Imagine if He’d Lived

John Lennon would make phone calls to two record companies this morning--if.

First, he’d check with Capitol Records to see how two recent reissues are selling. He would be pleased to hear that the Beatles’ anthology, “1,” was near the top of the charts around the world, but deeply disappointed that “Plastic Ono Band,” his most commanding solo album, was being largely ignored.

Then, Lennon would get down to the business of the day by phoning Interscope Records co-founder Jimmy Iovine, an old friend who surely would have lured Lennon and Yoko Ono to his label.

During that chat, the pair might reminisce about celebrating Lennon’s 60th birthday in October in New York. Mainly, though, Lennon would want to talk about the final mixes on his new album.

Yes, John would most certainly still be making music if he hadn’t been murdered by a crazed fan outside the Dakota building in New York 20 years ago this Friday--and the chances are that his music would still be worth our attention.

Lennon was an uncompromising artist who kept pushing forward, driven by the belief that his greatest work was ahead.

I’d be looking forward this morning to hearing the new album. It’s not hard to picture the themes of the collection. Lennon would still be urging us to give peace a chance, and he probably would be looking back at life’s lessons--much the way his contemporary, Bob Dylan, did in 1997’s “Time Out of Mind.” It would continue the reexamination Lennon started on 1980’s “Double Fantasy,” his last work.

I’d also be interested in seeing how much of the energy of the techno-dance or hip-hop cultures would be incorporated by Lennon, who loved new musical ideas.

Mostly, I would be looking forward to seeing John himself.

There’s a rule among critics that you don’t get close to the musicians you write about, and it’s a good one. It’s hard enough being objective when you are a fan of someone’s music without further clouding your judgment by becoming friends with the person as well.

So contrary to popular assumption, I don’t go to dinner or take in Dodger games with acts that I’ve championed over the years, be it cult heroes such as John Prine or rock phenoms such as Bruce Springsteen.

I broke the rule with Lennon.

I met him in 1973 through producer Phil Spector, who helped shape some of John’s solo albums, and I was disarmed by the ex-Beatle’s openness. At a time when Paul McCartney still resisted talking about the old days, John spoke about those times easily in our first interview.

He was fun to be around because he was so unpretentious and smart--no different when the tape recorder was on during an interview than when relaxing after dinner.

Most artists tend to be guarded around journalists. They have an image they want to promote. But Lennon, like Keith Richards, was comfortable with himself and felt no need to filter his thoughts.

We didn’t become pen pals or keep in constant touch, but we spent hours visiting, in restaurants and in his suite at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel, where he was living in 1974 when he was temporarily estranged from Ono.

One of my favorite memories is John returning to his suite after dinner and invariably ordering cornflakes and cream from room service. When I asked him about it one night, he explained that cream was a luxury during World War II in England, so he developed a never-ending craving for it.

There was also a time in a New York recording studio during the making of “Double Fantasy” in 1980 when he would frequently disappear. I accidentally walked in on him one day in a lounge. He was standing by an open refrigerator, and he motioned for me to be quiet.

After making sure I was alone, he called me over and pointed to a package that was hidden in the back of the freezer. “Yoko has me on this health diet,” he whispered. “So I come in here for me treats.” In the package was a jumbo Hershey’s bar.

But mostly we talked about music.

In one of his most gripping songs from “Plastic Ono Band,” his savage 1970 solo album about childhood insecurities and breaking with the past, Lennon screamed: “I don’t believe in Elvis . . . I don’t believe in Zimmerman . . . I don’t believe in Beatles.”

Nonsense.

Lennon wrote those lines to urge people to take responsibility for their own actions. But he was terribly proud of the Beatles, and he spoke frequently about his admiration of Dylan (the Zimmerman in the song) and the impact that Dylan’s wordplay had on his songwriting--starting around the time of “Norwegian Wood” in 1965.

And Elvis was his greatest musical hero.

As a teenager in Liverpool, John worshiped Elvis--the hair, the clothes, the attitude and, mostly, the music. He would playfully speak like Elvis, complete with deep tones and Southern accent. And he would break into a line from Elvis hits, such as “Baby, Let’s Play House” or “One Night,” in the unlikeliest moments.

The thing that was hard for him to accept, even after all the success with the Beatles, was that he touched his generation in the ‘60s as deeply as Elvis touched his in the ‘50s--and that he was influencing others as fully as Elvis had influenced him.

*

At the time of his death, a young band across the ocean in Ireland was trying to duplicate on its first album the magic they heard on Beatles records. And a young musician across the country in the cold of Washington state was starting to marvel at the beauty in such Lennon songs as “In My Life.”

The band was U2 and the musician was Kurt Cobain, and it’s heartbreaking that Lennon never had a chance to hear the music of either.

Just as he never had the chance to learn about 24-hour music cable channels, or that one of the Jackson 5 would buy the publishing rights to the Beatles songs, or that his songs would be featured in TV commercials.

As a journalist, I’d have lots of questions for John--if. . . .

I’d be curious what he thought of Oasis, whose love of the Beatles was so great that the band closed many of its shows by singing Lennon’s “I Am the Walrus.” And I’d be interested in his views about the Rolling Stones’ never-ending tour. . . . And what he thought of Eminem. And. . . .

As a friend, I’d like to talk about “A Hard Day’s Night” being back in movie theaters and about the nine new Beatles-related books in stores.

I’d also like to reassure him that his solo work--especially the “Plastic Ono Band” and “Imagine” albums--has been as inspirational to musicians as his Beatles work.

I’d tell him about a recent conversation with Bono, who said that U2 had dreamed of getting Lennon to produce its album, and that while the Beatles “wrote the book on tunes,” it was Lennon in “Plastic Ono Band” who wrote the book on “revealing your soul.”

But mostly I’d like to give him a hug and say how much we’ve all missed him.