WITHOUT TEARS

WITHOUT TEARS

JOHN & YOKO LENNON Milk And Honey (Polydor)

Jeffrey Morgan

Despite John Lennon's popularity as both a 'Beatle' and a 'solo artist,' his collaborations with Yoko Ono were met with indifference (to say the least) by the general public.

Which is a nice way of saying that hardly anyone cares about Yoko Ono other than as a widow and/or as the owner of half a billion dollars (and let's not forget that, prior to December of 1980, she didn't even have those dubious distinctions going for her.)

Admit it: how many of her Plastic Ono B-sides have you ever played more than once (if that)? Ever make it all the way through side two of Live Peace In Toronto? Yeah, yeah, 1 know: it's an acquired tastesomething that everyone who bought Double Fantasy proved when they ignored her two follow-up albums, Season Of Glass and It's Alright.

I mean, who needs Yoko Oho, right?

Milk And Honey is an extraordinary album, undoubtedly the best John and Yoko album ever, tanking right alongside the vastly underrated Some Time In New York City (a masterpiece so passionately ferocious in its concept and execution that it defies comparison with anything else—including other John and Yoko albums).

By combining the avant-garde sonic eclecticism of the Two Virgins, Life With The Lions and Wedding Album LPs with the unabashed melodicism of Double Fantasy, Milk And Honey successfully blends commercialism and experimentation, both lyrically and musically.

John's contributions to the album are devoid of the '50s pastiche which propelled '(Just Like) Starting Over' and the mushy heart-on-my-sleeve sentiments which were at the center of such songs as 'Woman' and 'Beautiful Boy (Darling Boy).' If anything, John's songs on Milk And Honey have a distinct Walls And Bridges feel to them—but without that album's overhanging dark cloud of depression.

This time around, much of the Double Fantasy 'househusband' jazz is gone, and it's a refreshing change. After all, man does not live by baking bread alone, and John even admits as much on 'I'm Stepping Out' when he says, 'After all is said and done, you can't go pleasing everyone, so screw it. Put on my space suit, I got to look my best, I'm going out to do the city. Gimme a break, gotta get out!'

And when he ad-libs in his best Dr. Winston O'Boogie voice that he'll 'be in before one.. .or two.. .or three,' it's just like old times again.

Yoko's songs, on the other hand, are heavier than John's, awash in swirling electronic backdrops of vocal effects and tape loops. Proving that she can still be as inscrutable as ever when she wants to, Yoko talks her way through some of the best songs she's ever composed, throwing out oblique nuggets like, 'I'm in a tub trying to scrub my back. This brush must sell like crazy. There's a lot of lonely people out there, you know.'

But, as these lines from 'Your Hands' attest, she can be as eloquent as anyone when the chips are down: 'In a day, no matter how many times we meet, it's not enough: In a lifetime, no matter how many times we meet, it's not enough.' You don't have to be in love to appreciate writing like that.

The centerpiece of Milk And Honey, however, comes in the form of the two songs which are presented here in their original demo cassette versions: John's 'Grow Old With Me,' and Yoko's 'Let Me Count The Ways.' After hearing a side and a half of state of the art sound production, these two cassette dubs, full of echo and tape hiss, give off an eerie feeling, as if one were looking at an cient daguerreotypes—or listening to ghosts moving on another plane. The sensation is so poignant that if it doesn't bring a tear to your eye, you aren't human.

And then, just when you think that Yoko will capitalize oh the moment, she counterpoints brilliantly with an electronically saturated 'You're The One' to close the album.

☆ ☆ ☆

So who needs Yoko Ono?

Well, John Lennon did—and if it weren't for Yoko Ono, her love for John, and her considerable talent, this album might never have been released.

But it has.

Thank you, Yoko. Thank you, John.