Ram (1971) 


 


  1. Too Many People
  2. Three Legs
  3. Ram On
  4. Dear Boy
  5. Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey
  6. Smile Away
  7. Heart of the Country
  8. Monkberry Moon Delight
  9. Eat at Home
  10.Long Haired Lady
  11.Ram On
  12.Back Seat of My Car

 

In many respects, Ram feels like a direct continuation of McCartney, though the edges are sanded down, the sound more layered, and the whole affair markedly more polished. Gone is the lo-fi charm (or distraction, depending on your perspective) of the debut; in its place, a brighter palette, fuller arrangements, and a production sheen that implies more than just casual effort. If McCartney was the notebook sketch, Ram is the watercolour. Still playful, still informal, but now with some definition.

This, of course, didn’t endear it to critics at the time. Having coolly received McCartney, many approached Ram with the same sour disposition. The two records share more than a few similarities — the whimsical tone, the fragmented structure, the penchant for quirky melody over grand statement — and so it was easy for listeners to miss what had changed. But make no mistake: this was a big step forward. The cute ideas remain, but they are stitched together with far more care, and this time, they sparkle. Still, it takes more than one spin to make sense of the puzzle.

Set against the raw nerve of Lennon’s early solo records, Ram lands like a sunbeam — which is precisely why it confused so many at the time. How could two men, once joined in song and sentiment, diverge so completely? Lennon was baring his soul on Plastic Ono Band; McCartney was singing about the joys of farm life and smiling through nonsense lyrics. Yet the contrast is fascinating rather than disappointing. If nothing else, Ram stands as a stubborn declaration that joy, too, can be art.

Ram is playful, pastoral, silly and sweet. It is not, however, for the chronically cynical. McCartney seemed to have made peace with his post-Beatle self — happy to make happy music, unconcerned with proving his profundity. This, depending on your worldview, was either a grievous misstep or a breath of fresh air. Some lamented the lack of tortured genius. Others, less invested in angst, were simply glad someone was enjoying themselves.

The most polished selections — Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey, The Back Seat of My Car, and Heart of the Country — deliver exactly what a McCartney fan could hope for: clever structure, lovely melody, and that effortless sense of popcraft he seemed to summon in his sleep. Elsewhere, things get a bit more eccentric. But even the oddities, approached with the right spirit, have their charm.

Consider Monkberry Moon Delight, a vocal workout so wild it borders on the theatrical. Or Smile Away, where Paul belts the immortal line “I can smell your feet a mile away” with what can only be called gleeful absurdity. It’s nonsense, but it’s *committed* nonsense — and that counts for something. He wasn’t reaching for meaning; he was reaching for joy.

For all the Beatles baggage he shed, McCartney never dropped his melodic instinct. Ram may not have aimed for critical seriousness, but it didn't need to. It aimed for something rarer: delight. And it hits the mark.

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