NEW YORK (AP) — Only recently given stewardship over his late father's work, Sean Ono Lennon is on a remarkable run.
The only child of John Lennon and Yoko Ono won an Academy Award this year for a short film based on his parents' 1971 song "Happy Christmas (War is Over")" and, a few months later, was nominated for his first-ever Grammy, for producing a box set on the album “Mind Games,” originally released in 1973.
“It feels overwhelming and surreal,” said Lennon, who also recently shared a Webby Award with his mother for Ono's interactive art project “Wish Tree.”
For Lennon, who was 5 when the former Beatle was murdered in 1980, the work is a way to connect with his father. It's more than a preservation mission: On “Mind Games,” he takes artistic license, pulling apart the recordings of John Lennon's music to create something entirely new.
Lennon was inspired, in part, by another Beatle offspring, Dhani Harrison, who helped repackage his own father's “All Things Must Pass.” Dhani Harrison is also behind this fall's reissue of his dad's “Living in the Material World,” but that experience is nothing like what Lennon did with “Mind Games.”
Besides the music, the innovative box is modeled after one of his mother's art pieces and filled with art reproductions, hidden music, video, messages and puzzles, some only visible through an ultraviolet light that is included — “mind games,” remember? The deluxe box retails for $1,350, but there are less expensive options.
Lennon, 49, knew his father was a musician before he died; the boy tagged along to the studio for some “Double Fantasy” sessions. But truly understanding his impact came later, like when he'd hear fans singing his father's music outside their New York apartment on the Oct. 9 birthday they shared. “It was pretty clear to me that wasn't happening with my friends,” he said.
His father's music played constantly around the house, and learning to play those songs launched his own journey to become a musician.
“I think I would have rebelled more against my dad's — and my mom's — music if I had grown up with my dad in the house and I had been angry at him or rebelled against him,” he told The Associated Press. “Because he wasn't around, I've always really cherished the music as sort of a living part of him.”
He inherited the job of keeping his father's music alive for new generations when his mom, now 91, retired.
In liner notes for “Mind Games,” Lennon explains that “the only meaningful way that I can show my love to him” is to work hard on his music and keep it in the culture's consciousness. That's poignant, and maybe a little sad. Does Lennon really have to prove to anyone that he loves his father?
“What else can I do in this Earth to express my love and reverence for my father than to do an incredibly meticulous job of taking care of his music?” he said. “I can't actually think of anything else, other than taking care of my mother, which I try to do as well.”
That reverence for his elders came from his mother, he believes. When his Japanese grandparents came over to the U.S. “it was like the president was visiting,” he recalled.
Only after he began the “Mind Games” project did Lennon learn that the album wasn't particularly well-regarded when it was released. He found an interview where even John Lennon considered it a transition from a period of political activism to being a musician again. The title song was its only hit.
That attitude lingers, judging by an online site called “Brutally Honest Rock Album Reviews.” In an unsigned review, the author said the “Mind Games” reissue defines overkill. “You can now own and forever cherish six different versions of songs that were unmemorable at best and a complete waste of time at worst.”
That only motivated Lennon to work harder, and led to a bold artistic decision. Part of the reason the album didn't really connect was because it wasn't promoted well or supported by concerts, he said. But he also described the original album mix as thin and not doing justice to the music.
Using the original recordings, he constructed new versions of the songs, sometimes emphasizing different instruments. He sought a warmer, more direct sound reminiscent of Lennon's “Plastic Ono Band” album — most visibly on “Aisumasen (I'm Sorry),” one of a handful of compositions reflecting marital turmoil that presaged Lennon's notorious “lost weekend” separation from Ono.
Different versions of the title cut also show Sean's approach. There's the original “Mind Games,” with a distinctive chiming sound that drives the melody. That's stripped away in a new mix where a reggae guitar lick becomes audible. An organ-dominated instrumental sounds like a church hymn. There are other outtakes, some with alternate lyrics and one with a snippet of “Make Love, Not War,” a song fragment dating back to the Beatles that the author repurposed.
He didn't have a trove of unheard material to mine, other than Lennon's demo of “I'm the Greatest,” a song he gave to Beatle mate Ringo Starr.
In some of the new versions, Sean goes beyond remixing or revealing outtakes to imposing his own artistic vision over his father's.
“There are some people who feel that it's taking liberties, and I guess it technically is,” Lennon said. “The way I look at it is, if I'm going to do the best job I can, the only way I can do that is to follow my heart and make it sound the best that it can sound. If that means maybe turning down an instrument a lot in a certain section because I don't think it's helping, then I'm going to do that.”
For anyone who wants the original versions, they're readily available.
“It's very forensic work,” he said. “I'm not worried about what someone else is going to think. I'm just in there trying to do good by my dad, and I really feel that I know how to do good by him, because I know his music better than I know anybody else's music.”
As a musician, he relates to moments where his father expresses vulnerability, like an interview where John described “Intuition” as a good song where he didn't nail the lyrics. The “Get Back” film of recording sessions for the “Let it Be” album showed the Beatles as humans who didn't hand songs down from Mount Olympus.
Next on the docket is a film resurrection of the “One to One” concerts involving his father and a reissue of the “Walls and Bridges” album. Sean, who lives and works in New York and is involved in a longtime relationship with musician and model Kemp Muhl, released his own album, “Asterisms,” this year.
Told he sounded like his father when singing forcefully, Lennon practically whispered lyrics on his early albums. He hated the way he sounded, but didn't want to deal with the comparisons. He doesn't hold back anymore. “Now I'm too old to care,” he said.
“I didn't get into music because I had some great talent or something,” he said. “I got into it because my dad was this famous musician and playing his songs and learning his music made me feel closer to him.”
David Bauder writes about the intersection of media and entertainment for the AP. Follow him at http://x.com/dbauder and https://bsky.app/profile/dbauder.bsky.social.
FILE - Yoko Ono, wife of the late John Lennon, left, and their son Sean Lennon arrive at the 56th annual Grammy Awards in Los Angeles on Jan. 26, 2014. (Photo by Jordan Strauss/Invision/AP, File)
FILE - Dave Mullins, left, and Sean Ono Lennon accept the award for best animated short for "War Is Over! Inspired by the Music of John & Yoko" during the Oscars on March 10, 2024, in Los Angeles. (AP Photo/Chris Pizzello, File)
FILE - Singer John Lennon appears during a press conference at the Hotel Americana on May 13, 1968, in New York. (AP Photo, File)
FILE - Sean Lennon appears at the Vanity Fair Oscar Party in Beverly Hills, Calif., on March 10, 2024. (Photo by Evan Agostini/Invision/AP, File)
MAJDAL SHAMS, Golan Heights (AP) — The four sisters gathered by the side of the road, craning their necks to peer far beyond the razor wire-reinforced fence snaking across the mountain. One took off her jacket and waved it slowly above her head.
In the distance, a tiny white speck waved frantically from the hillside.
“We can see you!” Soha Safadi exclaimed excitedly on her cellphone. She paused briefly to wipe away tears that had begun to flow. “Can you see us too?”
The tiny speck on the hill was Soha’s sister, Sawsan. Separated by war and occupation, they hadn’t seen each other in person for 22 years.
The six Safadi sisters belong to the Druze community, one of the Middle East’s most insular religious minorities. Its population is spread across Syria, Lebanon, Israel and the Golan Heights, a rocky plateau that Israel seized from Syria in 1967 and annexed in 1981. The U.S. is the only country to recognize Israel's control; the rest of the world considers the Golan Heights occupied Syrian territory.
Israel's seizure of the Golan Heights split families apart.
Five of the six Safadi sisters and their parents live in Majdal Shams, a Druze town next to the buffer zone created between the Israeli-controlled Golan Heights and Syria. But the sixth, 49-year-old Sawsan, married a man from Jaramana, a town on the outskirts of the Syrian capital, Damascus, 27 years ago and has lived in Syria ever since. They have land in the buffer zone, where they grow olives and apples and also maintain a small house.
With very few visits allowed to relatives over the years, a nearby hill was dubbed “Shouting Hill,” where families would gather on either side of the fence and use loudspeakers to speak to each other.
The practice declined as the internet made video calls widely accessible, while the Syrian war that began in 2011 made it difficult for those on the Syrian side to reach the buffer zone.
But since the Dec. 8 fall of Syrian President Bashar Assad’s regime, families like the Safadis, are starting to revive the practice. They cling to hope, however faint, that regime change will herald a loosening of restrictions between the Israeli-controlled area and Syria that have kept them from their loved ones for so long.
“It was something a bit different. You see her in person. It feels like you could be there in two minutes by car,” Soha Safadi, 51, said Wednesday after seeing the speck that was her sister on the hill. “This is much better, much better.”
Since Assad’s fall, the sisters have been coming to the fence every day to see Sawsan. They make arrangements by phone for a specific time, and then make a video call while also trying to catch a glimpse of each other across the hill.
“She was very tiny, but I could see her,” Soha Safadi said. “There were a lot of mixed feelings — sadness, joy and hope. And God willing, God willing, soon, soon, we will see her” in person.
After Assad fell, the Israeli military pushed through the buffer zone and into Syria proper. It has captured Mount Hermon, Syria’s tallest mountain, known as Jabal al Sheikh in Arabic, on the slopes of which lies Majdal Shams. The buffer zone is now a hive of military and construction activity, and Sawsan can’t come close to the fence.
While it is far too early to say whether years of hostile relations between the two countries will improve, the changes in Syria have sparked hope for divided families that maybe, just maybe, they might be able to meet again.
“This thing gave us a hope … that we can see each other. That all the people in the same situation can meet their families,” said another sister, 53-year-old Amira Safadi.
Yet seeing Sawsan across the hill, just a short walk away, is also incredibly painful for the sisters.
They wept as they waved, and cried even more when their sister put their nephew, 24-year-old Karam, on the phone. They have only met him once, during a family reunion in Jordan. He was 2 years old.
“It hurts, it hurts, it hurts in the heart,” Amira Safadi said. “It’s so close and far at the same time. It is like she is here and we cannot reach her, we cannot hug her.”
Samar Safadi sits next to a window after speaking by phone with her sister, Sawsan, who lives inside the buffer zone near the "Alpha Line" that separates the Israeli-controlled Golan Heights from Syria, in the town of Majdal Shams, Wednesday, Dec. 18, 2024. (AP Photo/Matias Delacroix)
Samar Safadi, left, talks with her mother after speaking by phone with her sister, Sawsan, who lives inside the buffer zone near the "Alpha Line" that separates the Israeli-controlled Golan Heights from Syria, in the town of Majdal Shams, Wednesday, Dec. 18, 2024. (AP Photo/Matias Delacroix)
Ahmad Safadi, center, stands with his daughters after an interview about his other daughter, Sawsan, who lives inside the buffer zone near the "Alpha Line" that separates the Israeli-controlled Golan Heights from Syria, in the town of Majdal Shams, Wednesday, Dec. 18, 2024. (AP Photo/Matias Delacroix)
Samar Safadi looks at family photos after speaking by phone with her sister, Sawsan, who lives inside the buffer zone near the "Alpha Line" that separates the Israeli-controlled Golan Heights from Syria, in the town of Majdal Shams, Wednesday, Dec. 18, 2024. (AP Photo/Matias Delacroix)
Five of six Safadi sisters sit on a couch under a portrait of their sister, Sawsan, who lives inside the buffer zone near the "Alpha Line" that separates the Israeli-controlled Golan Heights from Syria, in the town of Majdal Shams, Wednesday, Dec. 18, 2024. (AP Photo/Matias Delacroix)
Soha Safadi holds a portrait of her sister, Sawsan, who lives inside the buffer zone near the "Alpha Line" that separates the Israeli-controlled Golan Heights from Syria, in the town of Majdal Shams, Wednesday, Dec. 18, 2024. (AP Photo/Matias Delacroix)
Safadi sisters Soha, left, and Salma, cry after speaking by phone with their sister, Sawsan, who is inside the buffer zone near the "Alpha Line" that separates the Israeli-controlled Golan Heights from Syria, in the town of Majdal Shams, Tuesday, Dec. 17, 2024. (AP Photo/Matias Delacroix)
Samar Safadi holds her phone as she talks by video call with her sister, Sawsan, who lives inside the buffer zone near the "Alpha Line" that separates the Israeli-controlled Golan Heights from Syria, in the town of Majdal Shams, Wednesday, Dec. 18, 2024. (AP Photo/Matias Delacroix)
Salma Safadi waves to her sister, Sawsan, who is inside the buffer zone near the "Alpha Line" that separates the Israeli-controlled Golan Heights from Syria, in the town of Majdal Shams, Tuesday, Dec. 17, 2024. (AP Photo/Matias Delacroix)
Sawsan, one of six Safadi sisters, standing inside the buffer zone, waves to her sisters near the "Alpha Line" that separates the Israeli-controlled Golan Heights from Syria, seen from the town of Majdal Shams, Wednesday, Dec. 18, 2024. (AP Photo/Matias Delacroix)
Soja Safadi, center, with her sisters, tries to see their other sister, Sawsan, who is inside the buffer zone near the "Alpha Line" that separates the Israeli-controlled Golan Heights from Syria, in the town of Majdal Shams, Wednesday, Dec. 18, 2024. (AP Photo/Matias Delacroix)