I’ve Had Enough

It’s a completely random circumstance that Sir Paul McCartney is on my blog today. But it could not be more appropriate, because he has been much on my mind lately. That’s because, as luck would have it, *SHRIEKS* *SQUEALS**SHRIEKS* *SHRIEKS* *SCREAMING* *SHRIEKS* *JUMPING AROUND* *SHRIEKS* *SHRIEKS* *HIGH PITCHED NOISES* *SHRIEKS* *CRYING A LITTLE* *SHRIEKS* *SHRIEKS* *SCREAMING* *SHRIEKS* *JUMPING AROUND* *SHRIEKS* *SHRIEKS* *HIGH PITCHED NOISES* *SQUEALS**SHRIEKS* *SHRIEKS* *SCREAMING* *SHRIEKS* What? You would do the same if you had just spent every cent of your paycheck for a ticket to see Sir Paul McCartney. Because, obviously, not doing that was not an option. He’s not going to live forever, you know. McCartney does tour a lot, presumably because he enjoys it so much, but he has never in his long career played a show in Austin. The problem with Austin is, despite being the Live Music Capital of the World, we don’t have any superstar size venues. Artists of McCartney’s stature who have long been filling stadiums go to play in Dallas and Houston. Our biggest venue, The Frank Erwin Center, is huge, but it’s no Superdome. So music fans not willing or able to drive to Dallas have resigned themselves to being skipped over by the really big names. All that’s about to change, though, because Paul McCartney is such a swell guy. McCartney has insisted on making a stop in Austin on his current tour, because he really really wants to. Which is awfully nice of him. If the upcoming two night stand is a success – which it is sure to be – perhaps some of Sir Paul’s friends will take a cue and follow his lead.

I’ll Follow the Sun

The Beatles For Sale was kind of a depressing-ass album. The title reflects that. The boys weren’t as delighted with their popularity as their record company was. They felt overworked, stressed out and slightly scared by the insanity all around them. So they wrote some pretty bitter songs. Their next album would be Help!, where half the songs were about John’s depression. Pretty soon after that they would start getting really weird. Here they’re just venturing into darker territory, but still sounding on the surface like the peppy, lovable Beatles everyone was used to. This is a Paul McCartney song, and although he wasn’t the depressed one, it’s reflective of everyone feeling a little bit down. It’s all about longing to escape and living a life of freedom. Very poignant, given that The Beatles were at that time living the lives of circus animals. You can just take it as a song about relationships, but it’s so much more interesting to think about where it really sprang from. And anyhow, it’s not like Paul McCartney to write about not wanting to be in a relationship, so that should tip you off that it’s not about anything romantic. He was probably thinking how much he’d like to escape his rock star prison and run away to some place where life could be halfway normal again. That there is a recognizable McCartney theme. Eventually, of course, he did do just that, ran away to a home in the heart of the country, but that wouldn’t be for a long time yet.

Happy Birthday Yoko

On this occasion of Yoko Ono’s 80th birthday, I’d like to take a moment to wish her many happy returns and explain a little bit about why I admire her. It’s not because of her art. It’s not because of her music. Neither of those things are all that great. It’s because I feel she did more for feminism than any number of political activists or angry writers. She redefined, in the popular imagination, what it meant to be a wife. (And here I will also give part of the credit to Linda McCartney.)

Why did Yoko, and to a lesser extent Linda, attract so much rage and criticism from every corner or society? It’s not because she broke up The Beatles. That’s bullshit. The Beatles were going to break up anyhow. It’s not just because Yoko is a damn dirty non-Caucasian foreigner, although racism certainly played a part. Yoko’s crime was that she had the sheer nerve to be her husband’s equal. The problem had two parts; one, she just wasn’t pretty enough for a big famous rock star; and two, she had things to say and goddamn it, John listened to those things and took them seriously and wanted everyone else to, too.

The first problem – not pretty enough. Now, by regular human standards, Yoko Ono has always been an attractive enough looking woman. But she’s no fashion model, no movie star, no unattainable superhuman ideal. She’s just a regular woman of average appearance. That goes for Linda McCartney as well, but she at least had the decency to have blonde hair. Nobody had any problems with the first round of Beatles wives, because they were all safely, conventionally, nonthreateningly attractive. They were decorative, just as wives should be. Patti Boyd was a  fashion model, Jane Asher a minor movie actress, Cynthia Lennon and Maureen Starr were housewives. Three of them were blondes. I am no way disparaging Patti Boyd or any of the others, they were all, in their own way, strong women who made the best of a very weird situation. But they didn’t threaten the status quo. Then Yoko and Linda came along. Plain looking, smart women with creative careers of their own and ideas in their heads. With the others, you could understand why those guys chose them. They were pretty, and famous rock stars are entitled to have pretty things. But why, oh god why, would Beatle John and Beatle Paul choose such non-hot women for wives? What could they possibly see in them? In a culture where a woman’s worth is measured in beauty, Yoko and Linda were practically subhuman. They obviously had no worth as decorative objects. And in that way, they both forced the public to grapple with the possibility that they had worth as human beings; intellectual worth, spiritual worth, creative worth. Those were marriages based on  something more than disposable physical attributes. That was a radical, radical notion in 1969.

Secondly, Yoko Ono had ideas. Which she said. Out loud. In public. She was an artist, and not just a maker of pleasant objects. Her art was meant to challenge, to confuse, to inspire thought. She not only made her own art, she influenced her husband’s art. John listened to her. They shared an intellectual affinity. She changed him, opened his eyes to new ideas, and I would argue, made him a better, more enlightened person. Together they experimented with music, film, art projects, political activism. As equals. Where one went, the other followed. Always as equals. The fact that many of those collaborations weren’t very good is beside the point. The point is they did those things, because they loved to do things together and didn’t care about what flak they would be getting for it. Which, meanwhile, is exactly what Paul and Linda were also doing. Playing music, making art, raising a family, doing everything together in a partnership. Those were radical, radical things to be doing.

The press raged. Who did those two bitches think they were? How dare they try to influence their husbands? How dare they make themselves heard? Did that crazy Japanese bitch Yoko somehow bewitch our John? Yoko was too weird. She was making John turn weird too. She was a bad influence. She wasn’t worthy of being his wife. She wasn’t good enough, she wasn’t talented enough, she wasn’t pretty enough, she wasn’t white enough. What nobody could grasp was, John thought she was good enough. They loved and respected each other and they didn’t care if the world didn’t approve. Nobody has been put through so much public abuse for no good reason than Yoko Ono has. She has been called every insulting word, she has been vilified and scapegoated. And she has handled it with remarkable grace and dignity. She simply went on doing her thing, speaking her mind, being herself. Eventually, over the years, the hate abated. She earned respect for her courage after John’s death. She earned respect for continuing to make music and create art, and as the keeper of John’s legacy. Most of all, she’s earned respect for being unquestionably her own woman, despite everything that has been thrown her way. She married arguably the most famous man in the world, but refused to be overshadowed by his fame, refused to let his identity obliviate hers. She put her foot down and demanded to be his equal in the eyes of the world. The world responded with anger and hatred at first, but eventually the world came around. Now we take it for granted that two people, even if one of them is the most famous man in the world, can have a bond that’s not just based on the man’s desire to possess an attractive thing. That’s something a lot of very, very smart women have written a lot of books about. But I believe that written manifestos only go so far. The common person doesn’t care about some activist writing angry letters. But the common person cares very much about The Beatles, and it took The Beatles leading by example to make the common person pay attention. It’s because people were paying attention to the personal life habits of a couple of rock stars that we now accept that a wife is more than a piece of furniture, that marriage should be a partnership of equals, that the woman deserves to be heard, that being an outspoken brave person is more important than being pretty and love is all you need.

Hey Jude

It’s been a heavy week for song I feel are just too great to even discuss. Like, what more can I add except to say I’m quaking in awe. Originally titled Hey Jules, it was just something Paul McCartney whipped up to comfort John’s son Julian, who was feeling a little busted up about his parents’ divorce. From being a few comforting words for a child, it morphed into something more universal, and one of the Beatles’ most uplifting tunes (which is saying quite a bit). That some of the lines are kind of clunky makes it even better, like the redundancy (intentional or not) of ‘cool’ and ‘colder’ or any of the other lines that don’t really make much sense but feel right anyway. And, of course, that final chorus that is the closest musical approximation of a blazing sunset. Really, it’s a blazing sunset. In music. Just unfailingly inspiring, every time.

Helter Skelter

This is one of the great and tragic misunderstandings in all of pop history. Helter Skelter is a song that Paul McCartney wrote because he wanted to one-up Pete Townshend and The Who, and also because:

“Umm, that came about just ’cause I’d read a review of a record which said, ‘and this group really got us wild, there’s echo on everything, they’re screaming their heads off.’ And I just remember thinking, ‘Oh, it’d be great to do one. Pity they’ve done it. Must be great — really screaming record.’ And then I heard their record and it was quite straight, and it was very sort of sophisticated. It wasn’t rough and screaming and tape echo at all. So I thought, ‘Oh well, we’ll do one like that, then.’ And I had this song called “Helter Skelter,” which is just a ridiculous song. So we did it like that, ‘cuz I like noise.”

To that end he used the helter skelter – a British term for a playground slide – as a metaphor for the up and down nature of life and the fall of the  Roman Empire. If that doesn’t make much sense, don’t blame McCartney, he was probably very, very high. It was quite typical of The Beatles to grab inspiration from any random place like a playground or a scrap of newspaper and run with it. It’s also characteristic of the friendly rivalry between popular bands all blazing and racing and innovating in a small interwoven community. If The Who put out I Can See For Miles, ‘the loudest, rawest, dirtiest song [...] ever recorded’ then The Beatles are almost honor-bound to outdo the effort, even if it’s only in jest. So Helter Skelter is a loud and dirty but essentially silly rock song Paul McCartney dreamed up on a whim, but that’s not what Charlie Manson thought. Manson, as an American of very poor education, was unaware of what a helter skelter actually was. He thought it was a coded incitement to an apocalyptic race war of his own imagining. He thought that the already-violent civil rights movement would escalate into a global war in which all the white people would be massacred, after which the surviving blacks would realize they’d made a huge mistake and beg Charlie to be their ‘massa’. Or something along those lines. Meanwhile, The Beatles were sending out coded messages telling Charlie to get up and stir up that war by killing off a few ‘piggies’. Which is exactly what Charlie went and did. Which you can read all about in the famous book Helter Skelter, or watch the quite accurate movie of the same name. Nobody will ever associate the term helter skelter with an innocent playground slide again.

Helen Wheels

Goddamn it, Paul McCartney, stop being so cute! Ridiculous. I say Band on the Run was as good as anything McCartney produces with The Beatles. He wasn’t able to keep it up for very long, but for a few years in the seventies, Wings were absolutely amazing. They had that happy-making quality which is like aural crack for the brain, and which McCartney seems to have a disproportional level of access to.  The man is like a lightning rod for melodies. To his credit, he seems to still be amazed and delighted at the talents that he’s been given. And I in turn am amazed and delighted to still have the sane and humble Paul McCartney to show everyone else how to wear bigger-than-Jesus fame with grace.

Heart of the Country

Speaking of happy little Paul McCartneys… Has anything ever been as cute as Paul helping Linda off with her Wellies in this video? A basket of kittens has got nothing on those two. It’s a little-known fact that on the day Paul and Linda wed the purity of their love caused a kitten to spontaneously materialize right there in the courthouse. It’s true, there are pictures. Ok, but seriously, if Paul McCartney has a dark side, I’ve yet to see any sign of it. It’s unbelievable how sane, humble, well-adjusted and nice the man is and has always been. It must be an example of reaping what you sow or something, because aside from a few days in a Japanese prison and that thing with the one-legged gold-digger, McCartney has had a remarkably smooth, scandal-free ride through life. He puts out so much positive energy that nothing dark could possibly ever happen. You could say that, well, his wife died, that was pretty tragic, but I don’t think it was. Of course it’s very sad that Linda died so young, but really, isn’t that the ideal ending? To have an unblemished, happy, wonderful life together until one of you dies? Don’t we all wish we could be in love until we die? To die unreasonably young is always unfair, but to die after living a life of Paul McCartney love songs can’t be that bad. I’d say Paul is one of the luckiest guys alive to have had a love like Linda, and he’d probably tell you the same thing. So yeah, Paul is a pretty enviable person. What kind of rock star sings songs about wanting to own sheep and then goes out and buys him some sheep? I could be a cynic and say all that sappy love stuff and songs about puppy dogs is drivel and blah blah, but you know what, he’s Paul McCartney and his songs about his pets and livestock are still a million times better than most anyone else’s big serious anthems about whatever big serious things you think are more important than sheep. Or just read the things teenage girls are still writing about Paul:

and then on the 18th day of june in the sacred year of 1942, God said, “let there be magic, perfection, and every wish a teenage girl wants and put it into one man” and thus, Paul McCartney was born and God declared the day good

Yep, found that on some teenage chick’s blog just now. Warms yer heart, don’t it?

Golden Slumbers

In less than two minutes, perfection. A brief, absolutely beautiful moment from Abbey Road, which though composed of fragments and sketches hangs together with the grace of a symphony. I love how Paul McCartney’s voice swings from its softest to its deepest without making it feel any less like the lullaby he’s promising. That the Beatles could pack such a perfect arc of song into so little time is, obviously, yet another proof of their collective genius, not that anyone yet needs to be convinced of that. Speaking of Paul McCartney activities, if you’ve been cherishing Til There Was You and wishing there was more of it to go ’round, fret no more. Paul has finally gotten that Great American Songbook cover album everyone’s been waiting for. Actually, I don’t know anyone who was waiting for McCartney’s rousing chorus of The Inchworm and other timeless standards. McCartney has released an album of standards, and though it’s lacking the eccentric suavity of Bryan Ferry’s similar pursuits, it’s a bazillion miles above the cash-grubbing travesty that is Rod Stewart’s Great American series. We don’t think of McCartney as a great interpreter – he’s brilliant enough with his own work, and he rarely does covers anyway. On his tastefully titled Kisses On the Bottom he performs Bye Bye Blackbird and It’s Only A Paper Moon gracefully and without a trace of cheesiness or mawkish nostalgia.

For No One

Another Beatles favorite I’m very attached to. Because I’m a sucker for introspective McCartney. I confess I’ve always identified somewhat with the cold-hearted female protagonist. Of course I can also relate to the lovelorn hero who can’t let go of someone who has no care for him. That’s a boat we’ve all sailed in. But like I explained when I was writing up Femme Fatale, there’s also a driving need to be the object of desire, the colder and farther away the better. I guess it’s an intrinsically female thing, this wanting to be wanted above all else. If that’s some way of being strong or just pure bitchery, I don’t know. I do know that when I was an impressionable little tyke I got very strong images listening to this song about a girl who doesn’t feel she has to hurry for her date, because she knows she doesn’t need him. I guess you’re supposed to feel sorry for the poor sap –  and I do – but I’m more interested in this woman who has her own life and mysterious past and needs no one. Is it preferable to be the one who’s left in a puddle of tears and desire, or the one who’s too cool to care and cries for no one? I’ve been in both positions, and the former is not an enjoyable one. Though leaning towards the latter probably means I’m not a very nice person.

The Fool on the Hill

The Fool on the Hill has always been one of my favorite Beatles songs (though I have so many favorite Beatles songs that it’s almost meaningless to say). Besides that it’s a beautiful little tune, in the best McCartney tradition, I always found it particularly meaningful, especially when I was younger. The theme of feeling like an outcast and watching the world from a remove is something everyone can relate to, and that feeling is most pronounced for adolescents. For me feeling ostracized and misplaced was pretty much the default setting, and I’ve only recently started feeling at home in the world. I’m still pleasantly surprised to find myself feeling comfortable with a group of people. That’s a function of growing up and growing in confidence, of course, and everyone goes through that. But I did feel very misunderstood in my younger years, and there was something very gratifying in the message that being ‘the fool’ is a noble position. That’s not just some cheap idea about ‘empowerment’ that Paul McCartney happened to think up one day. For one thing, the pop psychology of personal empowerment didn’t become a selling point until fairly recently. For another, the idea of the wise fool is an ancient one. It’s one of the biggest themes in folk tales from around the world. There are infinite variations on the story of the youth who is labeled an fool or an idiot for being different from his brothers, but he always uses his wits to outsmart whatever villains he meets, makes his fortune and marries the beautiful princess, proving in the end that it was the brothers with their conformity and lack of imagination who were the idiots. That story has been told so many times, in so many ways (right along with the equally popular Cinderella, who is rewarded for her kind heart and her beauty). So it’s a deeply ingrained idea that the weird and seemingly foolish have their own wisdom and see the world differently than regular folks. All of which I’m certain Paul McCartney is erudite enough to know about. If the idea for this song was a deliberate decision to take inspiration from a folk tradition as old as the 1,001 Nights, or if it bubbled up form some unconscious place, I have no way of knowing, but I find it magical that such a simple song can carry centuries of storytelling behind it.

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