The other day, James Lileks described the new novel he’s working on:
Tuesday night I write the penultimate denouement, if that’s not a contradiction. It’s set at a hockey game the night of the day John Lennon was assassinated, when everyone stands and puts their hand over their heart and sings along with “Imagine.”
Ahh, the transnational anthem. Funny though, I associate Lennon’s death with this this sporting event, which I recall watching vividly, followed by the strange hush over my fellow classmates the following morning — particularly given how flat the “Starting Over” and the Double Fantasy album had only recently seemed, even to us confirmed Beatlemaniacs:
Of course, the Beatles inadvertently ushered in the era of rock lyrics being studied in classrooms for the deep hidden meaning buried in their subtext; that unfortunate practice of academia is taken to its ultimate extreme, here.
Yes of course, it’s a parody. But for how long?