He’s been a member of The Beatles,
for Christ’s sake.
Now that the band’s broken up,
ending the world as we know it,
what’s a famous English bass player
and songwriter to do?
Post Fab Four, Paul McCartney decides
to go solo, and records his eponymous
debut, the first in a trilogy spread out
over 50 years, written, performed,
recorded, and produced exclusively
by Sir Paul, all by himself, no band,
no side musicians or studio cats, just
Paul, holed up in a studio somewhere
doing his thing, playing all the instruments.
In 1970, he understandably
just needed some alone time, some
down time, no pressure, no record
execs breathing down his neck, no
fussy musicians to please, absolutely
no expectations. I had never heard
these records all the way through, and
hard on the heals of the 2020
McCartney III, which I streamed and liked,
this box comes out combining the trilogy
into one set, and I could not resist.
The first one, the 1970 debut, is almost
entirely skippable. There are maybe
two or three great songs on it, while
every other thing here just sounds
like a dude simply fucking around in
the studio. Are “Junk,” “Teddy Boy,” and
“Maybe I’m Amazed” worth the price
of admission? As I listen, I’m thinking
that I have this record more as a
historical artifact than as a record
I will return to more than a few more
times in my life. These three great
songs I can listen to any time I want
on a greatest hits compilation (Pure
McCartney) or from a streaming service.
I’m anxious to see if the second album
in this trilogy, released ten years later,
in 1980, holds up any better.
II opens with the funky soul disco of
“Coming Up,” a song that defies grumpiness.
Remember that video, the one featuring
dozens of Pauls? It’s a terrific song.
But the nutty video game synthesizer
of “Temporary Secretary” is about the most
annoying thing I’ve ever heard in a pop song.
It’s meant to be silly, and I’m all about
the silly, but please get rid of that god-
forsaken synthesizer. I just want to claw
my eyeballs out. And then we’ve got a
bit of a standard blues thing and a kind
of standard rock thing with “Waterfalls”
right in the middle, a beautiful little
number that has become almost a standard
at this point. Side two opens with a dorky
synthesizer robot experiment. Just awful.
I would like to say it gets better after that,
but outside of a lovely little lullaby in
“Summer’s Day Song,” the last three songs
on side two are nearly a complete waste of
vinyl space. At least on these first two one-man
endeavors, it seems as if other musicians
and producers are necessary to midwife
and foster Paul McCartney’s genius. His
follow-up to the debut solo album was
Ram, an undisputed masterpiece; so many
of those Wings albums are tremendously
good, first and foremost Band on the Run,
and there are late 80’s records and a couple
albums into the first decade of the 21st
century that are remarkably great from
start to finish. McCartney I and II are only
great in small moments, on maybe three
or four songs between the two of them.
It’s 2020, Sir Paul is in his mid to late
seventies, and he records another record
alone in his studio. Even the quasi-instrumental
jam that is the first track on III is better than
90% of the stuff on the first two records in this box.
You can tell that his voice is not what
it once was. He’s starting to sound like an
old man (not that there’s anything wrong
with that, I think it happens to us all),
but these are actual tunes, songs
that he obviously worked on, polished, crafted.
There’s no more of that early goofing around
just to see what would stick, and then putting
what didn’t stick on the album anyway.
Some of these tunes are fun (“Find My Way”),
some them rock (“Lavatory Lil,” “Slidin'”), while
“Deep, Deep Feeling” is just really strange in
a cool, almost spooky way, the most arty and,
at eight minutes and twenty-six seconds,
the most experimental thing on the record.
“Seize the Day” rivals some of the best songs
by The Beatles or from the McCartney oeuvre,
and “Deep Down,” not lyrically inventive and
pretty repetitive, still offers a groovy vibe and
a memorable hook. Ultimately, there’s not
a bad song on this record, clearly the best of
these three do-it-yourself albums, the only
one of them, really, worth having. And yet,
I don’t know if I want to let those first two
albums go. Why not? If nothing else, they
remind me that our musical heroes are in
no way gods. They are fallible. They make
stupid music sometimes, and look, here’s the
evidence. Right now I’m comparing Sir Paul’s
worst records to what I’d consider mine.
Mine are better, and that makes me feel good.
michael jarmer 