i dont know if you heard but ummm the times are tough now, just getting tougher. this old world is rough, it's just getting rougher cover me, come on baby, cover me i'm looking for a lover who will come on in and cover me. promise me baby you won't let them find us. hold me in your arms, let's let our love blind us. cover me, shut the door and cover me. outside's the rain, the driving snow i can hear the wild wind blowing turn out the light, bolt the door i ain't going out there no more this whole world is out there just trying to score i've seen enough; i don't want to see any more cover me, come on and cover me so yeah
John Lennon interview with Ray Coleman in Melody Maker September 14, 1974 (not the full interview)
“Taxi! We're off to John's flat, and it strikes me as a bizarre contrast with the police-protected limousine rides we shared ten years ago in various parts of the world, when Beatlemania ruled. Do you get cabs often in New York, John?
"Yeah all the time. I used to get paranoid about going out, but then I found out all the paranoia was in my own head--nobody cares much. There's no hassles here in New York, I get 'em all the time. Not in California so much-- they're still looking for stars there."
One cabbie said to John: "Hey aren't you John Lennon?" and Lennon replied: "I wish I had his money."
He looks around at the flickering city lights as our cab drives off, and tells what it is about aggressive New York that he finds so compelling. "It's all here. It's just alive. There's a buzz here, and I like the way you can do anything or get anything you want at any time. It's ALIVE, y'know. It's where the world's at just now and I want to be here. I mean years ago, it was Rome and if I'd been around then I'd have wanted to be there when it was falling.
"New York may well be falling right now, it sometimes feels like it, but I know it's the right place at this time. I think if I couldn't live here I'd have to make it Paris. I love the French, they're so bloody rude. But New York's right--we'll get home now and have the TV on and cable TV films for hours and hours. Better than the BBC Light Orchestra, eh?
"Oh, and Christ, then there was Watergate! Any country that produces that has got to be number one. I sat watching every bit of it on TV and couldn't believe it. When they kept asking questions and the guy kept replying: 'That is inoperative.' Everything they were asked that was meant to make 'em tell the truth, they said: 'That is inoperative.' I'm gonna try it when they start asking me hard questions. 'Sorry, but that's inoperative'."
John cherished the fact that he had remembered this crucial line. "Yeah," he whispered, "I've gotta remember that! Inoperative!"
Just before we arrived at John's flat, he told of his split with Yoko. "Yoko and I, we had this little... thing. She's still living in our house but I've moved into this flat. I still love her, but we're two artists and we found it hard living together. We'll see what happens. I still speak to her on the phone most days. She phoned me from London the other day and said: 'Hey, it's nice here. Remember the autumn with all the leaves? It's nice.' I said: 'What are you trying to say, Yoko? I know it's nice, but are you trying to unsettle me here in New York? It's nice here--remember this noise?'"
Arrival at John's penthouse flat, to be greeted by white and black kittens, named Major and Minor. John's friend May Pang is there, and in yet another time-warp, the record playing is The Beatles singing "How Do You Do It?" They made it before "Love Me Do", John explains, but decided on "Love Me Do" as their first EMI single and gave "How Do You Do It" as a song to Gerry and the Pacemakers. Sounds oddly primitive.
On the way up in the elevator, Lennon had warned me that he had a strange experience to relate. Being of sound mind and judgment, he had, the other day, seen a flying saucer while standing naked on his roof. "Yes, I know what you're thinking. I'm as crazy as my publicity always said I was? But no. Listen. This is true."
He then described how he was standing, starkers, by the window leading on to the roof when the oval-shaped object started flying from left to right. He had called May, who confirmed that he was not seeing things, and they saw a red light on top of the flying saucer. They rushed inside, phoned the cops, and police said others had reported a sighting, too.
John and May got their telescope out, took pictures, and after about 20 minutes the object disappeared over the East River and behind the United Nations building, over which it might be supposed the "visitors" were carrying out some sort of research.
I didn't say much and Lennon threw his hands in despair. "They all think I'm potty. It was there. I didn't believe it, either. It was THERE." May nodded.
"And you'd not been smoking or drinking?" I asked.
"No, God's honest truth. I only do that at weekends or when I see Harry Nilsson."
John was tired and hungry after a non-eating day in which he had been in court, held a press conference, and then completed his album. But he was still visibly "up" in mood and wanted to do things, talk, play records, watch TV, eat. He changed out of his "court suit" into casuals and lay on the bed of the spartan, one-roomed flat.
Well, here comes the million-dollar question the world keeps asking. Are The Beatles ever going to reform, John?
"No," he said quickly. "What for? We did it all. Christ, we can't even get the four of us together for a meeting, let alone play! The other month Paul and Ringo and me met in LA and we wanted George there but they wouldn't let him in at that time. He still had some trouble getting in and out of the States because of his bust years ago.
"So there were three of us and everybody says 'Beatles getting back' hey, hey! We can't even MEET, man!"
Why had they wanted to meet?
"To settle all the money thing. We all agreed how to do it, now it's up to the lawyers to sort out and tell us whether what we agreed is practical. That's all. We just want to make sure we all get paid. What a fucking mess."
All four ex-Beatles, he said, were destined for a life of ups and downs in battles with authority.
"We're in, then we're out. It's my turn while I fight New York to be out. George will be OK soon--he's doing a tour of America (the one with Ravi Shankar in the autumn) and he'll be OK for a while. You know, people'll want his autograph and they'll smile at him and so it'll be OK. It goes like that for all of us. In waves. Y'know when some critics panned Mind Games they were really knocking Some Time In New York City, reviewing me and Yoko, who they've always hated. Well, Mind Games wasn't the best album in the world, but it went gold! And it wasn't all bad. Hey, I'm hungry. Let's get some food in."
Photographer Bob Gruen has arrived now, and a Chinese dinner is agreed upon. Bob phones a restaurant called Jade East, and within about half an hour, the splendid meal has arrived. Lennon, a true media freak, has applied himself to watching TV, and whizzes through the channels quickly all the time with the hand controls while he's lying on the bed and eating.
It's easy to see what it is about New York TV that John loves. It's all there: umpteen channels all pouring out good material, musically and otherwise. During the night, we flicked from channel to channel and saw act after act, including The Hues Corporation, The Temptations, O'Jays, Flash Cadillac, whose old-fashioned rock theatrics made John laugh out loud (rare), and the act John kept wanting to see, Chris Jagger.
"It must be awful," said John when Jagger junior eventually hit the screen. "Living with being a Jagger for the rest of your life and trying to make it as an act. He's OK though." Chris's band and his playing were indeed good, though the mouth shape and postures demanded comparison with Mick. "Must be awful," John kept repeating.
"But he has the choice of changing his name if he didn't want to cash in on who he was," I said. "Like Mike McGear did."
"Ah," John countered, "but if he did that he probably wouldn't get a booking in the first place."
Lennon is very anxious to see his TV appearance outside the courtroom, filmed earlier that day. Watching Lennon watch himself on TV was weird. As he lay on the bed munching Chinese beef and mixed veg, watching himself on TV coming out of court, he said: "Now that seems a sane young man to me. Should definitely be allowed to stay in New York."
His TV news clip was really quite amusing and his performance rated five stars. Journalists asked him lots of questions:
"What are the odds of you winning the fight to stay in New York, John?"
"Ninety-nine to one in favour."
"Why?"
"Because I'm overconfident, as usual."
"Why do you want to stay in New York?"
"Because it's NICE here, I LIKE it here. Don't you?"
"What's wrong with Britain then?" asked a British reporter.
"Nothing's wrong with Britain--typically British question! If they gave me a Green Card, I can go and see it again, visit my family." (Earlier in the evening, there were signs that John had become an enthusiastic father, showing me with affection a picture of his son Julian and recounting how he had taken him round New York showing him the billboards.)
When the TV clip is over, John amplifies on his need to get that Green Card from the US government.
"It's not the tax--you only pay a little less here than you do in Britain. If it was the money I'd move to Switzerland. I want to be able to move around. LA, Paris, London, New York--I like change. I'd like to go to South America, that's somewhere I've never been to. New York is now, that's because it's in the air. I've got nothing against England--no, make that Britain. I've heard it's in a bit of a mess now, but it was still pretty healthy when I left it so don't let them come with all that 'leaving the sinking ship' stuff. It was afloat when I left! Anyway, there's still great music coming out of Britain."
The TV newscast ended with John giving the two-fingered peace sign and saying:
"Amnesty. Amnesty!" He came over well, and he seemed quite happy about his performance. "First time I've seen myself on TV for three years." His lawyer, incidentally, believes that Lennon can stay in New York for two years fighting the deportation order.”
i had a job i had a girl i had something going mister in this world i got laid off down at the lumber yard our love went bad times got hard now i work down at the car wash where all it ever does is rain don’t you feel like you’re a rider on a downbound train she just said joe i gotta go we had it once we ain’t got it anymore she packed her bags left me behind she bought a ticket on the central line nights as i sleep i hear that whistle whining i feel her kiss in the misty rain and i feel like i’m a rider on a downbound train last night i heard your voice you were crying crying you were so alone you said your love had never died you were waiting for me at home put on my jacket i ran through the woods i ran till i thought my chest would explode there in the clearing beyond the highway in the moonlight our wedding house shone i rushed through the yard i burst through the front door my head pounding hard up the stairs i climbed the room was dark our bed was empty then i heard that long whistle whine and i dropped to my knees hung my head and cried now i swing a sledgehammer on a railroad gang knocking down them cross ties working in the rain now don’t it feel like you’re a rider on a downbound train
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