CHOBA B CCCP (1988) 

 


  1. Kansas City
  2. Twenty Flight Rock
  3. Lawdy Miss Clawdy
  4. I'm in Love Again
  5. Bring it on Home to Me
  6. Lucille
  7. Don't Get Around Much Anymore
  8. I'm Gonna Be a Wheel Someday
  9. That's All Right
  10.Summertime
  11.Ain't That a Shame
  12.Crackin' Up
  13.Just Because
  14.Midnight Special

 

The title may translate to Back in the U.S.S.R., but don’t expect political commentary, balalaikas, or Red Army choirs. This is not a concept album about Cold War diplomacy. It’s Paul McCartney doing what Paul McCartney has always done best: rock and roll with a grin on his face and grease on his fingers. The original gimmick—released exclusively in the Soviet Union in 1988 as a gesture of musical goodwill—quickly wore thin, and wiser minds reissued the album globally two years later. Thankfully so, as it would have been a shame to keep this much fun locked behind an Iron Curtain.

In spirit, this is McCartney’s answer to John Lennon’s 1975 Rock 'n' Roll album. But where Lennon modernized his covers with slicker arrangements and a certain Lennon-esque grit, McCartney’s approach is the opposite: faithful to the era, faithful to the energy. He doesn’t reinterpret so much as resurrect. This is Paul back in the club days, pre-Beatlemania, hammering out Little Richard and Gene Vincent with wide-eyed enthusiasm and impressive fidelity.

For those expecting overlap with Lennon’s effort, you’ll find very little. Apart from Ain’t That a Shame (Fats Domino’s perennial classic), the tracklists diverge entirely. Even Just Because, which appears on both albums in name, is a different tune altogether—Lennon tackled Lloyd Price, McCartney tips his hat to Elvis.

At its best, the album is sheer exuberance—played loud, ideally with a drink in hand and the furniture cleared for dancing. This isn’t McCartney the pop craftsman or the melodic poet. This is McCartney the rockabilly jukebox. The early stretch of the album is nearly flawless in tone and tempo. But, as ever with Paul, he can’t quite help himself. The final few tracks feel like afterthoughts: Summertime (yes, the Gershwin one) shifts the mood too sharply, and both Crackin’ Up and Midnight Special sound like they wandered in from a different record entirely.

Still, the point here isn’t cohesion or innovation. The point is Paul McCartney, unplugged from expectation, having a blast. And proving, yet again, that when he wants to rock—really rock—he can hold his own with the best of them. Even without Lennon, even without The Beatles, even behind the Iron Curtain. This is the sound of McCartney letting loose. And it’s glorious.

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