The Resurgence of Yoko Ono: Cultural Impact and Legacy

Although Yoko Ono, the iconic conceptual artist, musician, and widow of John Lennon, has largely withdrawn from the spotlight in recent years due to health concerns, her presence in cultural conversations has not diminished. In fact, it appears that public interest in her work and legacy is growing stronger by the year.

The 2020s have already brought about a number of projects dedicated to reexamining and honoring Ono’s artistic contributions. A tribute album has been released, several new biographies have hit the shelves, and in 2023, London’s prestigious Tate Modern hosted a wide-ranging retrospective of her work titled “Yoko Ono: Music of the Mind.” This major exhibition will soon travel to Chicago, extending its impact and reach.

This resurgence follows the release of Peter Jackson’s highly acclaimed 2021 documentary “The Beatles: Get Back,” which revived discussions around Ono’s influence on the Beatles. The film challenged long-standing narratives, particularly the claim that she played a central role in the band’s breakup—an accusation that has lingered for decades, often unfairly.

David Sheff, a journalist and longtime friend of Ono’s, pushes back firmly against that narrative in his recent biography, Yoko. Known for his memoir Beautiful Boy about his son’s battle with addiction (titled with Ono’s blessing, borrowing from a Lennon song), Sheff presents a strong case for Ono’s stabilizing presence in Lennon’s life. He even suggests that her influence may have extended the Beatles’ life span, arguing that Lennon’s grounded partnership with Ono helped sustain the group through their final two albums, Let It Be and Abbey Road. “John had one foot out the door,” Sheff writes, “and without Yoko, the other foot might have followed more quickly.”

In filmmaker Kevin Macdonald’s upcoming documentary One to One: John & Yoko, audiences are offered a deeper look into the couple’s life in New York City during the early 1970s—a period of experimentation, activism, and intense public scrutiny. The documentary focuses on their engagement with radical politics, emerging feminist thought, and their personal search for identity and purpose as artists navigating an increasingly complex world.

Reflecting on these works, one may ask: do they offer any fresh understanding of Yoko Ono as an artist or public figure? Journalist Lindsay Zoladz noted in a previous essay that Ono, once vilified by popular culture, has gradually been reinterpreted as a kind of visionary folk heroine. Her unique combination of vulnerability, persistence, and creative intensity now feels more widely appreciated. But has the cultural tide fully turned in her favor?

Critic Jon Pareles expresses cautious optimism. He recalls how musicians have been admiring Ono’s bold and unconventional vocal style since the punk era—nearly half a century ago. The release of her 1992 box set Onobox played a pivotal role in challenging misconceptions and revealed the depth of her musicianship to a wider audience. By the 2000s, DJs and electronic music producers were sampling her work, and the art world—where her career began—had long since acknowledged her as a groundbreaking figure in conceptual, performance, and participatory art.

Still, Pareles reminds us, cultural biases linger. Sheff’s biography includes a telling anecdote about how Taylor Swift was likened to Ono by critics who saw her as a negative influence on her partner, NFL star Travis Kelce, during a slump in his team’s performance. The implication was the same as it had been decades earlier: the woman is to blame when the man falters.

The oversimplified narrative that Ono “broke up the Beatles” has endured, partly because it provides an easy scapegoat. It diverts attention from the complex mix of personal ambition, creative tension, and evolving identities that naturally led to the band’s dissolution. As a woman and a cultural outsider, Ono has long served as a convenient target for misogynistic projections.

In both the film and Sheff’s biography, the deeper patterns in Ono’s creative journey emerge—her dedication to themes of peace, healing, and transformation; her blending of sound, text, and performance; her resilience in the face of public backlash. Yet what becomes clear in Get Back and One to One is that she and Lennon were often making it up as they went along. There was no overarching blueprint, no master plan. They were improvising—both as lovers and as collaborators.

One to One captures the duo during a particularly intense chapter: their years in New York, from 1971 to 1972. They engaged openly with the radical politics of the time, attending rallies, collaborating with figures like poet Allen Ginsberg and Yippie activist Jerry Rubin, and exploring therapeutic methods like primal scream therapy. Lennon also began openly supporting feminist causes, inspired in large part by Ono’s commitment. This was highly unusual for a rock star of his generation.

In archival concert footage, Lennon’s vocals on tracks like “Cold Turkey” seem to echo the raw, expressive style Ono had long embraced. But while he was praised for his emotional candor, she continued to face derision for similar artistic choices.

One poignant scene from One to One features Ono speaking at a feminist conference at Harvard in 1973. She reflects on the societal pressure to stay in Lennon’s shadow, recalling that the experience made her develop a stutter and feel as though “the whole society wished me dead.” Yet despite it all, she refused to disappear. With quiet determination and a defiant smile, she kept creating. “Yes, I’m a witch,” she would later proclaim, turning the label into a symbol of her strength.

Zoladz and Pareles also reflect on Lennon’s later willingness to acknowledge his own shortcomings. In a 1980 interview with Sheff, Lennon admitted he had denied Ono the co-writing credit she deserved on “Imagine.” The concept and even the title, he said, came directly from Ono’s book Grapefruit. “I wasn’t man enough to let her have credit for it,” he said with regret.

This moment of honesty is rare in celebrity culture, particularly among men. Lennon’s admission offers a valuable model of accountability and self-reflection, and his early advocacy of feminist ideas remains one of his most overlooked legacies.

Their time in New York also included a brush with television fame. The couple co-hosted a week of The Mike Douglas Show, giving airtime to controversial figures like Bobby Seale of the Black Panthers. They planned a concert tour with Rubin, hoping to build a youth movement around it, but later abandoned the idea, fearing it might lead to violence. Instead, after seeing a television report about the inhumane conditions at Willowbrook State School, they staged benefit concerts at Madison Square Garden to support better care for disabled children. Their activism was responsive and spontaneous—always shaped by the moment.

Zoladz notes that while One to One doesn’t offer much new material for longtime fans, it still has merit. The concert footage is powerful, even if the audio was already released in the 1980s. Sheff’s book, while not revelatory, does offer a comprehensive and accessible portrait for newcomers. For deeper artistic analysis, she recommends Lisa Carver’s Reaching Out With No Hands and Donald Brackett’s Yoko Ono: An Artful Life.

What’s missing, Pareles points out, is full access to Ono’s recorded output. Albums like Season of Glass (1981), It’s Alright (I See Rainbows) (1982), and Starpeace (1985) remain absent from major streaming platforms. Without them, our understanding of her musical legacy is incomplete.

Season of Glass, released shortly after Lennon’s assassination, offers a poignant and poetic meditation on grief and healing. With its stark cover—Lennon’s blood-stained glasses—it confronts loss directly, but the songs within are layered and composed, full of raw emotion and reflection.

As the so-called “Yokossance” unfolds, there’s hope that this renewed interest in her work will lead to a more complete appreciation—not just of her influence on Lennon or her role in Beatles history, but of her own singular voice as an artist, musician, and cultural force. Yoko Ono has never fit into neat categories. That, perhaps, is her greatest power.