McCartney (1970)
1. The Lovely Linda
2. That Would Be Something
3. Valentine Day
4. Every Night
5. Hot as Sun/Glasses
6. Junk
7. Man We Was Lonely
8. Oo You
9. Momma Miss America
10.Teddy Boy
11.Singalong Junk
12.Maybe I'm Amazed
13.Kreen-Akrore
It is, in retrospect, an extraordinarily curious choice for a debut solo effort — especially coming from a man who had just walked away from the most celebrated pop act of the 20th century. McCartney, released in 1970, stands in sharp contrast to the polished studio magic of late Beatles fare. Gone are the Abbey Road harmonies and Martin's majestic production touch. What we have instead is a skeletal, almost demo-like assortment of tracks recorded largely at home, with Paul and wife Linda handling every instrument and vocal part. It's raw, intimate, and, at times, almost shockingly unfinished — as though the intention was never to impress, but simply to exist.
Coming so soon after the sonic opulence of Abbey Road or the layered ambition of Sgt. Pepper, it’s little wonder that many listeners were initially baffled. With a few casual listens, one might well ask: “What, precisely, is the point?” But therein lies the trick. This is not a record to dazzle on first spin — it reveals its charm gradually. Much like the demo tapes appended to deluxe reissues, McCartney offers sketches and half-glimpsed ideas rather than fully realised statements. But Paul McCartney, even in fragments, still casts a considerable shadow.
The actual "songs" — if one must use such a term here — are unevenly distributed across the record. A glance at the tracklist might suggest an album of material. In reality, only about half the tracks would qualify as completed compositions, and that’s being generous. Every Night and Maybe I’m Amazed — the latter arguably the album’s towering achievement — stand as fully realised works and have rightly earned their place in McCartney’s canon. Junk and That Would Be Something are charming in a tossed-off sort of way, melodic enough to linger, but clearly unfinished — the musical equivalent of pencil sketches when one is longing for oil paintings. With more time, more collaborators, and perhaps more energy, this could have been a legitimate masterpiece. For some, it already is. For others, it feels like a missed opportunity.
The remainder of the record largely comprises loose instrumental sketches or jams, never quite taking off or resolving into anything you could sing back. Tracks like Valentine Day or Kreen-Akrore lack any real melodic identity — more mood than music. But perhaps that’s the point. The perfectionist of Sgt. Pepper fame, the same McCartney who agonised over the details of harmony and structure, here seems to shrug, saying “this’ll do.” The reasons may be personal as much as artistic. Worn down by the chaos of The Beatles' final days and beset by legal battles, perhaps Paul simply wanted out — not just of the band, but of the expectation that came with being a Beatle.
The public response was understandably muted at first. It hardly helped that McCartney used the album’s packaging to announce, in no uncertain terms, that The Beatles were finished — a statement many had feared but few were ready to accept. In hindsight, the album's roughness and solitude make sense. It was a retreat, a recalibration, and maybe even a form of therapy.
Give it time. McCartney may not astonish at first listen. But slowly, almost imperceptibly, it settles into the mind, and, for those who care to linger, into the heart.
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