Julian Lennon knows how some people may view him, even more than 40 years after his life as a pop star began with his first and biggest album, Valotte. But speaking from his home in Los Angeles, he’s trying to find the right word. “Some have said that, with nepotism today, I was a pioneer of…”
Does he mean “….nepo baby”?
“Yeah,” Lennon says, his tone more bemused than bitter. “There weren’t many around, really. I was certainly one of the first in that field to deal with what I had to deal with. But I’m here. I’ve survived, and I’m okay. I’m alive and kicking. I’m pretty happy with my life and my work, and I just get up every day and think the best and hope for the best and pray for the best during these very, very difficult times.”
Lennon may still be known to the majority of the public as John’s son (from his first marriage, to Cynthia Lennon) and as the mullet-sporting newbie who had two massive radio and MTV hits in the Eighties, “Valotte” and “Too Late for Goodbyes.” As he’ll be the first to admit, his experiences in the music business since then have been a mixed bag. But in recent years, he’s ventured into alternative careers as a photographer, a children’s-book author, and documentary producer. In the latter case, he’s not simply working on rock docs: He’s executive producer of Ai Weiwei’s Turandot, a just-released film about the Chinese artist and his debut as a director at the Rome Opera House.
“People only knew me as John’s son, so not only for my own benefit, but for others, I wanted to prove to myself that I could do what I set out to do,” he says. “I wanted to build a foundation for myself that was undeniable, regardless of what anybody said.”
And now, after a few years away from it, Lennon, who turned 62 this spring, has returned to music with a four-song EP titled because …, and a new video for “I Won’t Give Up,” the ballad that concludes it and could be seen almost as a statement of purpose. “It can mean whatever you want it to be, and that’s the beauty of it, is it not?” he says of the title. “That’s the beauty of the lyrics we write, the songs we perform, is that you make it what you will.” He talks with Rolling Stone about that new music as well as director Sam Mendes’ in-the-works Beatles biopics and Lennon’s own plans for an as-yet-untitled autobiography.
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After your last album Jude was released in 2022, you spoke publicly about your disappointment with its reception. What made you want to make another record, and an EP at that?
Time and time again, I’ve certainly felt I’ve been let down by the labels. I put so much heart and soul into this stuff, especially in the later albums, and when you see a piece of work being, in my opinion, shelved, that’s hard to deal with. That’s why I went indie for a long time, and then I got reeled back in to do Jude and was promised the world with that yet again, and I didn’t feel I got any support from the label on that.
But my intention for quite a long time now has been to just do singles and EPs. You’re still doing music, but there isn’t so much pressure. And it’s not necessarily the label that caused that pressure. It’s more about how I feel about the work and how it should be presented. So the idea of doing an EP was really pleasing to me. I’ve got so much other stuff I do these days, from the White Feather Foundation [the organization he founded to help “environmental and humanitarian issues”] to documentaries to the children’s book and photography, I just felt I could relax. I can still do music, but in a much more civil way in my head. I don’t have to take a year out, because I can just pick a few songs and work on those, which allows me to breathe a bit more and feel a bit freer about the whole thing. I can put a single out, and if it catches, it catches, but at least I’m just letting the creativity blow and putting it out there.
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How did these four songs come together?
Around the time of Jude, Justin Clayton, who I’ve known since I was 11, and I literally found boxes of demo tapes and cassettes in the basement of my ex-business manager’s office. I had no idea they were there. I thought I’d lost them in moving or something like that. But I got these boxes and opened them up, and I’m going, “Oh my God, this is all the stuff I’ve written, good or bad, whatever, over the years.” About a year ago, Justin, who has a home studio, said, “Do you want to go through any of these old [music] folders and files?” I said, sure. I’d been meaning to get around to taking a look at them, because there was a lot of stuff there that just didn’t suit being on any particular album throughout the years.
How far back do these songs and recordings date?
The first three tracks are from the late Eighties and early Nineties. They were actually labeled as such on old reel-to-reels. When I heard them, I thought, “These tracks are kind of fun,” which is what I wanted to get from this experience: remembering what it used to be like to have a bit of fun with music. The vocals are the originals, and so are the guitar and bass, but Justin suggested we get a real drummer and it would change the whole vibe. We did and it feels like the songs have become whole, so to speak, with real drums on them. But very simple tracks. What I love about them was that they were not overly produced by any means.
The songs were probably written anywhere between my 20s and 30s, when all boys want to do is run after girls — or boys — so it was just coming-of-age songs and loss, and where did it all go wrong? And so nothing new there really, just written in a much more simplified and direct way than maybe I’d write these days. So, the ambition is probably every quarter to throw out an EP with a couple of singles and four or five songs.
The fourth single, “I Won’t Give Up,” is the last track. I was in Los Angeles 10 years ago and met Andrew Watt, who was just coming into the fray with music. He was working at a tiny little studio and said, “Jules, have you got anything you want to work on?” I had the lyrics and verses of that song, from 20 or 30 years ago, and Andrew said, “Why not try switching that and doing that?” Justin eventually came up with a bridge and a solo, which finished the song. It sounds like the last song on an EP to me: the “big arena ballad” kind of thing at the end.
What memories did hearing older songs trigger of your first album and the start of your career shortly before that?
To be honest with you, the first two albums feel like another lifetime, a time and a place and an age and experience. There was a lot of naivete with the first album. I didn’t know the downfalls and the negativity that could come from certain things not being accepted. As a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed kid going, “Hi, I’m Julian!” I didn’t really understand what I was in for. Had no frigging clue.
I’m also in the very, very beginning of putting together my memoir, which I don’t want to do in the usual manner. I don’t want to do, “I was born here. These are my parents. This is what happened. Blah, blah, blah.” I came up with another approach to doing it, which I can’t tell you about, unfortunately, otherwise it would give the game away. But that’s a project I need to spend time on. I’ve had an assistant who has been interviewing old friends of mine for recollections, times and places, how we met.
Will there be a section on the mullet years?
The mullet years? [Dismayed expression] Well, listen, the mullet is back, isn’t it, in force? Yeah, that’s very scary. Well, the mullet years … I don’t know about that. No doubt there’ll be a few pictures about that.
Have you interviewed Sean and Yoko for the book?
I’ve talked to Sean. Yoko, no, because I haven’t seen her for a long, long time. Last time was actually at George Martin’s memorial, which was quite a while ago [2016]. But I can only wish her well. Sean tells me what he can, when he can, what he feels like telling me. I don’t push anything. I love him, and just want to a have a happy, brotherly, supportive relationship with him.
Even though you’re still in the midst of the memoir, what would you want people to take out of it about your life?
There are still people who are very confused about how I lived, when dad actually left, how mother, Mum, was treated, and how we looked after ourselves for many years. And how, as much as I love Sean and I’m fine with Yoko, I’ve been so distanced from my own family and my own father’s life and work. I’m on the outside of things. I always have been, since the age of five. Mom and I made our own way most of my life. Dad did help with food and clothing and school. But many people misunderstand that and believe that I’m still and always have been in the mix and that I’ve been swimming in mountains of money. That’s never been the case for me. So, there are a few things here and there I feel need to be corrected. But mostly, it’s the fact that I’ve had some extremely weird life experiences, more often than not, likely due to being John’s son.
What comes to mind as weird?
I was a pretty shy kid and had to go to a new school in the north [of England], where my mother partially lived, when I was 12 or 13. I recall going to the morning assembly, where you’d sing a couple of hymns and teachers would say a couple of things. It was the first day of school and I’m crapping myself anyway because I was very uncomfortable being in a position of not knowing anybody. And the headmaster gets up at the end of the session and says, “We’d like to introduce some of the new staff members. And we also have Julian Lennon, the son of John Lennon from the Beatles.” And I’m going, “You motherfucker.” Sorry for my French, but really, you just did that to me in a brand-new school, and now I’m going to have to deal with that shit? Fortunately, most kids of that age, it went over their heads.
Maybe he said that to make the school seem prestigious?
Well, I don’t know. The last school I was in, I went back years ago and they have a yearbook, as with most schools. And apart from a photograph, I wasn’t mentioned anywhere, so it didn’t make any bloody difference, let me tell you! I’m not sure they were proud at all. It was probably the opposite. I was the first guy that started a band in the school ever, and they weren’t too keen on that.
Speaking of your childhood, we’ve all heard about the four separate Beatles biopics in the works. What do you know about the one on your father?
Normally I’m kept out of all the Apple and Beatles stuff. Sean and I have a great relationship, but he can’t even talk to me about that stuff legally, which is a little uncomfortable, because he wants to tell me stuff, but he can’t. But Sean got in touch and said, “Listen, Sam Mendes wants to get in touch.” I went, “Really? Why?” I hadn’t even heard of the four new Beatles films. And initially, I just thought to myself, “You’ve got to be kidding me. Another freaking Beatles film? Haven’t we had enough?” [Laughs]
What happened next?
Sam and I met earlier this year and had lunch. He was an absolute gentleman. He said, “Listen, I wondered if you had any quirky or kooky stories or memories you might have had.” I said, “There are things I remember, but there’s no real clarity on that stuff.” I was three or four years old. Then he said, “The most important thing for me, Jules, is that I want to make sure that your story and your mother’s story are told with absolute clarity and truth, whatever that means.” And I just said, “I truly appreciate that.” I thought the idea of this was bonkers from the get-go, but then I fell in love with it, and now I’m more intrigued than anything else to see how he’s going to deliver on this. It inspires me to believe that Mum, more than anybody, will be seen in a good light. She has always been seen as very gracious and very honorable, so I just hope that comes across.
And someone will be playing you?
Apparently so! So, that’ll be interesting too. In fact, I just left London after a charity thing I did for AmfAR [the nonprofit organization devoted to AIDS research] and Sean was just flying in and said, “Jules, do you want to go meet up and go down to the set to see how things are going?” I would have loved to, but I was flying back [to the States], so maybe later in the year or however things turn out. Sean does include me in as much as he can, and I’m thankful for that.
Will you get a chance to read the script?
I know that Apple and the Beatles have a say in that. And Sean has asked me to read the script with him as well to see if anything rubs us not the wrong way, because, again, from Sam’s perspective, he wants this to be the truth as best it can be told. I’ll be certainly intrigued to have that chance to read it when I get the opportunity. I just hope it shines a light on everything and everyone. It would be nice if it’s a good thing.
The fascination with the Beatles continues, doesn’t it?
Forever and forevermore. A friend asked me, “Do you think this is going to go on?” I said, well, the movies and everything still keep coming out. There’s always something going on. Whether that resonates with the younger generations, who knows? But I think these films will certainly draw in some serious intrigue from all age groups.
As hard to believe as it is, this December will be 45 years since we lost your father.
It’s very weird because it was such a long time ago. When I was just in London, I went back to my hotel room, and there were limited TV channels, and there were a couple of back-to-back documentaries about Dad, which I watched. But even though that was a tough relationship, the distance and everything, I forget how much he achieved, and the originality and authenticity of him and his being. And so the older I grow, the more I’m inspired by him.
Which is a good thing but also a sad thing, because right towards the end was when we started speaking again. The idea of seeing each other a lot more was the plan. So sadly, that’s not the case. But I speak to him every once in a while, as I do my mother. I go and hug a tree and I wish all my family and friends that have passed love, as we all do under those circumstances.
I live close to the Dakota and tourists still stop in front of the entrance every day and take photos.
That whole thing is very, very weird. I’m kind of thankful I don’t live in New York.
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As far as your new EP, what are your expectations at this point?
I don’t have any. I think it’s best not to have any. I think, “Do the work.” I’m a big fan of Rick Rubin, who often says, “Just do the work. Put it out there after you’ve done it. That’s nothing to do with you anymore. It’s for the rest of the world to take on what that means to them.” And I believe there’s nothing I can do to make anything better or worse in that light.
