Sunday in Old Macca

It’s rare for me to go out and buy a contemporary pop album. Rarer still to do so within days of its release. Granted, one can’t technically describe Paul McCartney as ‘contemporary’, but he’s still writing and recording, and outclassing artists a third of his age.

Last time, I described how his recent single ‘Home to Us’ had strayed inadvertently into melodic territory formerly explored by Clive Dunn. To me, this didn’t bode well for the upcoming album, and I wasn’t overly impressed by the street sign sleeve design (hardly an original idea). Then I saw a social media ‘reel’ where he demonstrated a perverse dischord that he’s used to open the album and thought 'Uh-oh...'

Then the reviews started coming in. Four and five star. I don’t usually take much notice of what rock critics think, but my interest was piqued. I played some snatches of the album on Amazon music and liked it enough that I went right out the next day and bought it – from a proper record shop, not an online retailer (take that, Bezos!) The following week, it was number one on the chart: and it's probably the very last time that I'll have this week's number one album in my possession...

I hadn’t bought a McCartney album for forty four years. 1982’s Tug of War was my last purchase, and was hailed at the time as a return to form: much the same reception that’s been accorded to The Boys of Dungeon Lane. So maybe it was time to cut the Mac some slack. Thirteen pounds and ninety nine pence of my savings are now winging their way to the coffers of MPL communications, less percentages of course. Was it money well spent?

The simple answer is yes. Macca may be 83 but he’s sounding as good as he’s done since the breakup of the Beatles. The voice is, of course, older and huskier, but it’s aged well. The production is solid – ‘classic’ without sounding contrived, contemporary without being embarrassing. There’s a wide range of textures and styles, and the sleeve credits McCartney himself with an impressive array of instrumentation, not just bass and guitars but more keyboards than Rick Wakeman can fit on a stage, and drums too. The man does everything – although he is assisted by a number of collaborators including a certain Richard Starkey esquire, who drums on ‘Home to Us’.

For me, what elevates this album above all of his post Band on the Run efforts is the sheer melodic quality of the material. There have been times over the decades when Macca has sounded like he was repeating himself, going over old ground, particularly when he tried to bring a Beatles sensibility to his work. Now, he sounds like he’s tapped into a new lode: there are some genuinely surprising melodic ideas here. Lyrically, many of the songs look back on his life before the Beatles, but not in a sentimental manner. He is, after all, most likely into his last decade. He’s entitled to reflect on his life and times. It would be surprising if he didn’t, and it’s a mark of artistic integrity that he has chosen to do so.

Dungeon Lane is his first album in six years, the first work of his eighth decade. There’s no reason to suspect it will be his last – but one never knows. Personally, I suspect that, however upbeat he may come across in his promotional work, Macca must realise that anything he releases from now on may end up as his epitaph, his final artistic statement, intentional or otherwise. Is that why it’s so good? Has he been saving some of his best work for his back pages?

McCartney was always the most pragmatic of the Beatles. If it had been suggested to him, at the height of their fame, that he would still be writing and releasing music in sixty years’ time, he’d most likely have laughed off the idea. Queried about his future plans back in 1963, he foresaw himself and John retreating into songwriting rather than performing. And yet here he is, still touring the world, and still making music that ranks alongside his best post-Beatle output. 

These days, old white men are an easy target for snide media commentators. They – we – are somehow responsible for most of what’s wrong with the world today, and with the likes of Trump and Farage in the news so much, it’s easy to see why. Paul McCartney should be hailed as an ambassador for the rest of us old geezers, living proof that, over sixty, not all white guys become demented, self-aggrandising delusional egomaniacs. Granted, we’re not all on a level with Macca, but neither are we all past it. Here’s the proof that it’s still possible to be cool, relevant and original well into your eighth decade.