Half of What I Say: Book Review: Ray Connolly’s Being John Lennon: A Restless Life

A rule of thumb in Roman history involves diligent analysis of the memoirs from one of its greatest, most famous figures: Julius Caesar. It is widely acknowledged among historians that Caesar’s recollections habitually overestimated the strength of his enemy’s numbers, ensuring that his own military victories appeared that much more impressive. For students and historians of Rome, this requires analyzing Caesar’s memoirs – such as The Conquest of Gaul – with an acknowledgement of that habit of self-serving hyperbole. Indeed, Gilbert Garraghan could very well have had Caesar in mind when describing, in A Guide to Historical Method, a habit of exaggeration as an element that historians must acknowledge in those sources that possess it.

In an early 1970s conversation with journalist Ray Connolly, John Lennon reportedly told Connolly that he, Lennon, had written approximately 80% of the lyrics under the Lennon/McCartney credit. Connolly, who was by then familiar with how Lennon’s emotional state and habit of exaggeration often led to him describing less-than-accurate versions of Beatles history, silently, and automatically, dismissed the claim. Connolly only referenced it again decades later in his necessary work, The Ray Connolly Beatles Archives, in an article discussing, among other things, Lennon’s penchant for hyperbole, and the danger of taking too much of the late musician’s comments at face value — an issue that other journalists, such as Ray Coleman, would have done well to integrate into their version of the breakup.

Over the decades, Connolly’s Beatles’ work displays numerous examples of similar instances, in which the journalist analyzes and implicitly or explicitly objects to what he regards as some of the simplifications, exaggerations, and falsifications (quite a few of which originated from the band’s own members) in the band’s story. Many of these revolve around Connolly’s contesting the simplified, caricatured versions of the band’s primary figures of Lennon and fellow Beatle Paul McCartney. Connolly’s work includes considerably less coverage of the other Beatles, George Harrison and Ringo Starr, an issue that Connolly himself acknowledges in the aforementioned Archive. While the journalist established good relations with both McCartney and, later during the breakup period, with Lennon, he speculates that this indicated to Harrison that he, Connolly, was more of a John and Paul guy, therefore disinclining Harrison away from him. Starr also, with the exception of a few articles written around the Anthology time period, received little of Connolly’s attention. This means that while the journalist has provided excellent articles criticizing shows such as Lennon Naked, whose version of Lennon reduces the musician to only one aspect of his personality — anger — and strips him of his humor, self-deprecating wit, and generosity, there are few such insightful articles by Connolly on the depiction of Harrison or Starr.

This continues with Connolly’s most recent contribution to Beatles historiography: Being John Lennon: A Restless Life. For a Beatles aficionado, the most striking element of the work is not the information on Lennon — for anyone who has read earlier Lennon biographies, or Tune In, there are no revelations within its pages — but how Connolly analyzes that information, parsing out its accuracy or likelihood based on standards which are partially based on Connolly’s own first-hand knowledge of the figures — Lennon, McCartney, Ono — involved. Even then, much of Connolly’s analysis is not new; various declarations — such as his comments on the problematic gospel of Lennon Remembers, or the illegitimacy of the fierce, immediate fan backlash blaming McCartney for the breakup — were also provided, and often times in greater detail, in the Archive. The new biography, by virtue of its format, offers integration of some of these elements into our understanding of Lennon and McCartney — newspaper articles are, by nature, short and choppy, whereas the biography can offer greater context. However, Connolly’s articles span the larger scope of the band’s story, with subjects ranging from the initial public reaction to Ono to the making of Anthology to the death of George Martin. Due to the biography’s obvious and natural focus on Lennon, Connolly’s often insightful and informative analysis of these other elements and figures with in the band’s story is absent from his newest work. Given the choice between the Archive, or Connolly’s newest work, the Archive, which includes contemporaneous as well as retrospective articles, ultimately proves more valuable and necessary.

Connolly’s current analysis continues the growing acknowledgement regarding Lennon’s emotional, addictive and behavioral struggles, while also repeatedly referencing the musician’s blazing charisma, fierce intelligence, and profound artistry. Crucially, when Connolly rebuts, either through evidence or speculation, the accuracy of Lennon’s comments on events or individuals, the author attempts to also explain why Lennon would provide, knowingly or unknowingly, inaccurate information, such as in his discussion of the Lennon Remembers interview: “But that was John. When he was in album selling mode, the hyperbole bubbled.” (334) Additionally, Connolly also speculates numerous times on how some of Lennon’s widely accepted traits — his addictiveness, jealousy, insecurity, mercurial personality, etc. — impacted his decision making, comments and reactions to other band members or individuals in the group’s story. Connolly also does not shy away from acknowledging Lennon’s repeated tendency to rewrite his own history, both publicly and within his own head — and how those revisions were so readily accepted by the press: “The truth was sometimes inconvenient, but John’s revised version of his life would always go unchallenged by interviewers.” (337). The author also provides citations at the end of the book, most of which are drawn from interviews, (including Connolly’s own), but also various secondary works in Beatles historiography.

Perhaps Connolly’s most notable area in which he counters Lennon’s version of his own story involves the musician’s relationship with artist, and second wife, Yoko Ono. Connolly enjoyed good relations with Lennon and Ono during the breakup period, and was scheduled to interview Lennon for Double Fantasy the day of Lennon’s death. In the early period, Connolly was one of the few journalists who avoided an extreme portrayal of Ono, and, over the decades, has refused to promote either the hagiographic version, as offered by Coleman, (among others), or the unrelentingly critical one, as offered by Albert Goldman, (among others). However, Being John Lennon: A Restless Life indicates that Connolly’s ultimate assessment is that the Lennon/Ono relationship fell considerably short of the idealized image promoted by the couple. Connolly notes both the good and the bad, arguing that a major part of Ono’s appeal involved her sheer eccentricity and willingness to push boundaries, while maintaining that an underappreciated aspect of the couple’s bond was their ability to tease one another, something that Connolly observed first hand. “She was unconventional, intelligent, egotistical and just plain different. But she didn’t mind being teased, and she made him laugh.” (333).

However, he rebuts Lennon’s retrospective claims that he never really loved Cynthia, his first wife, (a statement that implicitly elevates Lennon’s love for Ono to a singular status) by noting the passion, desperation and expressions of love from the letters he wrote her when they were dating. Connolly openly acknowledges the complexity and differing versions regarding Lennon’s Lost Weekend — “it depends upon whose interpretation of events, and the motivations of the principal players in the ménage, we want to believe,” (358) and also appears to have difficulty reconciling the version of John’s final years provided by Lennon and Ono with the other evidence at hand and his own knowledge of the two. “To say that he and Yoko by this stage had a complicated, sometimes contradictory, often incomprehensible relationship would be an understatement.” (396). He also rejects the argument that Lennon’s relationship with Ono strengthened the musician’s work, declaring that, despite Lennon’s own claims, much of his post-Beatles work lacks the spark of genius. (He describes both Mind Games and parts of Walls and Bridges as “self-pitying.”) (365). Indeed, Connolly’s most revealing comment on the subject seemingly comes early in the book, with a statement on Lennon’s other great artistic partnership. Following Connolly’s description of the Woolton Fete, he weighs in on 16 year old Lennon’s decision to invite 15 year old Paul McCartney to join the Quarrymen with an authoritative declaration: “It would prove to be the best decision he ever made.” (39).

In this, Connolly follows in the footsteps of MacDonald, Hertsgaard and Gould, all of whom reject Lennon’s claims that his work with Ono strengthened his artistry. In noting the contradictions and evidence regarding the less-than-ideal reality, as opposed to the more-idealized publicized version, of the Lennon/Ono marriage, Connolly continues to align himself with authors such as Doggett, who also acknowledged the issue in his work You Never Give Me Your Money. In the scope of Beatles historiography, Connolly’s work is one of the first post-Goldman Lennon biographies to attempt to deal even-handedly with the questions surrounding the musician’s final years: previous biographies, such as Coleman’s revised editions of Lennon: The Definitive Life, (published in 1992 and 2000, respectively) or Norman’s Lennon: The Life, (2008) ignored the issue or unquestioningly accepted Ono’s version of events, weaknesses for which both The Beatles Bibliography as well as Doggett criticized them.

Where both Coleman’s and Norman’s work on the Lost Weekend and the final years of Lennon’s life appear as little more than a P.R. effort, offering evidence only for Ono’s version, Connolly’s displays necessary balance in acknowledging both versions. The same way no responsible historian would use battle figures provided by Caesar without acknowledging the aforementioned General’s convenient habit of hyperbole and tendency to remember events in ways advantageous to himself, Beatles history, and the study of John Lennon in particular, can and should no longer utilize Lennon as a source without acknowledging those issues that impact Lennon’s remembrances and accounts of the band. Ultimately, Being John Lennon underscores how, by acknowledging this element, a necessary, and long overdue page, has been turned in Lennon biographies.

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I make no claim to be a Classical historian: My reference to Caesar’s habit of exaggeration is based upon discussions with our department’s chair, (who is an expert on Classical Rome and Greece) as well as presentations and conversations at various history conferences, in which the issue was discussed and widely acknowledged.

As always, thoughts and comments are welcomed.

Grading is done (for now). Hurray!