It takes a lot to make me cry. I wish it didn’t but I fear it is a combination of hard-hearted I and the antidepressants that take the edge off my demons. I managed it, though, when reading John & Paul: a love story in songs by Ian Leslie.
I published this blog on 26th January when the book had just arrived with me. Initially, I resolved to save it and read it on my Canarian sun lounger this summer, but it wasn’t long before I decided it was next in line. Officially, the Beatles split up on 10th April 1970, yet almost 56 years on, I am more besotted by their genius than ever. Ian Leslie’s book may not just be the best Beatles book of them all, but also the best book of them all.
I thought I knew all there was to know about Lennon and McCartney, but it turns out I knew nothing. Although I had some idea how they wrote, which was usually separately, but always appearing under the Lennon and McCartney handle, the the chemistry, the friendship and so the love ran much deeper.
Back in the day, we had our favourite Beatle. Mine was, initially anyway, George Harrison, though heaven knows why. Then it was Lennon, next McCartney and for a while it was Ringo Starr. I believed many of the myths surrounding the band, too but Leslie destroys them. The Fab Four were undoubtedly flawed individuals, deeply so in Lennon’s case, following an impossibly difficult childhood, and while the imperfections of all the Beatles are a key part of the story, they also add to the greatness.
It was the tenderness and, yes, the love that gripped me from an early stage. There was joy but also there was terrible sadness. The chapter at the end, when McCartney learns of Lennon’s murder, broke my heart. The story of his murder has always broken my heart because Mark David Chapman stole the life of one of the towering figures of the 20th century. It was the pair’s final meeting that broke me completely.
Contrary to popular myth, Lennon and McCartney’s friendship had been repaired some time before his death. Indeed, they spoke often on the phone. At their final face-to-face meeting in New York City as McCartney left to leave, Lennon said: “Think about me every now and then, old friend.” After Lennon’s death, McCartney and his wife Linda were entertaining the legendary musician Carl Perkins at their home. Perkins had written a song which he sang for the couple and it included a variation on Lennon’s final words to his old friend. McCartney burst into tears and left the room. Perkins was mortified, wondering if he had done something terribly wrong. Linda shook her head: “He needed that,” she replied.
“Think about me every now and then, old friend” set me off, the power of words and all that, and it reminded me of those I have lost over the years, none of whom was I able to say goodbye in a way I would have liked.
Having learned far more about the Beatles than I ever knew before, I have concluded that I was nearer to John than any of the others, but without any of the talent or indeed the anger, which he often displayed in ways which I suspect he wished he hadn’t. He was the tortured genius, scarred by his upbringing, I was just tortured, scarred by mine. I don’t excuse his excesses but I better understand them now.
John and Paul is the new gold standard in Beatles books. I urge – I beseech – you to read it. I am still getting my head around so many things I learned about the greatest songwriting partnership of all time, not least the meanings of many of the songs through often just snippets of lyrics and why Eleanor Rigby and Tomorrow Never Knows are, despite being very different songs, closely related. Even McCartney’s solo throwaway Coming Up is a message to his old friend. Their stellar songbook is full of messages.
It’s the best love story I have ever read, too. I wondered why the book was described as a love story in songs. Now I know.
