There are artists who write songs, and then there are those who write themselves into the fabric of human history. John Lennon was one o...
There are artists who write songs, and then
there are those who write themselves into the fabric of human history. John
Lennon was one of the latter — a man who turned melody into mirror, rhythm into
rebellion, and lyrics into lifelines. Today, as we remember his birthday, we
don’t just celebrate a musician. We celebrate a soul who dared to expose every
shade of himself — the wit, the wounds, the wonder — through his songs.
From the moment he urged us to “come on, come
on, come on, come on — please please me, oh yeah, like I please you”, Lennon
wasn’t just chasing a pop hit; he was defining a new electricity in music.
Those early Beatles years were a storm of harmonies and harmonicas — you can
almost see him, head tilted, blowing through the bluesy riff of “I Should’ve
Known Better”, that harmonica echoing the laughter and longing of a youth that
felt immortal.
But even in the chaos of Beatlemania, cracks
began to show in that smiling mask. “Help! I need somebody…” wasn’t just a
catchy chorus — it was a cry for help from a young man drowning in adoration.
That vulnerability, so rare in rock at the time, would become his signature.
Then came the era of anthem and awakening.
Lennon’s voice — sometimes tender, sometimes defiant — rang out over a world in
turmoil with “All You Need Is Love.” He sang it like a commandment, but also a
plea. There was no irony in those words; he believed them. He had to. And then,
just a few years later, that same voice growled over a swampy groove, “Come
together, right now — over me.” The peace prophet had found his swagger, his
punk before punk, his rebellion refined into rhythm.
Yet Lennon’s truest artistry emerged when he
stepped beyond the Beatles’ shadow. Alone, he bared the rawest truths of self
and society. In “Isolation” he confessed, “People say we got it made, don’t
they know we’re so afraid?” — a line that stripped away the myth of celebrity
to reveal the trembling man beneath. And then there was “Imagine” — that
eternal hymn of hope, asking us to “imagine all the people living life in
peace.” Two songs so far apart — one shadowed by fear, the other bathed in
light — yet both undeniably Lennon.
He wandered through dreamscapes with “#9 Dream”
— “Ah! böwakawa poussé, poussé” — nonsense syllables that somehow felt like the
language of the subconscious. Then came the grit and ache of “I’m Losing You,”
his voice cracking with the pain of love unraveling.
But as he moved through the turbulence, Lennon
began to make peace with himself. “Just Like Starting Over” was his gentle restart,
an embrace of ordinary happiness — not the Beatle, not the activist, but the
husband and father. And in “Jealous Guy”, he confessed softly, “I didn’t mean
to hurt you, I’m sorry that I made you cry.” It was one of the purest acts of
honesty in pop music — the tough dreamer apologizing to the world, and perhaps
to himself.
In “Watching the Wheels,” he finally seemed free
— no longer spinning in fame’s frantic orbit, but content to just be. “I’m just
sitting here watching the wheels go round and round, I really love to watch
them roll.” There’s serenity there, but also the quiet wisdom of a man who had
finally understood that peace was not a movement to lead, but a state to live.
And then, of course, there is that cruel,
haunting irony — “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other
plans.” Lennon sang it as a line of lived truth, and the world learned just how
fragile that truth was.
John Lennon’s story is not one of perfection,
but of evolution — from restless rock ’n’ roll rebel to wounded seeker, from
cynic to dreamer. His journey through song is a map of the human heart,
charting joy, confusion, rage, love, and hope in equal measure.
So on his birthday, we remember not only the
legend who imagined a better world, but the man who showed us that even broken
souls can make beautiful music.
Happy birthday, John.
You are still with us — in every chorus, every
whispered harmony, every dream that dares to imagine.
By Pratik Majumdar (author 1975 The Year That
Transformed Bollywood and Love Coffee Murder)
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