original work, in so little space, and at just the right time, that it is easy for a right-earred person to draw a reasoned line from them to anyone else. It also means that, as a result, a recommendation from the Beatles could be quite enough to buoy a person’s career: as well, as Mr. Nilsson and Ms. Ono, Mr. Cutler, The Bonzo Dog Band, Ms. Mary Hopkins, Ms. Linda McCartney, and Ms. Heather Mills (not to mention everyone’s children) hold higher rank in the popular imagination than they might without a Beatles association. Ms. Ono was a respected conceptual artist before her relationship with Mr. Lennon, but how many conceptual artists of her time were household names without being married to a Beatle? Mr. Nilsson had started writing successfully for others, but might not have made the next step to stardom (with Everybody’s Talkin’) had John and Paul not described him as their favourite American artist and group at the launch of Apple Corps. Certainly, it was Mr. Lennon that wrangled, from RCA, the $5million off which Mr. Nilsson lived. Without Mr. Lennon, they certainly would be less well-known, but no less talented.

It is understandable that a multi-faceted person, like Mr. Lennon, would draw to himself people who encapsulate those various facets. However, the problem is that, as the story is most often told from the perspective of the biggest player, those others become defined by those facets and defined in relation to the focus of the tale. As a result, their own many facets are often downplayed: Ms. Ono was largely presented as a one-dimensional figure of abuse during her years of marriage with Mr. Lennon.

And, so, while the death of Mr. Lennon focussed the actions of both Ms. Ono and Mr. Nilsson yet more on their relationship with the deceased, it was also the removal of that focus: the absence of Mr. Lennon drew their other abilities into view, no longer mere drinking or living companion, but a respected artist and influence (Ms. Ono) and a vociferous debater and campaigner (Mr. Nilsson).

This is perhaps shown best by the 1984 Yoko Ono tribute album, Every Man Has A Woman. Recorded as a fiftieth birthday present to Ms. Ono, it was largely considered to be Mr. Lennon’s idea, but, by the time of his death, it was little more than a notion. After this, Mr. Nilsson made considerable input, contributing three recordings to the final release. However, Mr. Nilsson had started recording an album of Ms. Ono songs as early as 1979, which could just have easily been the seed for the record that followed. Had his album been released, it would have been only his second record comprised solely of another writer’s work, the first being (Mr) Nilsson Sings (Mr) Newman. This is not bad company for Ms. Ono to keep. In the end, Mr. Nilsson handed some of these tracks over to the final varied artist tribute, all three of which were released as singles. The demos are all available all over the internet. Like here.

Such is the natural thinking about pop music that many suggest these recordings were an attempt to curry favour with Mr. Lennon. What point there would have been in this, I could not guess. The two Mssrs were already the closest of friends and Mr. Nilsson’s record would not have spread Ms. Ono’s songs to many more listeners than their appearances on Mr. Lennon’s records had. We must take Mr. Lennon out of our understanding: Mr. Nilsson chose to record Ms. Ono’s songs because he wanted to. And, despite the obvious differences between the two, it is easy to see why. So easy, in fact, that it could be put in a table.