The things you remember, or perhaps more aptly—the things you don’t forget. When John Lennon was shot Monday, December 8th, 1980, it was a week before my birthday. I was sixteen, and in the middle-half of my punk phase. Notwithstanding that my musical tastes at that time tended towards Stiff Little Fingers, The Clash, and other less talented bands, I knew—like everyone alive—who John Lennon was, and I secretly enjoyed listening to his music. John Lennon was special. He was the rebel Beatle. McCartney had more hits, but Lennon had more heart, was more anti-establishment. At the time, I liked to imagine that if Lennon were 25 years younger, he’d have been a punk rocker too.
December 8th, 1980
December 8th, 1980
December 8th, 1980
The things you remember, or perhaps more aptly—the things you don’t forget. When John Lennon was shot Monday, December 8th, 1980, it was a week before my birthday. I was sixteen, and in the middle-half of my punk phase. Notwithstanding that my musical tastes at that time tended towards Stiff Little Fingers, The Clash, and other less talented bands, I knew—like everyone alive—who John Lennon was, and I secretly enjoyed listening to his music. John Lennon was special. He was the rebel Beatle. McCartney had more hits, but Lennon had more heart, was more anti-establishment. At the time, I liked to imagine that if Lennon were 25 years younger, he’d have been a punk rocker too.