Ahead of the release of his photography book, Life's Fragile Moments, the singer / songwriter and novelist takes Orla Foster through the pivotal songs in his life.
Julian Lennon has finally reached a stage where his past and future can peacefully co-exist.
Lately, the musician and photographer has been delving into his back-catalogue for inspiration, breathing life into forgotten projects and overhauling lyrics to songs he'd discarded thirty years ago – and strangely, the attempt at closure has granted him a whole new raison d'être.
"I guess this is part of my musical purpose. Whatever I start, I've got to finish," he reflects. "I think it's part of my make-up, I can't just let things be. Otherwise, how do you move on?"
Born in Liverpool in 1963, just as Beatlemania was kicking off, the many chapters of Julian's past have been well-documented. As his mother Cynthia tentatively rebuilt her life following the 1968 divorce from John Lennon, a young Julian got used to fresh starts, moving from their Surrey mansion to the sleepy Wirral seaside town of Hoylake, to an old farmhouse in north Wales where he decorated his attic bedroom with floor-to-ceiling pastel drawings.
The teenage Julian worshipped Rock and Roll, but rarely at close range. "People often assume my musical influence naturally came from my Dad, but really I grew up hearing The Beatles in the same way everyone else did," he explained in a note emailed ahead of our interview.
While he reveres Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, he describes its impact in careful, measured terms, becoming visibly more animated at the memory of sneaking out and biking through deserted country roads to see artists he wasn't related to.
He never asked for attention, but for Beatles children it comes with the territory, framed in the context of their fathers, whether they court the comparison or run a mile from it. Writing this, I annoyed myself by losing a well-thumbed John Lennon biography on a train, only to realise I was doing the same thing. Yet over time Julian has found ways to reverse the lens, to reckon with the past and carve out a legacy on his own terms; a theme which arises more than once during our conversation.
Though he didn't set out to follow in his father's footsteps, 1984 saw the release of his debut Valotte, which went platinum in the US. Becoming a musician led inevitably to a restless life, played out across various locations.
For the last couple of decades he's called Monaco home, but since founding his White Feather Foundation, he's travelled extensively to deliver humanitarian projects, from sourcing village ambulances in Uganda to setting up a global scholarship for girls in his mother's name.
Besides philanthropic work, Julian has also concentrated his efforts on capturing the world around him. A retrospective of his photography career, Whispers, is currently showing in Venice, to be followed by a book, Life's Fragile Moments, whose subjects span Colombian street art to Monte Carlo royalty.
Despite the odd self-deprecating comment, it's evident he's found a real sense of purpose in photography and filmmaking. Perhaps it's the immediacy: being able to quickly realise his ideas without interference, after an artistic career that has sometimes felt muddied or misconstrued by others.
Despite a solid seven album discography, he took a thirteen-year break after 1998's Photograph Smile, exhausted by compromises with record labels.
"I still don't have ownership of my first couple of albums," he explains. "I've wanted to re-release and re-record certain things, but I’ve not been able to. I don't understand why a label would keep an artist under contract but not release their music. It ticks me off – keep the work but do something with it! Don't just leave it sitting on a shelf."
Understandably, he now views the industry with some scepticism. Though his latest album, 2022's Jude, was a reclamation of identity, with its emotionally raw lyricism and a frank childhood portrait taken by his dad's former girlfriend May Pang, he doesn't plan on a follow-up.
"I think it's a good final hurrah, if it is the last album I ever do." Any future releases, he says, will be singles or EPs – no more playing the long game, or getting tied up in negotiations with third parties.
Now 61, he's also readying himself to write his memoirs. Not too long ago, his lifelong best friend Justin accompanied him on a pilgrimage to Hoylake to soak up old memories, taking comfort in finding the place unchanged.
"We spent about four days driving up to our old school, and around Liverpool. The chippy was still on the corner behind my Nan's house, where I used to go and get dinner every other night – I just fell in love with it all again.”
Many of Julian's Nine Songs selections date back to those youthful days. However, he's not a habitual playlist-maker, nor does he feel much desire to ferret out the trivia behind beloved tracks. If a song stirs him emotionally, that's enough. "I got really pissy about fifteen years ago, when I was asked about favourites," he admits.
"I didn't have any for around ten years, because I stood by my word. Even once I did, it was never about having one favourite, but many." Zero 7, for instance, are cut from his choices because he couldn't bear to narrow them down to one track.
Towards the end of the call, Julian disappears from view, only to re-emerge with a pristine Polaroid SX-70 Land Camera balanced gently on his palm. "This is the one that Dad had, and it's still one of my favourite cameras," he says. "I've always had an interest in visuals in some capacity, but in some weird way, using this was probably what gave me the initial interest in taking pictures."
One of the most satisfying things about photography, after all, is the chance to impose your own sense of order onto a confusing and cluttered reality. After years of being subjected to the assumptions of strangers, Julian's artistic practice goes somewhat beyond self-expression – it's a way of finally relegating the judgments of others to his peripheral vision.
"With my photography, documentaries and writing children's books, I wanted to prove to myself I had a body of work and a foundation that no one could take away from me," he continues. "It wasn't just about being the son of John, it was about: ‘This is my effing work, and I achieved these things, regardless of what you can say.’
And if there was any dispute, I'd just go, ‘Thank you very much Your Honour, and goodnight!’"
“Whiter Shade of Pale” by Procol Harum
BEST FIT: You've mentioned your earliest memory is hearing this song at The Rolling Stones Rock and Roll Circus. What was that like?
JULIAN LENNON: Well, my memory is truly terrible. That's partly why I fell in love with photography, and believe it or not, Instagram, because I can't remember what I did yesterday. But on the rare occasion I have these vivid memories – almost photographic, almost videos – in my head.
It was December of 1968 and my Dad and Yoko took me to the filming of The Rolling Stones Rock and Roll Circus in Wembley. The TV studio was made to look like a big circus tent. People were in costumes, from stilt walkers to frightening clowns, the works. It was sensory overload for sure, especially at the age of five.
I recall walking into this open doorway and there was a shaft of purple light coming through, angled on the end of the corridor and the ceiling. And "A Whiter Shade of Pale" was playing. It's always stuck with me, and it's a song I've always enjoyed listening to because of the chord changes. It's probably why I like playing and writing and recording the way I do.
Apparently, the title came from a throwaway remark heard at a party, although the rest of the lyrics sound very high-flown, even quoting Chaucer without realising…
Is that true? Well, here's a really exciting piece of information – I don't remember my lyrics, never mind anyone else's! For me, it's more about what the song says emotionally. I remember Thom Yorke being asked what his songs meant and him saying, "I don't know, it just sounded right". A lot of lyrics are gobbledegook and mysterious, because not even the artists know what they're saying half the time.
In a slightly lesser circumstance, I had a song called "Faithful" in which I kept singing this word which was incorrect. I would sing "undoubtably" instead of "undoubtedly". And people would pick up on that. I had a review where the guy said, "The album's great, I love the whole thing, still I'm a little concerned why he couldn't sing the word 'undoubtedly'?" And I can't answer myself! It just felt right. I think artists have a bit of license to toy around with things.
I have a feeling Procol Harum would agree – Keith Reid said he was just trying to be evocative and create a mood, rather than write 19th century poetry or whatever.
Well, many artists in front of the microphone will mumble, and whatever rolls off the tongue ends up being the lyric. So you can say all that mumbling is coming from the ether and you're just picking up on certain words and syllables that don't necessarily make sense.
Putting a song together is like a jigsaw puzzle. It's about finding that marriage for everything to work. You just go with the flow.
“All the Young Dudes” by David Bowie
JULIAN LENNON: You could pick any Bowie song and I'd be happy with it. But "All the Young Dudes" is one of those songs I wish I'd written, to be honest.
Having known Bowie, and hung out with him a little bit, he has a particular style of writing, depending on the album. Like in many Rock and Roll songs, from Led Zep to The Beatles, he uses a descending chord line and vocal lines. And in this particular song there is a descending line in the chorus, where he sings up and the song goes down.
There was one time he came to the first house I had, on a road called Sunset Plaza Drive – it was this Cape Cod style, a cute little house. I remember him lying on the floor, listening to my second album. Because I had a few of those particular styled songs, that were not dissimilar to "All the Young Dudes", he said "You don't want to be doing that, that's old school." But he was doing exactly the same thing! I thought it was comical how he contradicted himself.
BEST FIT: It's impressive how he's known for being such a shapeshifter, yet still has that unmistakeable sound.
Absolutely, he always ends up on his feet. Just when you think, "I'm not so sure about that", you fall in love with it, and can't get enough, and then he changes again.
He just kept making these progressive steps up to greatness in everything that he did, right up until the end.
“Rikki Don't Lose That Number” by Steely Dan
JULIAN LENNON: Mum had a restaurant when I was a teenager, and I used to work there until I got fired for spilling soup. They were serving us drinks behind the bar – but that's another story.
She used to have a pretty interesting playlist, all these tapes that she and the other staff shared, and Steely Dan was on all the time, so it was kind of drilled into my head.
Pretzel Logic was the first album by Steely Dan I ever heard, and once I was introduced to it I was hooked, because they were a more contemporary version of the kind of classical and jazz stuff that I'd been listening to.
That's all I can say about it, just that the music and melody to me are the most important things, and they had it in spades. "Rikki Don't Lose That Number" was just one of many, many greats. Voilà!
The Köln Concert by Keith Jarrett
JULIAN LENNON: The Köln Concert was truly my inspiration. Most pop songs in the Top 10 use the same three or four chords, and that always drove me nuts. I was drawn to bands and singers that were not your daily radio dose, you know? You had to look for them, you had to find them out. I guess that's why I've always written the stuff I do, a little left of pop-rock centre.
Even though I had guitar lessons at thirteen, I only really got interested in playing music after my sixteenth birthday, when my mum bought me an upright Steinway from an old jazz pianist. I didn't know how to play, so I just played by ear.
I used to memorise all this stuff, which is still how I remember certain things that I've played but not recorded. Back then I would write anywhere between ten and twenty-minute instrumental pieces, based on the concepts of Keith Jarrett.
BEST FIT: Was music mostly a solitary endeavour at that stage, or did you harbour dreams of becoming a performer?
Initially not. It was only when Mum's friends would come and sit down and listen that I realised if I was going to actually have a career in music, I would need to chop these songs down. So I literally started cutting up twenty minute songs into five minute pieces, and then found repetition within that to make a chorus, and eventually made them into short songs.
It was a very strange choice, a weird thing to do, but I did it, and that's how it all began. I never wanted to write songs that played three chords with simple melodies, which is why I hearken to the likes of Keith Jarrett and Steely Dan, certainly for melody, and for choosing a different path than the normal singalong pop songs.
As an artist herself, was your mum ever a creative mentor to you?
She wouldn't necessarily teach me, but certainly there would be moments of the odd comments here, guidance I guess, without her teaching me as such. She was always doing something artistically. She and her buddies would have an art night once a week, life drawing or whatever, and I actually had to model for them. I often found myself sitting staring at the wall, not moving for several hours.
“Tom Sawyer” by Rush
BEST FIT: Rush described this song as "a portrait of the modern-day rebel" and your memory is of climbing out of a window to attend their concert – the night before your O Levels.
JULIAN LENNON: That is exactly what happened. I don't know how I got away with it, but Mum wasn't aware I was gone. Otherwise, she would have been furious – chasing me around the kitchen table, without question.
At the time I was a young teenager living in north Wales, at the kind of age where nobody really knew who I was. I loved Rock and Roll, AC/DC, Led Zeppelin, The Beatles, The Stones, Talking Heads, bands like that.
Rush were incredible, unusual musicians playing a lot of classical jazz-infused stuff. Totally my cup of tea. And when I heard that they were coming to Deeside Leisure Centre, oh my God. I don't remember how I actually got to Deeside, or who I was with, but I remember sneaking out of the house. I was one of the first people to get to the arena, or ice rink, whatever it was, and first at the rails.
The next day I was so knackered that I turned up at school going "What are we doing today?" The only thing I was interested in was art and music. In my first year at that school, I was coming in at the top three positions, and after I'd proved to myself that I could do that, I just didn't care anymore. It was all about music and art.
As a teenager did you have a strong sense of self, did you feel you knew your path already?
I didn't have a certain purpose at that age, but I felt that whatever was going to happen would be okay, and that things would naturally fall into place.
I've always tried my best to follow my gut, although sometimes we don't have that luxury, and in my twenties a lot of that was taken away from me by record labels and management. They were stolen years, in many respects. But I always felt that if one thing didn't work out, I'd find another way.
Was that why you took a break from music for a few years – you were disillusioned by the industry?
Very much so. It was like being at school, you didn't have a life. "This is your programme, this is where you're going, this is what you're doing for the next year, two years, three years." It's fine when you're in your early twenties, it's all exciting and fun. But then it becomes a dredge.
Also, if you were contractually obligated to do a couple of albums, there was this whole thing where labels started selling you to other labels to make more money, and every year or every album there'd be different people. So just when you felt you'd built up a relationship with someone they'd be gone, and you'd have someone else to deal with that you may or may not like.
You presumed everything was going to be alright and taken care of, but once you finally got a little older, you'd find out what had gone on, and have to try to get out of those situations and fend for yourself. It has taken me years and years.
“Black Betty” by Ram Jam
JULIAN LENNON: This song wasn’t necessarily a huge influence on me as a songwriter, but it does earn a spot in my musical history for the simple fact it was the very first single I ever bought. I just heard it on the radio as a teenager and went "I really like that!" It was the energy. It was American rock and roll, Southern rock really, and I fell in love with it. It's an in-your-face style of music.
Though I love complicated, over-produced, melodic stuff, there's a part of me that just enjoys simple, energetic rock and roll. For my next EP I'm doing a more indie rock, XTC meets the Pretenders style of music. We're going to keep it simple, under-produced and raw, like old school AC/DC or Ram Jam, you name it.
BEST FIT: A lot of teenagers are tribal about their music preferences, were you like that, or were your tastes more eclectic?
I think I was probably more eclectic. It wasn't just rock, it wasn't just jazz or classical, I liked the idea of fusion. But I never really thought too in-depth about it. Music either affects me emotionally and drives me in that way, or it doesn't.
Growing up in rural north Wales, did you get much opportunity to see your heroes?
The first real gig I went to was AC/DC. Bon Scott the singer had the guitarist on his shoulder, and I ran over to the aisle to touch him – as one does, being a believer. I remember that I had a ciggy in my hand at the time and Bon knocked it onto me and burnt my arm. So I had a scar for a while, from Bon Scott of AC/DC.
“Let's Go Out Tonight” by The Blue Nile
JULIAN LENNON: The moment I first heard The Blue Nile, I knew they were for me. Their songs are very emotional and sad and rather dark. We've all been through dark periods in our lives, and these are the kind of songs that refocus you and bring you back into yourself.
When you hear "Let's Go Out Tonight", or any of Paul Buchanan's songs, you feel everything. You are immersed in his pain and his love, within the lyrics and the music. Paul's voice is incomparable. The man delivers emotion more than any other vocalist I've ever heard – he drips with it.
I was fortunate enough to meet him and record with him on the Help Yourself album. It was funny, because at the time we were working together, I knew The Blue Nile's work so well that I had pretty much written most of the songs in their style. I was kind of mimicking them. But what we delivered in the end is possibly one of my favourite songs. It's called "The Other Side of Town", and I've always loved it.
BEST FIT: Was it surreal getting one of your favourite artists to collaborate with you?
Absolutely. I've always suffered with impostor syndrome; I just never knew what it was called. So I didn't think I was worthy, but when it actually happened but we became dear, dear friends.
Paul also sings the bridge on a song called "Gaia" on my last album Jude. I just heard him in my head when I was writing it and reached out to him. He said, "Well Jules, I don't have a studio".
He sounds kind of downtrodden, like he's sitting in the kitchen in a bathrobe, with a cup of tea and a ciggy. I said, "You'd be amazed at what can be achieved these days. I'll send you the song – just put your headphones on and sing into your iPhone".
And so he sent me seven tracks and I edited them all together, and that's what went on the album. It's typical Paul Buchanan, typical Blue Nile in many respects. The delivery of something from the ether that you almost can't explain.
He's the kind of friend you don't see for years, who you may speak to once in a blue moon, but when you do, you haven't missed a beat. Time becomes irrelevant when you have a friendship like that.
He has a love of music and a love of telling stories about his life. All I can say is it's some of the best work out there. I only wish I could sing as emotionally as this man.
“A Day in the Life” by The Beatles
JULIAN LENNON: I think that Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band is one of the best albums of all time. It was a new level of production to my mind, along with The Beach Boys and Brian Wilson. They'd taken things up another notch from all that had gone before.
That's partly due to George Martin, without him I think The Beatles would have been another band entirely. But hearing what was achievable in taking different time signatures, and different styles, and bringing it all together – just throwing spaghetti at a wall and seeing what sticks? I was blown away.
It made me realise that rather than just listening, you can go into another world. You can switch everything off and be inside the song. And that was a revelation, because until then I'd only listened to songs like anybody else, but this was a full immersion.
BEST FIT: So did this particular album have more impact on you than other Beatles records you've heard before and since?
Definitely. A couple of years ago I decided to sit down and listen through the Beatles' whole catalogue, and for me this album stuck out, predominantly because of the production elements. That was an important thing for me as an artist, at least later on when I became more focused and started producing myself.
There was nothing I'd heard before that drew me in like "A Day in the Life", where it's introducing two different storylines and two different production styles. It was a key track for me moving forward and trying to bring people into the dream that you're delivering.
I've had comments in the past about over-producing my work, but for me it depends if the song calls for it. I think you have to go with your gut, and "A Day in the Life" was the song that showed me the way; that there was so much more possibility out there than previously thought.
I'm certain that other artists, when they heard it for the first time, just went "Bloody hell, we've got some work to do!" Because it really was awe-inspiring in that regard.
I read you've built up a large collection of Beatles memorabilia, which for the average person would be like sacred relics. What is your relationship with those objects?
Well, you know, I wasn't really given anything from Dad or the estate, so I decided to start collecting things I could afford that were personal. Things that related specifically between Dad and I, as a way of holding on. And also, as a way of having something that – I keep saying it's for when I have my own family – I still believe I have plenty of time left, because I'm insane.
But I wanted to be able to pass some important things down to my own kids. Initially it was just a few pieces that I was around, or near, or given, or played, and then certain things started cropping up and I thought "Ah well, maybe I'll collect that".
I did display the whole memorabilia collection at one point at The Beatles Story in Liverpool, and we were going to try and open it in other locations, but it became too complicated, with the insurance and finding the right sponsors to take it around the world. And I'm going, "What's the point in this?"
I don't see any purpose in me holding onto a load of Beatles memorabilia that's just sitting in a bank vault somewhere. At the end of last year, I decided to sell off the majority of gold albums and a few posters, basically to benefit my White Feather Foundation, so the money did some good.
I still held onto a couple of personal items that will remain with me, so I just keep a few things that I can pass on one day, and I'll leave it at that.
“Hallelujah” by k.d. lang
BEST FIT: You witnessed this song while photographing her show – how did that come about?
JULIAN LENNON: I was fortunate in that I was having dinner with a producer and director I'd met through an old actor friend in Los Angeles. He was embarking on a documentary about Leonard Cohen's life and songs and had signed up a number of big stars. He said "Jules, I've seen your photographs, d'you fancy coming to Montreal and doing some behind-the-scenes stuff?" I'd never done anything like that, but you know, sure.
They were doing interviews with all the artists in a side room, so I had the chance to get shots of k.d. lang, Sting, Elvis Costello and several other great artists, which are actually in my new photography book and at my exhibition in Venice. I had so much pleasure in doing that, just enjoying having an all-access pass with my camera.
What was it about her version that got to you?
I'd heard a million people do "Hallelujah" – Jeff Buckley's was obviously a favourite – but when k.d. lang got up to sing I couldn't even take a picture. Literally. I did in rehearsals, which is the photograph that's in the book, but I'm getting goosebumps even now thinking about how powerful and how real and true her delivery of those lyrics was.
I mean, the song counted, for sure, but it was the emotion that went into it. I've never been floored like that. It truly just did me in. And I'm pretty protective – I try not to let things affect me too much - but I didn't have a choice.
It was probably the first time I've had a tear in my eye listening to an artist, it was that moving. I knew I had to include her in this list.
Didn't you once document your brother Sean's tour as well?
Yes, I surprised him. I saw that he was on the road in Croatia and a number of other places, and I reached out to his manager to say I'd love to come out. He said, "Well listen, we've got one free bunk on the tour bus". I'm going, "Oh Jesus Christ, a tour bus? I haven't done that for years!"
Anyway, funnily enough by then I'd put on a little bit of weight, shaved my head and bleached it blonde, to the point I was almost unrecognisable. And I had this big trench coat. So I flew out to the gig and his manager snuck me into his dressing room. I was standing at the back, it was dark, and I'm looking a bit gruff, you know. And Sean was walking by, just before going on stage and said "Who the fuck are these guys?"
And I turned around and said "Brother!" which scared the crap out of him. I don't think Sean had ever seen me with a shaven head, looking slightly burly in a big overcoat, in Eastern Europe. How would he ever have contemplated that? It was quite a shock to him, that's for sure.
Is that anonymity similar to how you experience being a photographer? Do you like the chance to be discreet and observe, without attracting too much attention yourself?
Completely and utterly. I love being behind the camera. All the pressures off me, I can just look and admire and listen. I love photography because I get to breathe behind the camera, and I love doing documentaries too.
I don't think as a creative, anyone should be pigeonholed in any way, shape or form. I think you should do anything, regardless of what other people think. It's nice to finally get to a stage like that. I'm excited about having a sense of freedom to create whatever drives me in the moment: you wake up and you start thinking about one thing or another, and you can do it. It's what keeps me motivated and inspired.
Right now, I probably have more zing, more purpose, more zest, more drive and more love for life than I've ever done before. And so I'm hoping that the technology for keeping me alive will keep going. I mean, if I'm in good stead – and I believe I'm probably healthier than I've ever been – then for me, this is really early days on the artistic front.
I want to do so much more, I can't even begin to verbalise it, you know. But I'll shut up now.
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