Any Titanic buffs from North-West England?

Pub time now, Jim. The Bridgewater in Darwen sells fizzy pee at £1.00 per pint if you fancy coming along. No hats or false moustaches, or those crotchless leather chaps that you always insist on wearing.

I'll see thee, auld mucker.
Sure. I'll be there in about 13 hours if I can find my passport. I'll bring the guitar and do my acoustic take on "The Lovely Linda" and John Lennon's 1972 "Do the Oz." But, the chaps are part of the deal.
I'm not sure if they've included the grave of Eleanor Rigby on the Beatles tour. It is situated in the graveyard at St.Peter's Church, Woolton (Used to be Much Woolton when I was a kid!)Eleanor was in some way connected to the Whitfields of Woolton - probably some sort of step relative, I've never checked it out properly.

Strawberry Fields, pleasant as it may sound, was a derelict patch of land practically behind Lennon's house in Menlove Avenue - it was a place where the "Nymphettes" from a nearby school used to go in the hope of a romantic tryst with some of the local boys.

john Lennon was at school at the same time as my elder brother, although I don't think that they knew each other. In later years, my parents moved to North Wales and Julia, Lennon's first wife, moved in next door but one to them. In the house behind theirs lived Elton John's father and his second family.
Ah, Ryan: Here's one to add to your songlist:

from Some Time in New York City. The critics hated it beyond adequate expression, the public shunned it, but it's the only Lennon solo album other than Life With The Lions I've bothered to buy on disc. I may be in a small, VERY small, minority, but I actually LIKE Some Time for all its badly dated, strident, radical chic. It holds up better than Plastic Ono Band and Imagine. Yoko, bless her, tinkered with the album before its disc-rerelease, removing almost a full minute of her bloodcurdling performance on the closing track. Unforgivable, however, is her post operative effort to make herself and John look less idiotic by editing, severely, the live material recorded in November 1969. Now, on the original release, if you've heard it, Yoko begins the performance by shrieking "Britain! You killed Hanratty, you murderers! You killed Hanratty!" to a roar of audience approval, followed by about a minute of her screaming "Hanratty" over the instrumental track to Don't Worry Kyoko. You, no doubt, are familiar with the Hanratty DNA tests of a few years ago. So, too, apparently was Yoko, who edited out this entire passage, leaving Don't Worry Kyoko a truncated 18 minutes long. Editing out your now-politically-incorrect posturing from 1969, so as to look just wrong. Especially since the original 1972 release can be easily found.
Studio, 1969, all commercialed up. And, yes, I really do like it...
My Auld Man has Sunday Bloody Sunday on tape - I mean the real tapes with a seven inch radius, not these new-fangled cassette abominations that the youth are all raving about these days. I completely forgot this song existed as I haven't heard it for a good fifteen years at least. It's not his best work, but it's still better than U2's song of the same name.
You remember you said yesterday that John's Class Clown demeanour makes you want to hit him hard? Well Bono's mere existence makes me want to kill him, his "I'm a God" demeanour notwithstanding.

I got about eight seconds of that second video. That was enough, thanks.
Geoff, would St. Peter's in Woolton be the graveyard in which both Eleanor Rigby and Father McKenzie reside not ten feet from one another?
I remember an article on BBC North West News not so long back that revealed several Merseyside churchyards have an Eleanor Rigby, but only one has a Father McKenzie as well.
I was going to have a do at Geldof as well, but I thought I'd leave it until an appropriate time.
Funny, isn't it, that the people of Ethiopia are still starving and Bob Geldof has managed to dine out off I Don't Like Mondays for 25 years...
The Boomtown Rats headlined this years Darwen Music Live! featival, and I polished my rifle all ready, only to have my hopes dashed when I found out that Sir Bob wouldn't be appearing with them. Funnily enough, they appeared on the Monday as a quick reminder as to why no one likes them.
>You're behind me in the queue to kill Bono,
>You remember you said yesterday that John's Class Clown demeanour makes you want to hit him hard? Well Bono's mere existence makes me want to kill him,

I second that emotion, altho maybe 'kill' is too strong a word. "Bitch-slap?" I remember being vaguely disturbed, as an innocent lad in my 20s, by the first signs of pompous self-love beginning to creep around the edges of Bono. Soon he was an elder statesman, and then the patron saint of all performers who Aspire To Be More. What annoys me is how various governments humor him in this conceit...

> But you might get there before me as I'm waiting until I can get him and Geldof in the same room.

Sting, too?

>My Auld Man has Sunday Bloody Sunday on tape

My auld man used to mutter "shit" and snap the radio off each time Lennon's "Power to the People" came on, back in 1971. I remember that quite well, as we were on a car trip. Tthe chorus would come on chanting "Power to The People" in the intro, and as a reflex he'd mutter "shit" and change the station. No Beatles records entered our home after Yellow Submarine L.P., parents of course desiring to seem parental and all.

The other night we were waxing nostalgic about the summer and fall of 1968, after viewing Gimme Shelter. My father was a Tactical Patrol Officer back then, whose job was breaking up the riots and takeovers which were all over NYC at the time. During the Columbia Student takeover of 1968, he got to do break up work. Long story short, he brought home a "spent" tear gas cannister to show my mother, only it wasn't spent and detonated in the house. Yes, really. I was tear gassed at age 2. Some have said that all which came after stemmed from that. I have no recall of the specifics, but my folks were laughing about how it gathered in pockets around the house and took some time to dissipate. The cannister, really and sincerely spent at that point, set on my parents' mantle for decades as one of dad's souvenirs of 1968. Some time around 2002 I wanted to borrow it, and it was gone... I assume mom 'accidentally' threw it out while cleaning.

But, I digress.

Ryan, you HAVE to buy Some Time in NYC. The only Lennon album that is required listening.

I'll be at the Dakota Sun-Tues. Will pay regards for you.
>I got about eight seconds of that second video. That was enough, thanks.

But, it's a better composition than Imagine! *ducks* The instrumental work, by Lennon and Eric Clapton, has subsequently been discussed to death as 'serious art,' and very advanced, since it accurately prefigures what became commonplace in underground music 1977-ca 1990. Yeah, the screaming gets annoying, but the composition as a whole holds up better than 99% of the Lennon catlogue.
Scarred by the summer of love. Back in 1967, as a wee thing of some ten months, I was the subject of much attention within the family. The usual discussion of sports/college/ upwardly mobile success, etc. All the other boys were older, into sports, karate, etc, that turbulent summer. My extended family still laughs, because my stern old German great grandmother, maternal, took one look at me, all baby-fat and innocent, and commented "No. This one is going to be the hippy. He'll never do what you expect him to do, but he'll always be happy." Apparently, some small part of my brain was beginning to assimilate and store information, because she charted the course of the next 42 years with one statement... I'd stored it.

My first record, September 1968, was "Those Were the Days" by Mary Hopkin. My paternal great grandmother, Liverpool Irish, Lusitania voyager, adored that record and bought it for me.

First focused memory? Halloween 1968. The following year I was in the hospital, poisoned, after eating my costume, so the memory can only be of that year... we never trick or treated in the Bronx again. We're on the stoop of a Cape Cod style house, up the street from my grandfather's. I lift an empty box of Good 'n' Plenties out of the loot bag, and my mother innocently comments "That must be a trick." Tear gassed in August, and then two months later used as a candy-obtaining prop by my mother, who ate the better choke hazards as we walked around. Slowly, cynicism began creeping in around the edges as idealism died within me


Thanks for letting me vent. Suddenly, after 41 years, I feel better...
You dodged my brick of wrath just in time there, Jim.
My dad's like that with Lennon's solo stuff. He likes How Do You Sleep, of course, but he absolutely despises even Imagine and Working Class Hero, though he claims to have shed a tear when Chapman did the deed.
>You dodged my brick of wrath just in time there, Jim.

Which one? The literal brick you hurled at me when I arrived at the Bridgewater wearing a knock-off of Elton John's current toupee, or the figurative brick tossed forth when I opined that Dont Worry Kyoko was a better composition than Imagine? In the case of the former, your aim was off... missed me by a mile.

Here's a bit of Lennon you might have missed; it having peaked at #112 on the Hot 100.

meant to raise funds for an anti-obscenity trial, John opted to let Bill Elliot sing lead on the A-side of this Plastic Ono Band single, while he and Yoko...uhhh...performed the B side, "Do The Oz."

It sold, like, 60 copies worldwide. I found one, quite by accident, while in college. At that point I had zero interest in all things Beatle, but was aware of the rarity and so was compelled to buy it.
Yes, Jim, we'll definitely add Sting to the guest list for my von Stauffenberg-type meeting (ostensible agenda - saving the world, not conquering it). He's bound to say "Yes" if he thinks Bono and Geldof will be there. Mustn't be sexist though, so I might also invite Madonna and Angelina.

I don't think just a "bitch-slap" will get the job done, Jim ...
Madonna... will she be harshly interrogated regarding the origin of that oh-so-believable English accent she now sports? Will extra time be added to her sentence for that 1920s-Bronx-bimbo-accent version of "Santa Baby" she did, which I have to hear 4 times a day during Christmas? Will her film Who's That Girl be considered?

Ah...Geldof et al. Talk about The Road To Hell Being Paved With Good Intentions. I actually agree with many of their causes. But, their John-and-Yoko-Bed-In-Peacenik (or, radical-chic-era) sanctimony (ducks third brick) and accompanying "Who ASKED you?" reaction fostered in a sizeable part of the populace who dont liked being lectured to by the wealthy, might be as much a hinderance as a helping hand to their various projects.

Sanctimony- Twas a fatal trap that both John Lennon and George Harrison quickly fell into as solo acts. George had a huge backlog of high quality pop songs which were, in fact, either Beatle rejects or written and hoarded during the period in 1969 when everyone involved was planning their escape. So, he came out with guns blazing, and spent two years as the favored Beatle... but, subsequently, squandered all the goodwill with incessant dirges such as "The Lord Loves The One Who Loves The Lord," as he strove to make the entire pop-audience God Conscious.

John had no goodwill to squander. Yoko's incessant latter day revisionism aside, NO ONE took the bed-in era "Event activism" seriously, and the three albums they released in 1968/69, in conjunction with their three two concerts, left them about as popular as the onset of gastric difficulties when caught in traffic. They surprised everyone with a great, commercial, single at the beginning of 1970 (Instant Karma) and, with that, his career as a solo act had peaked. The authors of the book The Seventies opined that no one took to the Me Decade with greater narcissistic zeal than The Thinking Man's Beatle, and that is unfortunately correct. The solo albums are a catalogue of self-absorbtion, detailing a seemingly endless series of battles with inner demons...

Which is why the only one I LIKE is the critically detested Some Time In New York City. For once, and for the final time, John focused on something other than misunderstood, rejected, eternally tormented John... and altho the feral radical sentiments are now dated beyond belief, I dont necessarily disagree with them or with the critics who machine gunned him back in 1972 for commenting on the world at large rather than himself:

Woman is the n*gger of the world
Yes she is...think about it.
Woman is the n*gger of the world
Think about something about it.

We make her paint her face and dance.
If she wont be a slave, we say that she dont love us.
If shes real, we say shes trying to be a man.
While putting her down, we pretend that shes above us.

Woman is the n*gger of the world...yes she is
If you dont believe me, take a look at the one you're with.
Woman is the slave of the slaves
Ah, yeah...better scream about it

That particular song.. well... it was chosen as a single. Never charted in England, and peaked at #52 in the U.S. Lennon/Ono had to call a press conference, in conjunction with high profile members of NAACP and CORE who endorsed the use of that word in the song; calling it contextually non-racist. Radio stations STILL would not touch it, and only die-hard fans knew it existed at all.

The same fate befell ALL the activist rock stars of the 1980s and 1990s. The higher their profile as "Spokespeople" the greater their decline in record sales. It would seem that the best way to snuff out a promising music career is to become a Saver of Souls Lecturing The Unenlightened.