I suppose I should have posted a ruminative thumb-sucker about the anniversary of John Lennon’s death, but really: Let’s give it a rest. Even a card-carrying baby-boomer such as myself eventually grows weary of the nostalgic navel-gazing we’ve all been indulging in since, oh, about 1975. Is there anything new to say about Lennon, or the Beatles? Anything new about Elvis, or the Supremes, or the Stones, or the Beach Boys or Jimi Hendrix? Nope, not really. I think we covered all of that pretty well on the 10th and 20th and 25th anniversaries.
We pretend to revere the icons of our youth, but really we revere ourselves, the young and hirsute dreamers we seem to recall and the golden memories we have burnished beyond recognition over the past 40 or 50 years. It’s the same reason old guys fix up old Chevies and drive them to auto shows and warn kids not to touch. We are not so much nostalgic as vain — the older we get, the better we were. We’re telling people we used to be cool. And by the way, get off our lawn.
Lennon was an interesting guy and a hell of a songwriter. But I think even he would say it’s time to move on.