It’s strange seeing all these rock stars from 50 and 60 years ago still kicking it in their dotage.
There’s Keith Richards — still walking this earth after the incredible amount of abuse, not to mention age, his body has withstood. “Keef,” who is still performing, will be 81 in a couple of months.
Ditto singers such as Graham Nash and Judy Collins, also octogenarians. Even baby-faced Paul McCartney is 82, and older — believe it or not — than President Biden.
But the strangest thing of all is knowing that today (Oct. 9), John Lennon would have turned 84 had he not been shot by a lunatic outside his apartment 24 years ago. Ringo (still alive) had three months on him, but Lennon always seemed older.
Actually, this is one of the strange things about aging. As our heroes from youth get older, we’re forced to come face to face with how old we are. Outside of a mass of aches, pains and ever-increasing meds, I’d never know I was 71 if I wasn’t aware of how old all these geezers are.
After all, Lennon was one of the Fab Four. Four lads who shook the world. He could be 184 and he’d still be one of the lads, just like McCartney, Ringo and the late George Harrison. And doesn’t the word “lad” connote a sort of youthful cheekiness that absolutely defined the Beatles back in 1964? Mention Lennon’s name and you’re transported to a movie theater watching the four of them running wild in “Hard Day’s Night.” They may also conjure up visions of the four “lads” with Sgt. Pepper mustaches, cavorting around a park to Lennon’s magnificent “Strawberry Fields Forever.” I guarantee you that however weird that video was, the idea of Lennon at 84 is weirder.
If you’re a Boomer, stop and think about how much of your life — even now — intersects with music of some sort by either Lennon or the Beatles.
With each depressing report of events either in Gaza or Ukraine, someone will invariably refer to the song “Imagine:” “Imagine there’s no countries/It isn’t hard to do/Nothing to kill or die for/And no religion too.”
Reminisce about your childhood, and before long you might start thinking about old relationships, or old friends you haven’t seen in a long time. Then see how long it takes before a line from, say, “In My Life” pops into your head.
These songs aren’t just confined to the sixties, anymore than “Over the Rainbow” is the sole property of 1939. They are timeless.
Of course, art that’s so memorable isn’t always produced by well-adjusted and contented people. Judy Garland had her demons and so, sadly, did John Lennon. Such art is often the purview of people who have suffered a lot of mental pain and anguish, and have not always dealt with it in healthy ways.
Lennon notoriously burned the candle at both ends, and there’s no guarantee that he’d still be alive to celebrate No. 84 today. But then there’s “Keef,” and there’s no guarantee Lennon wouldn’t be alive today either.
Eighty-four or 184, John Lennon will always be running along a platform, dodging fans as he hurries to catch a train. He’ll be clowning around on stage during a concert, playing electric piano with his elbows; or maybe even trying to BS his way out of saying the Beatles were more popular than Jesus Christ. In my mind, he’s never an old man.
Then again, I’m always 30 years younger in my mind, regardless of whatever else is going on with me in real time.
Steve Krause is the Item’s Editorial Page Editor.
