Yoko Ono – ‘Approximately Infinite Universe’
By 1973, Yoko Ono was one of the most famous people on the planet, whether she wanted to be or not. That wasn’t because of her decades-long career as a vital experimental artist. Her name was already well established in that world, with her legacy locked in as a key figure in the avant-garde scene. Instead, it was the ring on her finger that made her a global figure – and one of the most vilified women on the planet. In many ways, Approximately Infinite Universe was her comeback.
Never underestimate the power of standing next to a powerful man. It’s often terrifying as misogyny gets hold in a gripping, in this case, global way. Simply by being John Lennon’s wife, and especially by being not white, Ono became the enemy of a million girls who wanted him instead, a million closet racists who wanted to see their white knight with a white woman, and simply a million people who didn’t understand Ono – this strange, exotic artist who they could only cope with by limiting her to groupie status, nothing more than a wailing banshee stood next to her husband, stealing some of his limelight.
But on Approximately Infinite Universe, she changes course. The other two albums released during her relationship with Lennon so far were much of the same; an attempt to combine Lennon’s musicality into her world of avant-garde, experimental performance art that her husband’s fans were never going to like. But this 1973 album is different – it’s the moment where Ono herself becomes the star, becomes the rockstar and finds the courage to step fully into the music world, while still carrying her original artistry.
The outright musicality of the album comes first. ‘The Death Of Samantha’ is a true, cool, seductive track that sees Ono crooning, “Every day I thank god that I’m such a cool chick, baby.” The album opening ‘Yang Yang’ has it too, beginning the album with an instant bang of classic rock and roll. Though this album comes before Patti Smith released her debut, they feel like one and the same, as Ono holds poetry and artistry close but also indulges fully in the fantasy of being the star and the bandleader.
However, the fascination with the album comes in the moments when her old career, or her longer-running career as an experimental artist, finds new footing. ‘Looking Over From My Hotel Window’ is a beautiful example of this; a staggering song that has the sort of emotional punch that pieces of art hung in a gallery can have when stripped back and placed starkly against white, clean walls.
“If I ever die, please go to my daughter and tell her that she used to haunt me in my dreams,” she sings in a line that feels painfully revealing, which is such an incredibly brave move given the absolute hounding Ono was receiving week after week in the paper. It’s in moments like this that the album becomes an act of defiance, as well as a master class of her various elements of artistry.
There are also, to put it simply, bangers here – something Ono’s stranger, avant-garde career was never going to give. ‘I Want My Love To Rest Tonight’ could well be a Lennon song, but it could be a Beatles song with its simple premise, universal phrasings, and accessibility. But with a classic Ono arrangement, or the types of arrangements she launches here, balancing something understandable with her desire or nature to never truly be that, it becomes something gripping and interesting – two words that define this album.
