How John Lennon secretly joked about his ‘Lost Weekend’ on a Harry Nilsson album cover

When The Beatles stopped performing in 1966, losing the buzz of the stage hit John Lennon much harder than any of his peers. After a childhood marred by loss, live music was always a vital escape for the deeply introspective star. When that was taken away from him after the rigours of the road became unsustainable for the Fab Four, he soon found himself disillusioned with life in the band, and even outside of it, for that matter.

In fact, you find both evidence of how much he craved the spotlight and a semblance of what lay ahead for the bespectacled Beatle in 1968 when he performed alongside Yoko Ono as part of The Rolling Stones’ legendary Rock ’n’ Roll Circus. The hip couple were among the star attractions in The Dirty Macs. Aside from the duo, the band consisted of Eric Clapton on guitar, Keith Richards on bass, and Jimi Hendrix’s sticksmith Mitch Mitchell on drums. “The buzz was incredible,” Lennon would later comment.

Alas, the buzz of being in a supergroup with your buddies at a strange carnival doesn’t present itself all that often, even for someone like Lennon. So, he went looking for that escapist high in a range of other ways—most of them were fairly predictable. Feeling stilted and uncertain about the future, Yoko Ono figured that her new husband needed some space, and so began his lost weekend period.

His main drinking partner during this 18-month period, which began in earnest in 1973, was Harry Nilsson. Along with May Pang, this disorderly trio and other boozing buddies roved around Los Angeles, London, New York and an array of other cities, in a heady blur of abandon. He was digging the emerging sounds along the way. “All the rock ‘n’ roll music that he loved came from America. He loved the B-sides. He loved Carla Thomas, who had this Memphis sound,“ Pang recalled.

Pussy Cats: The album that defined John Lennon and Harry Nilsson’s ‘Lost Weekend’

So, at one point, they decided that they ought to make a record. Looking to blend styles in a similar manner to Carla Thomas, Lennon lined himself up to produce Pussy Cats. In truth, it would prove to be a task akin to hurting cats as Lennon struggled to get his friend into the studio, and when he did, Nilsson, for some reason, hid the fact that he had haemorrhaged his vocal cords.

Lennon would later reflect on how the sessions were an odd mix of perfectly friendly frivolity and an underlying shadow of tragedy. Sure, it was fun and amiable to make, and the album is an almost covert classic, but the ignorance of their bliss was beginning to catch up with them. Ironically, this notion plays out with a strange self-awareness on the album cover.

On the surface, the infantile Sylvanian Family set up of the pair cosplaying as teddy bears in a chalet typified their irreverent nature. But there’s more to it than that. The most obvious punchline is a simple play upon the image of wholesomeness. Here, we have two musical legends who have spent pretty much the last year on a well-documented bender, posing in an idyllic children’s scene. But beyond that, there’s an easter egg that nods towards the sinister undertone being swept under the table.

In fact, the nod is literally swept under the table. Beneath the writing desk where Nilsson poses are two lettered blocks sporting ‘D’ and ‘S’. So far, so cryptic. But it’s when you notice what is spacing them apart that the reference becomes clear. Between the ‘D’ and ‘S’ is an errant rug. Meaning: ‘D’ + rug + ‘S’ = D-rug-S. Granted, that’s marginally clever, but it is also tragically pathetic. Given that both men were fathers approaching their mid-30s, the easter egg is one that does more to depict the waywardness that sent their art awry than the quirky creativity that defined it at its golden best.