Imagine having the best dad one could ever wish for. Not only superbly talented, but surrounded by equals, so much that he was able to make what many would claim to be the most relevant rock band of all times. An inspired poet, a finely tuned musician, a marvelous hit-maker. Above it all, imagine being a toddler not realizing any of this while getting ice-cream with him after racing kites at the Park. Imagine having him as the best piano teacher and snow angel maker. Imagine the nights he put you to sleep, the mornings he cooked you breakfast, a morning just like that one when a maniac - when you didn't even know what "maniac" meant - suddenly stole all these dreams from you.
Fast-forward around 20 years later. Born into talent, you've managed to assemble good musicians and venture yourself in a couple of sucessful projects. You would think being that rich and gifted would eventually make things easier - not quite so. The rest of the (detached) world seems to not only loathe your mother (your only parent left), but also blame her for much of your own personal tragedy. Managing to have kept your emotions frailly alive, you seek care and tenderness in a relationship with a beautiful kind girl, all the while enlisting your best friend as your eternal confident. One day, these two once equally comforting worlds collide into a fireball of betrayal and hurt. As you attempt to regain conscience and perspective, an accident prematurely takes away one large piece of that foundation, never to return. Your tragic story has now achieved Greek proportions. What do you do about it?
If you are Sean Lennon, you make one of the most brilliant records of the 21st century. Because you are his son, because those snow angels never really faded, because you still loved him too much, and her as well. Because you were meant to do it.