This is Paul McCartney at damn near his most McCartneyish. It’s everything that makes a McCartney a McCartney. It’s a love song that’s trite and daft and sugary and lyrically lazy – and inescapably whistleable. You can’t get this tune out of your head, and you just bob along to it whether you like it or not. Whether you find it heartwarming or nauseating really depends on how devout your faith in love is. Honestly it’s hard not to feel at least a little warm and fuzzy, or at the very least envious at how unabashedly happy one has to be to write a song comparing their loved one to delicious gravy. Paul McCartney, of course, happened to be extremely lucky in love, so he wasn’t dragging around the residual angst of repeated heartbreaks the way most of us do. He just loved being in love, with no trace of irony or self-consciousness. Since most of us see the experience of being in love as a mixed blessing at best, that kind of soppy-eyed optimism can be a little hard to relate to. We fall in love with a little wariness. This is why Paul McCartney’s brand of sentimentality grates on a lot of people. However, McCartney also happens to be the kind of musical wunderkind who snores out bank-breaking hits in his sleep, and even the harshest critics can’t argue about that. You will take your sugar and like it, because it’s such a flawless meringue.
Ça fait rien. Wings are really criminally underrated. They’re not, like, The Beatles or anything but… But of course that’s woefully unfair to say. It’s Paul McCartney at or very near the top of his game, which is always a welcome thing to hear. McCartney’s lifelong problem, notoriously, is that he badly needs someone to bring some pith to his sweetness. None of the members of Wings were ever near John Lennon’s level of salty, but they provided just enough leavening. A good-natured attitude is an underrated quality in entertainment, and people with la-di-da attitudes were nearly their most unfashionable in 1976. But, come on, have some positivity.
Paul McCartney’s two-minute toss-offs are better than your symphonies. That’s an exaggeration; symphonies are symphonies and Paul McCartney’s are not all that. But two-minute pop songs are a different story. How many hit songs come out that cost millions of dollars to produce and have a credit list to rival a Hollywood blockbuster? And how many of those songs suck so much it makes you wonder if any human beings were involved in their making at all? Then there’s what Paul McCartney comes up with just doodling around alone in his basement. McCartney puts most of the rest of the music industry to shame.
For the serious Paul McCartney fan. In fact, it’s one of the better songs McCartney recorded in the 80’s, but most people don’t know that because it’s buried on the b-side of the soundtrack of a movie that nobody saw. I myself have a deep love for McCartney’s vanity movie Give My Regards to Broad Street, but I don’t expect everyone to share my enthusiasm for what is essentially a two-hour medley of his greatest hits. Besides that, the movie also had a few previously unreleased songs, including this one, which was a nice touch to shake it out of the nostalgia rut (although, of course, it’s not exactly fair to place these songs beside material from Band on the Run or anything from his Beatle days.) I’ve always found it very charmingly entertaining, if not exactly in the top 700 things Paul McCartney will be eternally remembered for.
Short, simple and sweet. Paul McCartney, of course, has more words to say about love than anyone. He’s the guy to learn from, and should really be more people’s role model. I haven’t listened to this track in a long time. It’s not a hit that comes on the radio. But I enjoy rediscovering the slightly more obscure moments, and the second half of Band on the Run is especially satisfying in the way it descents into weirdness. It’s that undervalued McCartney eccentricity, the thing that tempers all the sweetness and makes it go down.
Paul McCartney, the ever egalitarian, will sometimes allow other members of his band to sing lead vocals. It’s a very democratic and fair policy that stems all the way back to the days of letting Ringo do one. Shockingly, even when Paul McCartney steps back and lets someone else take the vocal reigns, it still sounds exactly like a Paul McCartney song. Does that defeat the purpose of letting other people take the spotlight, or does it do the opposite? I think it shows that there’s definitely a ‘Wings sound’ that doesn’t have to be all Paul all the time. As it happens Wings at the Speed of Sound is the most egalitarian Wings record, with songs allocated to each member of the group, then numbering five. Denny Laine and Jimmy McCulloch even got songwriting credit. It also happens to be one of the better wings albums. More contributions from more people help keep it from sinking into the love song after love song formula McCartney is prone to, but it still sounds cohesive. In this case, drummer Joe English takes on frontman duties, tackling a song written by Paul and Linda. It sounds like Paul wrote it for himself – it is very, very McCartney-esque, and English nails McCartney’s vocal cadences so well that if you didn’t know it, you’d think it was the Cute One himself.
In typical Paul McCartney fashion this song is both silly and profound. Silly with its ‘hop hey hop’ chorus (Russian audiences love that, as McCartney has noticed, and I can attest to.) And who is Mrs. Vandebilt? A reference to someone who is no longer a famous cultural figure, I presume. On the other hand, it’s a pretty important message; stop your hurrying and just chill out, man. Let go of things that are you of your control. Don’t run after the bus that’s already passed you by. That seems very basic, but it’s actually a hard thought to put into practice. For many of us, the chillax and go easy philosophy is unattainable. But it’s a good thing to be reminded of.