7 February 1981
Yoko Ono has been dealt atrocious racism, sexism, tragedy, scorn, and Beatle-fan opprobrium pretty constantly since the mid-’60s, all for the heinous crimes of [checks notes] being happily married to John Lennon and sitting beside him in the studio. These days her public profile mostly comprises her kindly, slightly cosmic, occasionally performance-arty tweets, plus her curation of both her late husband’s legacy and her own. Fair play to her.
All this is to say that, despite it being for and about her, I won’t be holding Yoko responsible for this horrendous record. It starts innocuously enough as a romantic ballad with a quaint “ooh-ooh-ooh” chorus, but then Lennon indulges his sickly “little child inside the man” instincts, hoiks up the whole song an uncomfortable key change, and turns the chorus into a syrupy “I luh-uh-uh-ve yoo-oo” repeat to fade. Worst of all, a man addressing any woman as “woman” is never a good look.
His erstwhile songwriting partner scrapes similar depths during this decade, but Lennon was meant to be the witty, scabrous, primal one, not peddling this sort of soft-focus molasses. Ringo was always the coolest Beatle anyway.
