In the mid ‘90s the Beatles reunited, much as they could without John Lennon. Two “new” songs were debuted - “Free As A Bird” and “Real Love.” These were old Lennon demos to which the three surviving members added new lyrics and instrumentation. So what if “Free As A Bird” was a dirge that lurched around like Frankenstein’s monster in vintage clothes? Or that “Real Love” had already been released on a Lennon solo compilation? Both were meant to recreate the joyful idea of new Beatles music. Generations of fans could smile together like parents watching their kids flub around at a soccer game. The score didn’t matter.
A third song was attempted in those sessions, to be vetoed by George Harrison. Which underlined just how much their once perfect chemistry had been altered. Creatively the Beatles were a tiered democracy, with Lennon and Paul McCartney doing all the heavy lifting, flavored with Ringo Starr’s woozy drumming genius, and Harrison’s passable leads and one song per album side. But it was perfect, and wholly symbiotic. For example, Harrison had significant influence on the band’s direction. His spiritual interests led them to India in 1968, and the next year his friendships with Bob Dylan and The Band were pointing them toward Woodstock. But the Beatles didn’t want to do that. As evidenced in Peter Jackson’s 2021 restoration of the Get Back sessions, they isolated themselves in the studio once again, bickering and floundering, before summoning some magic for a final rooftop performance. Then they broke up, with the next decade marked by legal battles and diss songs.
A full band reunion was probably inevitable, which only makes Lennon’s death in 1980 all the more tragic. But something about Harrison and McCartney’s relationship seemed broken beyond repair. One can clearly see the disharmony in the circulating clips of the mid ‘90s reunion. McCartney is game as ever, but Harrison looks like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world. Like divorcees putting on a brave face for the public, they were tentatively diplomatic and occasionally caustic. Still they were family. So they went and did it, became The Beatles again for the two new songs. At the time it was a reported that a third song was attempted but left unfinished.
“Now And Then” was another fragment song of Lennon’s from the late ‘70s, when his muse was rather fogged. He spent those years in semi-retirement, well earned since his public persona was always a lightning rod for controversy. Still he kept writing songs, trying out ideas, recording in bits and pieces. Here’s the thing - songwriters preach the importance of confidence in the moment, of pushing songs all the way through that initial inspiration. What is A Hard Day’s Night but a meta-song cycle about pushing to the creative limit? That was largely Lennon’s album. But his home demos didn’t have that spirit, the material uncertain and incomplete. Which is fine, because who are we to judge? One could argue that those recordings were never meant for the public. At times they’re uncomfortable to listen to, with silly asides and confessions mixed in with the rough song sketches.
For his final album Double Fantasy, Lennon mined those tapes for the best ideas, producing a fine set of polished songs. Several posthumous albums saw the release of the remaining material, including a few songs (“Borrowed Time,” “Grow Old With Me”) that might have benefited from the Beatle treatment. Clearly he could still write great tunes, and we can only imagine what McCartney might have done with the more inspired ones. And yet through those releases and Lennon’s rearranging of his own work - “Now And Then” was passed over.
Lyrically the song trots out some familiar Lennon themes - dependent love and disconnection anxiety. Much of his post-Beatles career was spent singing about his devotion to partner Yoko Ono, or pining about his separation fears. Or was it? There are some interesting theories about just where Lennon drew the inspiration for his catalog of love songs. At the height of his Beatles fame he was in an icy marriage, and was later portrayed in the British press as a total recluse (“the laziest person in Britain” - 1966). So were all these songs just the work of a brilliant craftsman? Or is it possible that they were directed at the other Beatles, particularly McCartney? This isn’t meant salaciously, but more as a testament to their partnership. And we know that Lennon continued to communicate with him via songs in the ‘70s.
I think we’re being invited to read “Now And Then” in the same way. Wistful and weary, it seems to invoke some distant but determined love. With Lennon’s vocal extracted from the demo tape, the two surviving Beatles have added full instrumentation. The sound is clean and elegant, a tasteful marriage of crafty technology and vintage warmth. But does it save the meandering original tune? “Now And Then” sounds like a songwriter riffing around, searching for melodies. Perhaps George Harrison’s estimation (“rubbish”) was too strong, but I’d say he was in the ballpark.
Here’s a thought - what if McCartney had just written a new song as the final Beatles track? He still has such great spirit for their music, and still lives with the loss of his creative partner. Why not fly in some tracks from the others, incorporate their playing via studio technology, call it an official song? Deep down this is what McCartney has so wished for, to write and release new Beatles music. Of course it’s just not the Beatles without John Lennon. So “Now And Then” is closest he’ll ever come, and in that humble sense he’s succeeded.