At the end of an abandoned studio version of "Whatever Gets You Through the Night", John Lennon remarks that the previous take "sounded pretty active". He's not wrong. It's probably just that "active" quality which makes Anthology simultaneously exhilarating and enervating for the serious fan. I mean, some of these songs rock. And some of them are beautiful. And some of them are rough and incomplete and recognisable elsewhere with different lyrics. And sometimes there'll be a moment where you're laughing at Lennon's endearing idiocy, and then two or three tracks later you're unwillingly overcome with the poignancy of it all. Because--and this is the exhausting part --Anthology is practically impossible to listen to without bringing some kind of emotional baggage to the party, and you don't need me to tell you why. John Lennon wasn't a man who used his music to adopt personae; his work was relentlessly, deliberately personal. Anthology,, therefore, isn't just about Lennon's music--it's also, to a lesser extent, about the dead man himself. Is it hard to listen to? Sometimes. Is it worth it? Most of the time. Would most people prefer to listen to "Woman", etcetera, on an oldies radio station? You betcha.

In a box set like this, packaging is vital, if not paramount. Aesthetically, Anthology couldn't be more tasteful. A beautiful colour scheme of blues and whites, an attractive cloud motif, John's never less than appealing drawings, and lovely photographs which only add to each disc's musical sense of time and place. In some ways, such uncomplicated gorgeousness is a disadvantage. If there is such a thing as visual hagiography, this is it, and it contrasts rather jarringly with what's contained within. Lennon's work wasn't solely about the naively idealistic sentiments of "Imagine". He was bitter enough to write "Working Class Hero", and militant enough to say "Woman is the Nigger of the World". He could bring an overwrought, manic quality to the Ronettes' "Be My Baby", or do a Dylan imitation which leaves you giggling with delight. Of course he was capable of melting, tear-inducing tenderness, but there's a complexity to his music and life which, post-tragedy, too many people seem unwilling to acknowledge. As Anthony DeCurtis remarks in the liner notes, Lennon was determined--he "did not want to disappear into myth".

The liner notes to Anthology occasionally add to my slight sense of unease. DeCurtis, despite some 20/20 hindsight ("he knew he was living on borrowed time"? Oh, please), manages a balanced, pithy account of Lennon's life and work in the seventies. Ono's vivid remembrances are mostly charming and occasionally unnerving. But her continuing insistence on using these public forums to defend their marriage is, frankly, tiresome. Of course Yoko is central to this story, and no one worth listening to would attempt to deny it. Surely any serious fan--especially those buying Anthology-- would be well aware of her startling talents, or at least truly accepting of a love which refused to go away despite everything a Beatle-enamoured western world could throw at it. And as usual, Lennon himself steals the show. By far the best part of the 60-page booklet is one of his typically skewed prose pieces describing his relationship with Ono: "They lived hopefully ever after, and who could blame them."

But these are minor reservations. All nitpicking aside, most of this music is compelling. Judging Anthology as a finished album would be ludicrous, of course. These are demos, live songs, and outtakes, with a healthy smattering of parodies and studio banter. Some songs are pure silly entertainment ("Life Begins at 40" or "Serve Yourself", which had me helpless with laughter), but a few songs arguably transcend the officially released versions---the fantastic Cheap Trick-backed "I'm Losing You", for example, or the organ-embellished "Imagine". Some are simply wonderful on their own terms - the desperate negations of "God", the harrowing "Nobody Loves You When You're Down and Out", or the weirdly impressive sexual theatrics of "Be My Baby". The few live cuts on CD2 are exciting, especially the passionately performed versions of 'Woman is the Nigger of the World', "It's So Hard" and "Come Together" for Geraldo Rivera's One to One Concert. The occasional song is radically transformed--"My Life"s tune is easily recognisable as that of "(Just Like) Starting Over", while "I'm Losing You" is the eventual result of the gentler "Stranger's Room". It's just a pity that it's impossible to listen to the delicate original version of "Real Love" without thinking of Jeff Lynne's overbearing production techniques superimposed over it. Nevertheless, the vast range of work here is a testament to John's enduring talent--and its diversity.

Similarly, the spoken interludes range from hilarious to mundane to heartbreaking. When an exasperated Lennon remarks to an overbearing Phil Spector "no wonder Ronnie left you" during the troubled Rock'n'Roll sessions, I nearly choked on my coffee. Bum notes and vocal glitches are here too, most of them fairly entertaining. Perhaps the most adorable, and therefore the saddest, moments come during Sean's brief appearances--singing "With a Little Help From My Friends", or agreeing with his father that guitars sound best when turned up loud. Similarly moving is Lennon's studio prediction that Elton John would "die young" while John became a "ninety-year-old guru". It would be funny if it wasn't so upsettingly untrue.

If Lennon's consistent emphasis on the personal in his work sometimes makes this box set disquieting for the fans he left behind, that emphasis can also be terrific fun. Occasionally Anthology is a trying listen--but it's undeniably worthwhile. I can only echo the words of a Lennon alter ego, "The Great Wok". As he recommends on CD4: "Put the incense on, light the candles, and give yourself a hard time".