Author Kenneth Womack On John Lennon, ‘Double Fantasy,’ New York City And Latest Book Capturing Former Beatle’s Final Days

Despite The Beatles having not released a new studio album since 1970’s Let It Be, Beatlemania rarely feels like a dated, far off concept. There’s always a certain relevance.

The best selling group of all time is on the cover of the latest issue of Rolling Stone and October 9 marks what would’ve been singer John Lennon’s 80th birthday.

This November also signifies 40 years since the release of Double Fantasy, the final studio album of Lennon’s lifetime, one released less than a month before his murder in 1980.

Author Kenneth Womack, who’s tackled all things Beatles over the course of 14 works, takes a deep dive into Double Fantasy and more in his latest book John Lennon 1980: The Last Days in the Life.

Following his infamous “lost weekend” and the birth of son Sean, an exhausting battle for his green card was finally resolved in 1976, marking the start of a new chapter which saw the artist searching for his muse at home in New York City.

By 1980, the former Beatle had entered a confident, creative, inspired stretch that was in stark contrast to the period of semi-retirement which preceded it.

It’s a story in which the NYC of a bygone era looms large. The former Beatle fought to live there and moved with wife Yoko Ono from Greenwich Village to the city’s Upper West Side in 1973.

At the famed Dakota Apartments, the couple sought greater security, especially following Sean’s birth in 1975. And while the word “recluse” is often used to describe him in the run up to 1980, Lennon was a frequent and approachable presence in his neighborhood, interacting with fans while travelling on foot, without a bodyguard, for coffee, dinner or a haircut on a regular basis.

By 1980, however, his elevated profile upon reentry to pop culture drew an increasingly large number of fans to the Dakota, where Lennon was gunned down on December 8.

I spoke with Kenneth Womack about the new book John Lennon 1980 (now available via Omnibus Press), the inspiration for Double Fantasy, the brisk recording sessions that came to define the album and the way in which both the Dakota and New York City go beyond mere setting, acting almost as characters in the story of Lennon’s lively, optimistic final days. A transcript of our phone conversation, lightly edited for length, follows below.

When it comes to writing about someone like John Lennon or something like the Beatles, where seemingly everything has been said or written, how do you go about telling a new tale or putting a unique spin on a familiar one after all these years? 

KENNETH WOMACK: In one sense, it’s the telling that matters. There are absolutely lots of books on John Lennon. There are even several books on his murder. This book, to me, is the one that I thought we needed in the story of John Lennon. And that is the one that traces his last year and the creation of Double Fantasy and the nick of time manner of all of that great music - without being a true crime book.

His energy at the end of his life is amazing. I wanted a book that would let me feel that excitement - the excitement of taking one last stab at greatness and pulling it off. And, of course, the sad thing is he had no idea how well he had pulled it off. Because the album had barely been out when he was assassinated.

On the one hand, it’s the telling - and wanting to have the story provided in such a way so that people could really enjoy the arc of his last year and what it took for him to be able to create all of that great music in such a quick time frame.

But, secondly, we still live in a moment where we can talk to folks who live on the ground, particularly on New York’s Upper West Side, and learn about the city and John Lennon’s place in it. So I wanted to take advantage of that too. 

And, to me, one of the happy by-products of this book is that it really allows you to experience a place that’s gone. And that’s New York City in the 1970s. It just doesn’t exist anymore. And the way it does exist now bears very little relation to the look and the smell of what John Lennon experienced in New York City. It was a town of neighborhoods. And John lived in his very specific neighborhood. That’s where he had his optometrist. It’s where he got his hair cut. The restaurants he frequented were very close. That’s where they had their bodega and grocery stores. Because it was a different world back then. It was a world where you didn’t live as far flung. 

And crime was very different. The one crime they really weren’t worried about was John Lennon being murdered. The crime they were worried about was just the usual petty crime that existed in New York at the time. Theft. And of course the sort of sad upkeep of the city that still existed at that point. The other thing they did worry about was kidnapping.

I found that fascinating. Because in addition to telling the story of John’s last days, you do explain, in great detail, the history of the Dakota Apartments, where he lived at that point, and why it was such a great fit for him and Yoko Ono. You also define in the new book the New York that John loved and fought so hard for at a time when it was, as you said, a bit darker, grittier place than what we know today. How important to this story are both the Dakota and New York City? Because, to me, they go beyond mere setting, acting almost as characters in the story themselves...

KW: I think they are too.

And you said the right word there: he fought to live in New York City. He literally had a multi-year immigration fight to be able to win the right to stay in the United States. He had made the choice that that’s where he wanted to be. He liked the energy of the city. And he also liked the anonymity that it seemed to provide - probably mostly because New Yorkers don’t like to be bothered either, so they don’t really bother other people. And I actually think that’s still kind of true today out of all the things we’re talking about.

But the Dakota certainly is a character. It’s the landmark of his life and death in that last year. It’s the place that he called home and where they had chosen to store everything that they had in the world. Today, rock stars like Bruce Springsteen or Paul McCartney have these great big warehouses where they put all of the material that they collect over a lifetime and a career. John and Yoko got apartment 71 at the Dakota so they could store all of their stuff in it.  

The sad tragedy of the Dakota is it does seem like this fortress-like place that will protect you. But, in other ways, it was the magnet that drew so many of those fans. Particularly when John’s name was out again in such a prolific way, it did sort of draw them to a building in 1980 that wouldn’t have had the security that we know today.

But I don’t know that that would’ve even mattered. 

In the end, I don’t think that it would have mattered. Because this was a guy who was going to leave that building and walk to get his hair cut or walk to get coffee or go to a restaurant. Without a bodyguard. It seems like he was a pretty approachable person. And that’s not the way that we view most celebrities of his stature today. I was really struck by your depiction of that in the book…

KW: Sure. And I hope that, at some level, the fact that John just - you can talk about his upbringing if you want or chalk it up to other things - but he genuinely liked people. I come away with that feeling all of the time when I think about his experiences: He really liked people and loved to have conversations and hear about how other people’s lives were going. He was actually less interested in himself than other people.

And I don’t know that you can do anything about that, right? At a certain point, life is risk.

You go to great lengths in your book to show not how John Lennon died but how he lived. Especially by the time work on Double Fantasy starts, the book takes on a very optimistic tone. I wasn’t reading with a sense of foreboding. I felt like I was reveling in the unbridled enthusiasm that seems to have defined those sessions alongside each of the players despite the inevitable ending I knew was coming. How important was it to strike that tone?

KW: It was everything. I decided long before I ever put pen to paper that this book should be like a camera on his shoulder - so that you’re seeing and experiencing the world like he did.

I wanted you to feel the frustration of say the late 70s - and the lack of confidence really in his music. And even the way he picks on Paul McCartney and Bob Dylan - Elton John there in ‘79 - that’s all a product of that lack of confidence. Then his excitement grows as he realizes, “Hey, we’re making great songs.” Or, “Hey, I really like being in Bermuda.” Whatever it happened to be.

But I wanted that to be palpable to the reader. Because that’s how he felt. And hence, when you get to the end, it should feel sudden. So, really, the camera needed to stop as he walked into the archway [of the Dakota].

To me, John emerges at times as a little bit of an enigma. There’s certainly some contradictions in what he says and does. It’s well-documented that he could be unflinchingly kind or bluntly cruel. Especially during this phase of his life, we find him pondering the merits of celebrity and pop stardom as he tries to find his muse, at times equally horrified by paparazzi and celebrity culture while nevertheless seeking it out via his reading of things like The National Enquirer. Is it fair to say the general idea of contradiction does come to define him a bit?

KW: Oh yeah. And he embraced his sense of his contradictory impulses.

But I always temper this by reminding myself that he barely gets to be 40. He never reaches 41. And so, a lot of times, he would just be very honest about something that he was thinking at that point. Although, it was always open to reconsideration.

What he’s denied is wisdom. The wisdom of getting to be 40 years old or 41 and to rethink some of his views.

After years of trying to find his creative muse, John heard Paul’s “Coming Up” on the radio and, four months later, after two months of recording in Bermuda, he had 12 demos for Double Fantasy finished. Once those sessions continue in New York, he records 22 basic tracks in just ten days. How big of a role did that idea of let’s say maybe sibling rivalry play in what was suddenly a very fruitful period for John creatively?

KW: Well, you know, part of his honesty that we talk about had to do with Paul.

And he could be, as you said earlier, sometimes very cruel. He didn’t like the [Paul McCartney and Wings] album Red Rose Speedway - “the one with Paul with the rose in his mouth” as he called it. But he listened to Paul. It was hard not to in the 1970s, as we know, but he did listen to Paul.

And the fact that he could tell Paul was taking a chance, at some level - even though he didn’t articulate this this way - had to have an effect on him where he felt he could go back out there too. And to hear Paul pull it off and, in John’s lifetime, have a #1 single with that song must have been something. 

But I find it just heartwarming the way he speaks about Paul in that period. And I’m sure McCartney definitely does [too] - where he’ll call Paul “my dear one.” Or he took that word association quiz and said Paul was extraordinary. 

I love the selfless John Lennon. Because he’s so human and cares about other people. And maybe that’s because he contrasts also with some of his more cruel moments. But the fact that he could really be endearing in that way. 

I think the most touching moment in the whole story happens a week before he dies. When they’re up in the sitting room at the Dakota and Yoko realizes the album is gonna be a gold seller - of course it is. But it’s not selling fast enough and she’s worried it won’t be #1. And she goes to John [and expresses that]. She’s fretting. But John is in such a good place. And he says, “Don’t worry. We’ve still got the family.” It touches me so much. 

I love that scene. Because it tells you how far this guy has come.