Lennon's last Beatle Bow I never saw the Beatles live: there wasn't much to see in 1964 apart from a lot of screaming. I did see the Rolling Stones on both tours to Australia. Along with Roy Orbison. Great stuff. A mate of mine was living in San Francisco around 1975. I told him, the next time there's a Van Morrison concert, buy me a ticket, somehow I get there in time. So, about six months later he called me in Munich and said he had seats, for the following Saturday. By sheer coincidence I had the plane tickets in my pocket. The big appointments always work out. So, we go to this Bill Graham concert, suitably altered for the evening. Some Really Huge Band comes out first and plays Incredibly Heavy Funk. When they finish, Van's people start wandering out on stage. The drummer/percussionist looked about fourteen years old. The backup singers looked like they'd break in the wind. This fey little group of fragile beings slowly assembled, and I asked myself how they could possibly follow-up the previous army of funk. Of course they did it with the first half-dozen chords -- measurement in music is about the dimensions of the idea, not the size of the saxophone. Van the Man does a good concert, whether he's in a bad mood, or a worse mood. He doesn't smile much. In fact, he was the iron gestalt of a man with a strapped-on acoustic guitar all night. It was a great show, but something undefinable was missing. We arrived at the last number, the band stopped, Van uttered his signature line, Too late to stop now, and fell over backwards. Nothing was missing any more. At heart, for all his jazz, his folk, his poetry and his earnest Blarney, Van Morrison is still a rocker. Sacrifice is an important part of that culture. Have you ever seen a Little Richard concert? Little Richard pumps himself up to a high point, and then just throws himself into the crowd. Total sacrifice. Something from the Gospel tradition? Van had simply reduced the action to its minimal form. You fall over backwards. So what's this got to do with the Beatles? Easy? What was their sacrificial offering? They knew all about Little Richard's trauma. They worked with him in Hamburg when they used to go even wilder on stage in Hamburg. Can't you just picture total Lennon dementia: portrait of a rock star, framed in a toilet seat. But the later Beatles weren't like that, were they Brian? The clever Beatles, as Lennon called them. Leather and mach Schau was gone. Tidied up in Brian's Pierre Cardin suits. But Brian (I understand), who had an acting background, also gave them their new sacrificial symbol: that deep Beatle Bow, full forward from the waist, executed slowly and held for five seconds. A bit awkward for the drummer. Totally iconic for the band. A moment of silent meditation in the midst of pandemonium. In fact, the Beatles turned their collective backs on all forms of expression, beyond Ringo's shaking head and the occasional rush to the mike for some harmony. The video of Day Tripper is instructive: despite the orgasmic climax of the solo break (not much different in design to A Day In The Life by the way), the Beatles remain implacable. Unflappable. Perfect British Gentlemen. Lennon barely even opens his mouth. Think of the orifices of Mick Jagger, Carly Simon or that incredible ear-to-ear north and south of the lead singer of Aerosmith. Now think of Lennon's minuscule aperture: so small that it became a defining facial feature in caricatures (even his own). In 1973 Lennon planned a live concert in Madison Square Garden. Roberta Flack (softly with his song) and Stevie Wonder (It's very superstitious) were just two of the other guests. Lennon rehearsed his Elephants Memory Band daily for two weeks, adding his own bass player (Klaus Voorman) and doubling with his own drummer (Jim Keltner). The set was hugely ambitious for a live show including such toe-tappers as Mother and Cold Turkey. Lennon punctuated the performances with apologies: Good evening, and welcome to the rehearsal. Whaddya know, I almost remembered all the words. In Cold Turkey he reminded me of Buddy Holly, with his glasses nearly falling off as his body convulsed through the outro. Eventually Lennon said, something like, We'll go back in the past just once... something about a flattop -- you probably know the words better than me. The crowd, of course, went Beatlemania ballistic as the band did his raunchier version of Come Together (this is the version Jackson covered in his movie Moonwalker). By the time Come Together finally collapsed under its own weight, audience and band were in total disarray. Utterly disoriented. What did Lennon do? In the midst of the anarchy, and in complete solitude, he executed a slow, low, solo Beatle Bow. See you later!