Atheism
Politics
Memes
Mind
Matters
Random
Interact
Feedback
Links
Forum
Home
Music: The Unasked Questions
The Making and Death of Heroes
Gandhi: Great Soul or Arsehole?
Imagine There is No Religion
Give Peace a Chance
Let's Talk about Sex
Sex and Evolution
Fashionable People
Sex Education
There's Nowt as Queer as Folk
Religious indoctrination is child abuse
Women Priests
It's OUR Money!
Invade the Isle of Man
It's Our Money!
One World
In Praise of Big Women
Masturbation
Kill the Puppy Dogs
Don't Eat Me!
Palace Admits Prince Charles is Gay
The Passions
The Civilized States of America and Jesusland
Does God Bless America?
Classical politics
Libertarian dopeheads
Only the arrogant
Meatheads, Slobs and Pencil Necked Geeks
Is Equality Possible?
I was on the seventh floor of the South Cheshire College of Further Education. I was waiting for the class to begin. For some reason all the staff were late. Only as I write this now, nearly 20 years later do I realize why.
I had a tape recorder. It was the only time I had ever taken it to college. It was the only time I played that tape. I never played it again, after the day the music died.
It wasn't his best song. There were much better tracks on that tape. Imagine. Woman. Even Happiness is a warm gun. But it was actually playing Why don't we do it in the road?
Until that moment he had been a well respected teacher.
“I wish somebody would do to him what they did to John Lennon.”
But it was John. It was. I was playing John Lennon's music when I heard the news. I haven't played it since until today.
I didn't cry until later.
I am crying now.
I couldn't play it in 1980. I didn't want people to think I worshipped dead heroes.
John was no hero. That mindless bastard fired at an icon and killed a husband and father. He didn't die for any cause.
I have come through it now. I feel a lot better. I have lost a cupful of snot and tears and my head feels much better in every sense.
I bought a CD today. When I find my black tape I will cover up the title. Legend is not appropriate. I played it to myself and it all started to come out. Since 1980 this is only the second piece of music I have bought.
I can't afford a comprehensive collection that reflects all my taste in music, I did not want to be judged by a few selections. I had the same kind of problem with books as well. I spent agonizing times in the library trying to pick a selection of books that revealed my broad intellect, as if I cared what a couple of old spinsters behind the counter thought about me. I have now overcome that problem. I can go to the library and come away with anything. The breakthrough came on the day I took a book on the Nazi Lebensborn eugenics plan, a book on genetics and an encyclopaedia of firearms to read while I cared for children at the deaf school. Now people can think what they like. That is one consolation of age, the older you get the less you care about the impression others receive about you; let then think what they want, fuck 'em.
I was really getting into Give Peace a Chance, I loved the way that it didn't matter that I have no sense of rhythm, any clapping, head-banging or foot stamping works fine. Then the random play cut back to the same track again. I was streaming out the tears and banging away to my version of the beat. Catharsis. An hour later that process is now complete.
Hippies never stopped any wars |
 |
The music died. Long live the music. |
Why did I cry?
Dozens of reasons. I had lost a hero because the world had gained one. I didn't want a dead hero. I could see through the hero-creation myths that our society is prone to. Strange loser becomes popular eccentric then becomes dead hero. I hate the whole hero and icon thing.
I also lost the music. I liked the music because I liked it. Now I couldn't be seen to like it because people would think I was worshipping the icon. I was crying for twenty years of self-imposed silence.
Twenty Five Years On added 8 December 2005
John wasn't a martyr. It wasn't an assassination. A nobody tried to become a somebody through a pointless act of violence, and the whores in the media let him succeed. I will never speak his name. I haven't done so in twenty five years.
Never mention the name of that nobody ever, to anybody, for any reason. That is the best thing you can do for John and for the lives of other people who may yet become victims of the cult of celebrity.