When it comes to the 1975 John Lennon compilation album Shaved Fish, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Here Apple Records went to the trouble of collecting all but one of Lennon’s post-Beatles solo singles, and what do we get? A bizarre melange of primal screams, fuzzy-headed idealism, weak-kneed political rants, and a fucking Christmas song. Oh, and a couple of also kinda fuzzy songs that demonstrate the fact that, even though Lennon was a lost man, he still had some magic in him.
Plenty of people think very highly indeed of Lennon the solo artist. Me, I think he was a confused man, and the mishmash that is Shaved Fish only reinforces this belief. This odds and sods collection of singles tells me that Lennon never came close to realizing his Beatles genius. It’s a kind of cabinet of curiosities, many of which sound dated in a way that his work with the Fab Four never will. His Beatles work was timeless; the same can’t be said for such creaky antiquities as “Give Peace a Chance,” “Power to the People,” “Woman Is the Nigger of the World,” and “Happy X-Mas (War Is Over).”
None of this should come as a surprise. Lennon hit a creative peak with 1970’s Plastic Ono Band and 1971’s Imagine, and it was straight downhill from there. Only hardcore fans will attempt to sell you on 1973’s lackluster Mind Games, 1974’s almost as lackluster Walls and Bridges, or 1975’s failed attempt at roots revivalism Rock’n’Roll. All three were the work of a man who was at loose ends creatively and going through the motions, and you can count the number of truly memorable songs on this unholy trio with one hand. And don’t even get me started on 1972’s Some Time in New York City.
The first of the ragtag assortment of tunes that constitutes Shaved Fish is “Give Peace a Chance.” Now the best I can say about “Give Peace a Chance” is that it inspired the Bonzo Dog Band to record “Give Booze a Chance,” and to make matters worse Shaved Fish only gives us a 57-second excerpt of the damned song. Next up is the powerful “Cold Turkey” (nothing mushy about it), which is almost certainly about Lennon’s withdrawal from heroin even if former gofer Fred Seaman claimed it was about a case of turkey-related food poisoning. Watch out for those Thanksgiving leftovers, people; not only will they have you on the run, they will give you the runs.
“Instant Karma! (We All Shine On)” may just be the best song Lennon the solo artist ever wrote; “What in the world are you thinking of/Laughing in the face of love?” are powerful words, as is his declaration that we are indeed all superstars. Sure, I detect a certain amount of confused thinking in the song, but Lennon gets his point across musically even if he’s not completely certain what his point is lyrically. On “Power to the People” he just sounds muddleheaded; all the “Right Ons!” in the world can’t keep me from wondering why J.L. saw fit to write this piece of trite political sloganeering. I’ve filed it with P. Smith’s “People Have the Power” under the heading “Revolutionary Horseshit,” and I only bring them out when I need to remind myself that idealists sure are silly.
“Mother” is a powerful example of primal scream therapy put to vinyl; it’s a bit undignified, for sure, but you have to admire the perversity of an artist so dedicated to the principle of naked honesty he’s willing to wail like an infant for the whole world to hear. And talk about perversity; on “Woman Is the Nigger of the World” Lennon attempts to raise awareness of the plight of women by needlessly relegating blacks to the back of the bus, and by (what’s more) employing an ugly racial epithet that couldn’t have gone down very well with your average doubly oppressed soul sister.
As for “Imagine,” I suspect nobody will care when I say I’ve always found it both vapid and condescending; that “Imagine no possessions/I wonder if you can” is positively precious when you consider it’s being addressed to poor schmucks like you and me by a filthy rich rock star who was busy acquiring possessions at a prodigious pace. “Whatever Gets You Thru the Night” may not be the best song the Smart Beatle ever wrote, but it’s my favorite and Lennon’s only U.S. No. 1 during his lifetime. I love the sax, the frantic tempo, and the fact that Lennon isn’t pontificating, moralizing, idealizing, or waxing mystic; sure, the sentiment is universal, but it isn’t filtered through his usual cosmic sensibility.
The same can’t be said for “Mind Games,” but I love it all the same. I have no idea what the fuck he’s talking about for the most part; he sounds like that friend we all have who has taken way too much acid. But the damn song is sublimely beautiful, and that’s good enough for me. He can keep his “spirit of peace and love.” Me, I’ll take a lovely melody any day. “#9 Dream” is lovely too, but a bit mushy for my tastes; he’s in George Harrison territory here, and that’s always dangerous. But hey, I always get off on this dreamy slice of cosmic claptrap when it comes on the radio, so there. As for “Happy X-Mas (War Is Over)” it’s a Christmas song, and when a major artist is reduced to including a Christmas song on what amounts to a single-disc best-of compilation, well, you have to wonder what he’s doing wrong.
The mythos of John Lennon is well-nigh unchallengeable; his tragic murder turned him into a saint, and saints get handled with kid gloves. In reality, Lennon’s post-1971 career was a long day’s journey into artistic irrelevance; even the much-vaunted (and vastly overrated) Double Fantasy, which many people consider proof of Lennon’s continued relevance as a performing artist, was tanking big time until four bullets from Mark David Chapman’s gun pushed it to the top of the charts.
Shaved Fish stands as a testament to a confused man reduced to trying on masks. Naked performer, protest singer, mystical troubadour, boogie savant; one thing you can’t accuse John Lennon of is being a one-trick pony. He was always searching, our Johnny–a lost boy crying out for his mother and looking for meaning in a crazy world. Trapped in the cocoon of fame he played mind games, consulted horoscopes, and looked in vain for a way out. And there’s a lot of poignancy–and very real sadness–in that.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
B-
