In 1971, just before the release of Imagine, John Lennon and Yoko Ono made New York City their home. They squeezed into a small Greenwich Village apartment and plunged into the city’s countercultural ferment, soaking up progressive politics between marathon TV binges. Lennon’s celebrity gave the couple a megaphone for their activism—they even co-hosted The Mike Douglas Show, then America’s most-watched talk show, for an entire week. Using the platform to bring radical politics to daytime TV, they invited guests like Yippies co-founder Jerry Rubin and Black Panther leader Bobby Seale. This spirit of political engagement infused their 1972 album Some Time in New York City, a raw, tabloid-like rock record that tackled feminism, the Irish Troubles, marijuana legalization, and the Attica prison uprising. It was conceived less as a pop album than as a protest leaflet with guitars—a brash attempt to turn rock’n’roll into revolution.
That summer, John and Yoko took their activism to Madison Square Garden for One to One, a pair of benefit concerts that extended the Some Time ethos onto the stage. The new box set Power to the People—a nine-CD, three-Blu-ray archival release produced by Sean Ono Lennon and Simon Hilton—centers on those shows. Surrounding them are home demos, studio sessions, and rare live appearances, creating a panoramic document of Lennon and Ono’s most overtly political period. While Some Time in New York City provides the spine of the collection, this isn’t simply a deluxe reissue. Instead, Power to the People captures the wild, idealistic blur of 1971–72, when Lennon and Ono reimagined themselves as downtown radicals, rubbing shoulders with Panthers, Yippies, and the restless, ragtag underground of early-’70s New York.
The One to One shows reflect both Lennon’s nerves and his enthusiasm. Backed by Elephant’s Memory—a scrappy local band known for scoring Midnight Cowboy—he tore through greasy, barroom rock with a mix of tension and swagger. Drummer Jim Keltner joined in to lend the group’s loose jams a welcome punch, transforming their sloppiness into groove. Across the two concerts (plus a highlights disc), Lennon seems to rediscover his first love: the raw immediacy of 1950s rock’n’roll. Even his collaborations with Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention stick to the bedrock of three-chord progressions. The new material he and Ono wrote during this period—“Attica State,” “John Sinclair,” “Sisters, O Sisters,” “The Luck of the Irish,” “New York City”—leans into simplicity, channeled through folk, blues, and Chuck Berry-inspired boogie.
One notable omission in Power to the People is “Woman Is the N***** of the World,” Some Time’s controversial single. Originally intended as a feminist anthem, its well-meaning message was overshadowed by its incendiary title. The song’s absence from the remixed album and live material effectively reframes this era, emphasizing Lennon’s nostalgic return to early rock rather than his attempts at sociopolitical grandstanding. What remains is a portrait of a musician reconnecting with his roots. On the “Home Jam” disc, Lennon casually strums through Everly Brothers and Buddy Holly tunes, while the “Studio Jam” disc captures loose, joyful takes on Jerry Lee Lewis and Elvis Presley hits. They’re unpolished but magnetic—Lennon as fan, not icon—reminding us how alive he sounded when the stakes were low.
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These informal moments close Power to the People on a human note, counterbalancing the self-conscious activism that defined the rest of the set. Throughout 1971 and 1972, Lennon and Ono were constantly in the public eye—performing their first post-Beatles shows, joining political rallies, and popping up on nearly any television program that would have them. One highlight here is a reggae-flavored performance of “Give Peace a Chance” from the Jerry Lewis Muscular Dystrophy Telethon, with Lewis himself joining the chorus. It’s an almost surreal convergence of pop fame and protest spirit, emblematic of Lennon’s unique position: a global superstar trying to speak the language of the underground.
Half a century later, that contradiction remains the most fascinating part of this story. Power to the People isn’t just a time capsule of Lennon’s radical years—it’s a portrait of a man caught between worlds, using the machinery of celebrity to chase authenticity. Even at his most strident, Lennon was still performing for the masses, wrestling with how to make rebellion sing.
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