Lennon in the Sky with Diamonds is not a biography or a conventional musicology book. It is an atlas of hinges: those moments when John Lennon took the pop song to the limit of its own logic and opened it from within. A chord that doesn't resolve (Not a Second Time), a tape played backwards (I'm Only Sleeping), a visible splice between two takes in different keys (Strawberry Fields Forever), a breath left in the mix (Girl), a single-chord mantra (Tomorrow Never Knows). The book analyses thirty-nine Lennon songs — from 1963 to the posthumous Now And Then (2023) — by asking three questions: what was expected before, what did Lennon do, and what was enabled afterwards. Without fixed academic structures, it lets the song lead. Beethoven, Picasso, and Einstein appear as resonances: the same gesture — breaking form to expand perception — seen from music, painting, and physics. Written for the listener who looks for the fracture, not the polish. For those who sense that the backward guitar on I'm Only Sleeping is not a studio trick but a declaration of war on speed. For anyone who, at three in the morning, wonders why Now And Then makes a knot in the throat even though there is nothing new in the lyrics. An open song does not ask to be understood. It asks to be inhabited.
ricardo moyano (Sat,) studied this question.