December 8th, 1980, is one of the worst days in my memory. I was a senior theatre major at West Texas State University, and that night I was typing the final draft of a creative writing class final project, a one-act play entitled The River Knows (an allusion to a song by another dead rock star, Jim Morrison). My project was due in two days, but I had to stop for the night. Between phone calls from several friends, who wanted to commiserate, and the inability to focus on my work, I delayed typing until the next day.
Kevin was the first to call. We were best friends in high school but went our separate ways after graduation. We shared a common love for all kinds of music, the Beatles' most of all. Kevin had been watching Monday Night Football when Howard Cosell announced the sad news that Lennon had been killed outside the Dakota apartment building in New York City, his wife Yoko Ono by his side. I was relieved to receive the news from an old friend. It gave us a chance to reminisce, to share in our grief, our sense of disbelief.
Every year since then, as December 8th approaches, I become keenly aware of this horrible anniversary, but in recent years it often takes something to jar the memory loose on the actual date—a song on the radio, a headline in the newspaper. It might be a sign of my age and the increasingly elusive nature of remembering things, but I think it's more than that. There's only so much grieving I can stand to bear over something as senseless as the murder of an artist … by a fan, no less. The mind still refuses to comprehend, refuses to accept.
Then, there's the music. As the years recede and more and more musical icons of my youth die—including George Harrison, who's been gone for twelve years now—the music is still there, is still a vital part of my life. Last month, for instance, a new collection of Beatles recordings was released, the second volume of BBC performances, On Air—Live at the BBC, Volume 2. As soon as I listened to the CDs, I was taken back to my youth and was reminded of the intense energy of the the Beatles' early music.
Back to Bob Schneider—the song that started me on this post begins and ends with the following lines: "I don't care what they say / we'll love forever today / they can't take that away." The song is remarkably upbeat, and it felt good for once to observe Lennon's passing in such a positive way. All day I have played the song repeatedly, and the lyrics will continue to reverberate in my head as I settle down to sleep tonight.
Thank you, Bob. Thank you, John.
I too am a fan of the Beatles (as are most people). It seems like the quallity and sense of purpose in todays music is not the same as it was back then. John Lennon did amazing solo work along with the music he made with the beatles. Out of curiousity I recently watched an old Larry King interview with John Lennon's killer. Amazing musician and man.
ReplyDeleteThanks, David, for sharing your love of music. I am passionate about the subject. My first musical memory was supplied by my babysitter when I was four years old. She brought a 45 record of "I Want to Hold Your Hand" to my house, and I was hooked. In junior high I squirreled away lunch money to buy albums. To this day I am a die-hard music fan, and I am currently reading Mark Lewisohn's biography of the Fab Four, All These Years. It's an amazing read that reminds me anew of why I love their music so much.
ReplyDeleteAs for John Lennon's killer, I follow Yoko Ono's request that his name not be mentioned; I refuse to validate his existence. I am an inquisitive person but have no desire to learn anything else about him. I remember vividly hearing the news that John Lennon had been killed. I was typing the final draft of a one-act play for a creative writing class. I was a senior in college at the time. My best friend called to deliver the tragic news. The next day my car died on the way home from school and had to be junked. True story.