He was screaming. Not in the way he did at Shea Stadium over the roar of thirty thousand fans, but in a way that sounded like a man trying to claw his way out of his own skin. It was 1970. The Beatles were dead. John Lennon was sitting in a room with Arthur Janov, practicing Primal Scream therapy, trying to find whatever was left of himself under the "Beatle John" mask. Out of that raw, jagged pain came "Love," a song so simple it almost feels like a nursery rhyme. But when you hear him sing love is real, you aren't just hearing a lyric. You’re hearing a guy who had spent thirty years terrified that love was actually a lie.
It’s easy to dismiss it now. We see the word "Love" on t-shirts and coffee mugs. We’ve turned Lennon’s philosophy into a Hallmark card. But in 1970, saying "love is real" was a radical act of self-preservation for John. He was coming off a decade of being the most famous person on earth, a period defined by massive ego, drug-fueled paranoia, and the slow-motion car crash of his first marriage.
People forget how cynical he was. This was the guy who wrote "I Am the Walrus." He was the king of the sneer. So, when he finally sat down at a piano to tell the world that love is the only thing that actually exists, it wasn't a platitude. It was a confession.
Why John Lennon Had to Convince Himself That Love Is Real
To understand the song, you have to understand the trauma. Lennon's childhood was a mess of disappearances. His father, Alf, vanished. His mother, Julia, handed him over to his Aunt Mimi and then died in a freak car accident just as John was starting to bond with her again.
By the time the 1970s rolled around, John was done with the "Peace and Love" era of the sixties. He felt it had failed. The flower power thing was a pipe dream that ended in Altamont and the Manson murders. He was bitter.
If you look at the Plastic Ono Band album, it’s basically an audio exorcism. He’s tearing down every idol he ever had. He says he doesn't believe in magic, I-Ching, Bible, Tarot, Hitler, Jesus, or even the Beatles.
So what's left?
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"Love is real, real is love."
It’s the only thing he didn’t burn to the ground. Phil Spector, who produced the track, kept the arrangement incredibly sparse. It’s just John’s voice, a piano, and a bit of acoustic guitar. There are no layers to hide behind. No George Martin orchestral swells. No Paul McCartney vocal harmonies to sweeten the bitter pills. It’s just a man at a piano trying to convince himself that he’s allowed to be happy.
The Misunderstanding of "Love Is Real"
Most people think this song is a tribute to Yoko Ono. Honestly? It's more of a tribute to the concept of Yoko. It’s about the fact that she was the first person to see through the "Beatle" and look at the "John."
But there’s a darker side to the love is real John Lennon narrative that often gets glossed over. Lennon was obsessive. His version of love wasn't always the healthy, balanced version we talk about today. It was possessive. It was intense. It was, at times, incredibly codependent.
He once said that love is like a plant you have to water every day. That sounds sweet until you realize he meant he couldn't spend a single hour away from Yoko without feeling like he was dissolving. He was a man of extremes. When he hated, he was vicious. When he loved, he disappeared into the other person.
The song defines love in ways that feel almost like a dictionary entry:
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- Love is feeling, feeling love.
- Love is wanting to be loved.
- Love is touch, touch is love.
- Love is reaching, reaching love.
He’s literally trying to define the parameters of a human emotion because he had no roadmap for it. He was a "working class hero" who had been told to keep his feelings bottled up, then a pop star who was told to perform them for money. "Love" was his attempt to find a version of the truth that didn't involve a script.
The Sound of the Piano: A Subtle Masterclass
Let's talk about the piano on the track. It’s played by John, and it’s... clunky. Not in a bad way, but in a human way. It’s not the virtuoso playing of a session musician. It’s the sound of someone thinking while they play.
There’s a specific delay on his voice, a "slapback" echo that Spector loved, which makes John sound like he’s singing in a giant, empty hallway. It adds to the loneliness of the track. Even when he’s singing about how real love is, he sounds like he’s standing all by himself.
Compare this to "All You Need Is Love" from 1967. That was a public anthem. It was a parade. It had horns and a sing-along chorus. "Love" from 1970 is a private prayer. It’s the difference between a political rally and a confession in the middle of the night.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Timeline
People often lump this song in with "Imagine." They shouldn't. "Imagine" is a song about a utopian future. "Love" is a song about the brutal present.
When Lennon recorded this, he was in the middle of a massive legal battle with his former best friends. He was being sued. He was suing them. He was being followed by the FBI. He was a mess.
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The fact that he could produce something so delicate in the middle of that chaos is a miracle. It shows that for Lennon, love is real wasn't just a sentiment; it was his armor. He needed it to be real, or he wasn't going to make it through the year.
The Legacy of the "Real" Philosophy
If you listen to the covers—from Barbra Streisand to Letter Manson—nobody quite gets the desperation right. Streisand makes it sound beautiful. Lennon makes it sound necessary.
The song actually saw a resurgence in the early 80s, right after John was killed. People went back to it because it felt like a mission statement. It wasn't about the politics or the bed-ins or the bags on heads. It was about the core of the man.
He spent his whole life looking for a "home." He thought it was Liverpool, then he thought it was the band, then he thought it was New York. He eventually realized that "home" was just the connection he had with another person.
Actionable Takeaways from Lennon’s Philosophy
You don't have to be a multi-millionaire rock star in Primal Scream therapy to apply the "Love is Real" logic to your own life. Lennon’s stripped-back approach to the 1970s actually offers a pretty solid blueprint for modern sanity.
- Strip away the noise. John realized he couldn't find "real" love until he stopped believing in the "idols" (The Beatles, the government, the press). If you’re looking for genuine connection, you have to look past the curated versions of people you see online.
- Accept the simplicity. We often try to make love complicated with rules and expectations. Lennon’s lyrics are intentionally basic. Love is "reaching." Love is "touch." Sometimes, the most profound truths are the ones that sound the simplest.
- Acknowledge the need. There’s a line in the song: "Love is wanting to be loved." For a long time, it wasn't "cool" for a man like John to admit he needed affection. Admitting you want to be loved isn't a weakness; it's the first step toward finding it.
- Practice "The Now." This was a big part of John and Yoko’s philosophy. Don't worry about the love you had ten years ago or the love you might have in the future. Is love real right now? If you’re reaching for someone, then yes.
John Lennon was a deeply flawed man. He was often hypocritical, frequently angry, and occasionally cruel. But that’s exactly why his insistence that love is real carries so much weight. It wasn't a "nice" thought from a "nice" man. It was a hard-won realization from someone who had seen the worst parts of himself and decided that love was the only way out.
To really live out this philosophy, start by identifying the "idols" in your own life that are blocking your view of what's real. Strip back the ego, stop performing for an audience that doesn't care, and focus on the "reaching" and the "feeling." As John proved, everything else is just background noise.