Songs of Protest: “Imagine” No More John Lennon Bootlicking
“Imagine” by John Lennon came out 50 years ago. It wasn’t a protest song then, and, no matter what some think-pieces would have you believe, it still isn’t one now.
Music is one of society’s best teachers. In Songs of Protest, writers analyze some of music’s greatest hits, using their findings to make sense of the world around them.
Written by Arundhati Ghosh
Photo courtesy of Rowland Scherman
Greatest Protest Songs. Best Protest Songs In History: 20 Timeless Political Anthems. The 50 Best Protest Songs of All Time. Googling “protest songs” and reading through the lists that come up is playing a game where you can’t win: No matter how hard you try, avoiding seeing John Lennon’s name is downright impossible. In the same way you wake up on a Monday morning and find that you have to brush your teeth multiple times just to try and get the taste of sleep out of your mouth, “Imagine” by The Beatles’ frontman continues to pop up in music media 50 years after its initial release. Your toothpaste will make its way down the drain eventually, but society hasn’t yet managed to give John Lennon the same treatment.
Lennon is commonly lauded as one of the greatest artists of all time, with a multitude of his songs hailed by critic after critic as having unrivaled contributions to the world of music. “Imagine” is not only amongst them; rather, as his solo career’s best-selling single, it sits alone on a pedestal high above the others. In a 2001 article, Rolling Stone referred to it as a “call for mutual responsibility… and a condemnation of the hells we continually bring on ourselves.” These are strong claims to make about one song, and are even more damning considering the context surrounding both the song and its creator.
John Lennon had one hell of a turbulent decade (and some change) when it came to the ’60s, from The Beatles making it big in '62, leaving his ex-wife Cynthia Lennon in '68, and subsequently marrying Yoko in '69. In 1970, his iconic band broke up and he released his first solo album, John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band. The turn of the decade marked the finality of the Beatles while opening new doors for Lennon and his inevitable success as a soloist.
He was the most popular musician in the world. Fans at home and abroad alike sang his praises, allowing him to ride off Beatlemania far after the band’s separation. He was not only heralded for being a brilliant singer: he was considered an incredible activist as well. A Time magazine article remembering Lennon 20 years after his death stated that he “instinctively decided to use his celebrity as a bully pulpit for causes greater than his own enrichment or self-aggrandizement,” and that he believed that if “disbelievers were going to ridicule his peace protests, that was at least preferable to them being engaged in violence.”
These are rich words coming from a known wife and child abuser.
The picture people paint of John Lennon, especially of his dedication to pacifism, is practically saintly. To his son Julian, however, he isn’t remembered as a person backlit by the shine of his awards and accolades, his songs and statements. In the foreword for his mother Cynthia’s biography, aptly titled “John,” Julian does not mince his words, expressing that, to him, John “wasn't a musician or a peace icon, he was the father … who let me down in so many ways.” In the same book, Cynthia is even clearer in depicting just how cruel John was to his child, detailing an incident in which Julian, a young child, had laughed in a moment of happiness. He was quickly rounded on by John, who yelled that he couldn’t “‘stand the way [Julian] f-cking laugh[ed]” at his son before berating him into bursting into tears.
Cynthia ends her recounting of the memory with a heart-breaking observation about Julian: “To this day he seldom laughs.”
Julian Lennon was born in 1963. John contributed lyrics to the song “Getting Better” on The Beatles’ 1967 album Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. In 1980, upon getting asked about specific lyrics from the song (“I used to be cruel to my woman / I beat her and kept her apart from the things that she loved”) during a Playboy interview, Lennon admitted that he “used to be cruel to [his] woman, and … was a hitter” before claiming that he “learned not to be violent” over time. In the same interview, he goes on to complain about violence as related to the concept of revolution: “Count me out if it is for violence. Don't expect me to be on the barricades unless it is with flowers.” Somehow, ferocity is acceptable against his ex-wife and child, but unacceptable in socio-political activism.
Despite being the anti-war movement’s darling and despite his calls for unity both within and outside his music, it seems that John Lennon, activist extraordinaire, never learned that physical violence is not the only type of cruelty. His emotionally abusive behavior towards Cynthia and Julian did not only span the four years between Julian’s birth and the release of “Getting Better.” John Lennon may have given hope to others through his music, but the lasting impact he had on some of the people closest to him actively harmed them. He preached, but he certainly did not practice.
Almost everyone has heard “Imagine.” The steady piano chords that back Lennon’s voice are recognizable within seconds of the song’s start, and the classically simple melody is seldom lost on listeners’ ears. The song’s mega-hit status and memorable instrumentals have, over time, effectively masked how lackluster the lyrics are. Most of the stanzas start with the word “imagine,” followed by certain caveats of the utopia Lennon wants his audience to consider. He opens the song by telling listeners to “imagine there’s no heaven” and “no hell below us,” following this imploration with the description of a world with no countries, “Nothing to kill or die for / And no religion, too.” Lennon rounds out his world-building by calling for a place with “No need for greed or hunger / A brotherhood of man.” Only two stanzas in the short song between with an introductory word that isn’t “imagine,” and they are identical to each other: “You may say I'm a dreamer / But I'm not the only one / I hope someday you'll join us / And the world will be as one.”
Apart from the aforementioned lyrics, Lennon urges his audience to imagine “all the people livin' for today” and “livin' life in peace,” barely diving deeper than that. There is no protest to be found in “Imagine,” only a famous white man’s brief imagination of a utopian ideal that is entirely unfeasible. There are no real calls for change. The most revolutionary stance the song could possibly take is one against religion as an institution, and even there, Lennon has no depth to his implied argument. An easy-going, feel-good song it may be, but a protest song it is not. For many, the song’s simplicity is considered its greatest strength. Considering the disparity between the lyrics of “Imagine” and Lennon’s behaviors towards others in his personal life, however, the song is not just simple. It is ignorant, unaware, and, most of all, lacking in accountability.
If anything, Lennon’s triple-platinum track “Imagine” only serves to prove that the powers that be have a sardonic sense of humor: the most contextually fitting performance of the song — when compared to the reality of its original lyricist and his character — was the widely lambasted early quarantine era celebrity cover that actress Gal Gadot spearheaded. Nothing is more synonymous with the phrase ‘coming from a place of privilege’ than a gaggle of wealthy entertainers, removed entirely from the day-to-day struggle many working-class individuals face, coming together to sing a social justice anthem that was written by a white man who neglected and abused his first wife and son. It is less of a protest song and more of an entitlement anthem. John Lennon doesn’t have to “imagine there’s no heaven,” because if one exists, he certainly isn’t residing in it.