Sean Ono Lennon may have initially rejected the astrology his family embraced growing up, but when it came to his new album, it felt like the very stars were against him. “I just felt like there was too much cosmic interference,” he tells Rolling Stone of Asterisms, a genreless wash of instrumental music that flirts with jazz, rock, and electronic. In the end, though, the planets aligned, and the record dropped Friday on John Zorn’s Tzadik label.
But back in the days when Covid was rampant, the fate of the five-song suite was up in the proverbial air. Lennon initially composed the record for a week-long residency at Zorn’s New York venue, the Stone — an event that was postponed several times before he finally took the stage in October 2022 with drummer Ches Smith (John Zorn), bassist/guitarist Devin Hoff (Julia Holter, Sharon Van Etten, Cibo Matto), keyboardists Yuka Honda (Cibo Matto) and Joao Nogueira (Claypool Lennon Delirium), guitarist Julian Lage, and trumpeter Michael Leonhart (Steely Dan). Even then, Lennon had to cancel the final show in the series after he came down with Covid. “That was the first show I’ve ever had to cancel in my life,” he says.
Leading up to the gigs, however, Lennon began sharing demos with Zorn — wordless musings about his life, the state of the world, and his aging mother, Yoko Ono. Instrumental and strange, the album’s closest analog is perhaps ’70s plant music impresario Mort Garson. And that makes sense — Lennon has tinkered with experimental music in the past with his mother (as well as trippy indie film scores) and progged out with Les Claypool in the Claypool Lennon Delirium. And although he cops to being a latecomer to jazz (a particularly salacious Miles Davis biography turned him on), he’s a fan of weirder corners of the genre, like Davis’ avant-garde 1969 release Bitches Brew.
“The whole world was being upheaved with Covid and the lockdowns. Personally, I felt that I had to take care of my mother because she was getting older, and I didn’t want her to get Covid,” he says of his mindstate while writing the record. “So during that time, I was thinking very much about my whole life, you know, looking at my mother being older and the whole world being turned upside down. So I was feeling very pensive.”
Lennon ended up recording Asterisms at his upstate New York studio with Smith, Honda, Leonhart, Hoff, Nogueira, and percussionist Mauro Refosco (Atoms for Peace). Lage had to bow out due to a family issue, which almost derailed the album once again until Wilco’s Nels Cline suggested Lennon play the guitar himself. “The hero’s journey of this whole story is, when I thought all was lost, Nels came like Obi-Wan and said, you know, ‘Young Padawan’ — or not so young, middle-aged — ‘you should you should try taking up the lightsaber yourself,'” he recalls.
As for the album title — a term used to describe shapes in the sky, like constellations — it drew largely on Lennon’s astrological upbringing. “Astrology was infused into every aspect of our lives. Mysticism was a part of how we related to the world,” he says, adding that he rebelled against it as a young man, much like those raised Catholic shun the church.
“I liked the idea as well because my mother raised me in the religion of astrology,” he says. “And I have a lot of complex and kind of bittersweet feelings about that. So, to me, [the title] kind of symbolizes something about my relationship with my mother — this idea of seeing patterns that are there but might not be there at the same time. I don’t want to sound pretentious, but to me, it just represents something about the nature of reality and life and how fleeting it is — how illusory. I liked the idea of shapes that are permanent in the sky but also aren’t really anything at all.”
As he approaches 50, though, Lennon admits that he doesn’t have it all figured out — despite not wholly believing patterns in the sky are responsible for our destinies. “The older I get, the less confident I feel about anything,” he says. “I have a lot more respect for anybody who finds anything useful, or productive or helpful. I think about how my mother views the world. I have not navigated the world better than anybody. So I’m in no position to judge.”














Taylor Swift at the Curb Event Center at Belmont University in Nashville, Tennessee.
Here’s to 20 Years of ‘Taylor Swift’
It’s strange to think the songs we used to sing from one of the most famous self-titled debut album’s turn 20 years old today. You know the ones I’m talking about. The song in the car, my favorite song, the whispered songs, “Mary’s Song,” “Our Song.” Twenty years ago, Taylor Swift invited the world into the one she built with these melodies.
Taylor Swift wasn’t just the singer-songwriter’s first album that turned her into a rising Nashville star. It was also the first chapter that sealed Swift’s future success as a superstar musician. Within a year of its release on Oct. 24, 2006, the LP debuted at Number 19 on the Billboard Hot 100, earned platinum status, and made hits out of singles “Tim McGraw” and “Our Song.” It’s the reason we’re here today, reflecting on two decades into a career so massive, even the curly-haired mess of a dreamer couldn’t fathom it at 15 years old. That teenager grew into a pop goliath, but it’s easier to fathom when you remember that it’s always been about the songs.
With Taylor Swift, a precocious teen met listeners in their own teenage heartache, their deep-seeded loneliness, and that overarching, painful desire to fit in with a collection of country-pop gems. Who hadn’t cried over an unrequited love the way Swift did on “Teardrops on My Guitar” or felt the chilling rejection apparent on “Cold As You,” or the thrill of finding a best friend who lets you show your true colors like on “I’m Only Me When I’m With You” or even known a friend who suffered from eating disorders as discussed on “Tied Together With a Smile”? Here was a voice singing these stories she’d written, each sigh and imperfect note, making the keen observation of the worlds that much more sincere. That’s what connected with audiences and began the success story that we know so well today.
Throughout her self-titled debut, Swift tapped into the country music songwriting tradition of reminding listeners she’s the one with the pen. On the banjo-driven jaunt, “Our Song,” she laments the fact that there is no song to sum up her rosy romance — until she “grabs a pen and an old napkin” and cements the slamming screen doors and surreptitious late-night calls into her own song. With the help of producer Nathan Chapman and co-writer Liz Rose, Swift learned to master this trick.
Her debut single, “Tim McGraw” is the real shining example of this. On its face, the track chronicles a fleeting summer romance, but the wistful tune turns into a knockout that cemented Swift into country music history when she offers a prescient promise, “I hope you think of me.” With that simple line, the musician showed the transportative power of music.
Taylor Swift is also the first time we heard of the tropes that still run through the singer-songwriter’s catalog. The little black dress in “Tim McGraw,” the front seat in “Our Song,” the rain scattered across multiple songs, the photographs in “Picture to Burn,” the numbers 89 and 87 on “Mary’s Song (Oh My, My My).” With every nano-specific detail, Swift built out her own cinematic universe.
You can hear Swift map out the world-building that would turn into her next 12 albums on the self-titled centerpiece, “A Place in this World.” Over an acoustic guitar, she quips, “I don’t know what I want, so don’t ask me” before declaring, “I’m just a girl, trying to find a place in this world.” That’s the kind of sassy, yet uncertain attitude she brought to her very first album. But really, she always knew what she was doing in some capacity, especially if the hidden or “A Place in This World” is any indication. The uppercase letters in a lyric booklet of lowercase ones spell out: “I Found it.”
In a fitting twist of fate, 2026 not only marks a major anniversary for Swift’s self-titled debut album, it’s also the first year she’s eligible to be recognized in two very prestigious institutions: the Songwriters Hall of Fame and the Nashville Songwriters Hall of Fame. By Monday, the girl who cried all those tears on her guitar will be both the youngest woman to be inducted into the Songwriters Hall, and youngest-member of the Nashville edition.
During her Songwriters Hall of Fame acceptance speech, Swift reflected on the power of her craft. “As writers, we can only hope to meet people where they are in their lives,” she said. Since 2006, when she was just a high school freshman with a habit of writing songs on her bedroom floor or in math class, she has done exactly that.