When John Lennon wrote “Woman” in 1980, he called it a “grown-up love song.” But hearing the Ultimate Mix released in 2020 — remastered, reimagined, and clearer than ever — it feels like something even deeper: a final love letter that still echoes through time. It’s Lennon’s heart, wide open, wrapped in melody and gratitude, speaking not only to Yoko Ono, but to every woman who shaped his understanding of love, forgiveness, and peace.
The first thing you notice in this version is the purity of John’s voice. The new mix strips away the haze and brings him forward — intimate, almost close enough to touch. When he sings, “Woman, I can hardly express my mixed emotions at my thoughtlessness…” it doesn’t sound rehearsed; it sounds real. His tone carries both apology and awe, the humility of a man learning to love with tenderness instead of fear. It’s a confession disguised as a lullaby.
The arrangement — gentle guitar, soft piano, and that tender pulse of rhythm — feels timeless. The clarity of the Ultimate Mix lets every instrument breathe, but it’s the emotion that fills the room. John doesn’t just sing about love; he understands it. Having spent years searching for meaning in fame, rebellion, and solitude, here he finds peace in something profoundly simple — devotion.
“Woman, I will try to express my inner feelings and thankfulness…” he sings, and it’s as though every mistake of youth, every wound, every revolution has led to this moment of clarity. There’s no ego, no irony — just grace. It’s John Lennon stripped of persona, just a man speaking to the person who taught him what love truly meant.
And then comes the line that breaks the heart every time: “For the other half of the sky.” Inspired by Yoko’s feminist vision, those words turn the song outward — beyond the personal, into something universal. Lennon’s message extends to all women — as nurturers, lovers, and equals. It’s gratitude turned into melody, reverence transformed into sound.
Listening today, the 2020 mix feels almost spiritual. The warmth in his voice, the shimmer of the strings, the softness of the background harmonies — it’s as if time itself has been polished away, leaving only emotion. It’s impossible not to think of what came next — that “Woman” was released just weeks after his death. Suddenly, it became more than a love song. It became his farewell.
But even in that sadness, there’s beauty. Because “Woman” is not about loss — it’s about love that endures. It’s about finding peace in connection, about saying thank you before it’s too late. It’s John Lennon’s full-circle moment — the rebel turned husband, the dreamer turned believer in the quiet power of affection.
When the final notes fade, you’re left with silence that feels almost sacred. The song doesn’t end — it rests, like a heartbeat still echoing somewhere beyond reach.
Decades later, “Woman (Ultimate Mix)” remains one of Lennon’s most luminous works — not because of its perfection, but because of its honesty. It’s love distilled to its essence: apology, gratitude, and awe. And as his voice floats away — fragile yet eternal — it reminds us of what he gave the world, and what he left behind: the truth that love, in its purest form, is the most revolutionary act of all.