Paul McCartney, the alphabet of pop in 23 songs

The publication of ‘Letras’, an annotated anthology of 154 compositions by the ‘exbeatle’, provides a new and overwhelming proof of its status as a master pillar of popular music for the last 60 years

For more than 50 years, Paul McCartney (Liverpool, 1942) has been the victim of that kind of rock dogma that points to John Lennon as the only true genius within the Beatles while he assigns the role of efficient PR, competent bass player and author of a handful of pretty tunes. The ruling was set in the months following the quartet’s traumatic breakup by a group of music critics (male and white) who understood that John’s rebellious attitude and brutal frankness better served his account of the transformative power of rock than Paul’s dazzling talent for composing and performing pop songs. Lennon’s assassination in 1980 and his subsequent secular beatification ended up shielding the popular judgment. Not a year had passed when Philip Norman, author of ‘Shout’, which in those days was considered the definitive biography of the Fab Four, declared: “John Lennon was the Beatles & rdquor ;.

Since then, any attempt by ‘Macca’ to remind the world that he, too, had a starring role in the supernatural evolution of the most influential pop group in history has been received with suspicion and condemned as a sort of revisionist ‘egotrip’. His last attempt in this regard is the publication of ‘Letters’ (Dome Books), a luxurious work in two volumes, generous in unpublished graphic material, which brings together the letters of 154 of the more than 400 songs McCartney has written, alone or in collaboration, for the Beatles, the Wings or his own solo albums, over more than 60 years.

The songs, accompanied by succulent comments drawn from a long conversation between McCartney and Irish poet laureate Paul Muldoon, They are not arranged in chronological order but alphabetically. This prevents the book from having a true narrative arc (facts that fans did not already know are not revealed here either) but, with its voluminous dictionary form, it helps to present ‘Macca’ as what it is: the highest academic authority on the language of pop. From A to Y (there are no songs that begin with the letter Z; neither with Q or X). This personal selection of 23 titles is just a tiny taste of his unmatched expertise.

‘Single’. 1971. “Since you left you are just ‘Another day’ & rdquor ;, Lennon sang to his ex-partner in the ruthless ‘How do you sleep’. Over the years, all that hostility of the first post-Beatles months was diluted, but the compliment remained for this cartoon of unfading pop charm (and splendid bass line) that portrays the sad daily life of a lonely woman. Critics dismissed it as irrelevant in its day; time proved, not for the first or the last time as regards McCartney’s work, that they were wrong.

‘Band on the run’. 1973. With lyrics created from a comment George Harrison made during one of the tedious and endless business meetings that marked the last stage of the Beatles (“If I could just get out of here & mldr; & rdquor;), the centerpiece of the third LP of Los Wings is incontestable proof of Macca’s talent for assembling seemingly disparate musical fragments into a single song of exultant melodic sense.

‘McCartney II’. 1980. While bands like Queen bragged on their album covers of not using synthesizers, McCartney gleefully embraced the new electronic instruments in an irresistible dance piece that squinted at Stevie Wonder and the Talking Heads and, legend has it, pushed Lennon to come out of his domestic retirement to return to the recording studio.

‘Rubber Soul’. 1965. The Beatles did know how to open an LP. This unusual portrait of female empowerment riddled with sexual allusions that rides on a ‘riff’ inspired by Otis Redding’s ‘Respect’ is an unbeatable gateway to the wonders of the lavish ‘Rubber Soul’.

‘Revolver’. 1966. In the heat of the explosion of Swinging London, the most popular pop group on the planet takes off with a gloomy picture of death and loneliness supported by a double string quartet and some hopeless verses. A major achievement.

‘Revolver’. 1966. Written during one of the periodic crises that marked the relationship between McCartney and actress Jane Asher, this masterpiece of narrative economics is a very serious candidate for the title of best ballad ever composed by its author. Nothing is left over. Nothing is missing. Everything is exciting.

‘Got to get you into my life’

‘Revolver’. 1966. That this rapturous declaration of love for marijuana to the rhythm of southern soul was chosen to accompany the final credits of the children’s film ‘The Minions’ speaks eloquently about Macca’s ability to camouflage the true meaning of his songs under garments of apparent lightness. Superlative vocal performance.

‘Single’. 1968. Conceived as a gift to Julian, the son of John and Cynthia Lennon, whom McCartney was trying to comfort after the separation of his parents, this composition of simple construction and sublime melody soon reached the rank of a universal hymn. The “better, better, better, aaaaaah & rdquor; that in minute 3 gives way to the ineffable “na na na nananana & rdquor; Finals is perhaps the most orgasmic moment of the Fab Four’s entire career.

‘London Town’. 1978. It is very difficult to do more with less. Two stanzas of just two verses each and a one-sentence chorus are enough for Macca to paint, without apparent effort, a delicate scene of exacerbated romanticism traversed by feelings of doubt and regret.

‘McCartney’. 1970. Composed during the Beatles’ stay in India, this elegy for the things that consumerism drives us to discard acquired a new meaning when it appeared in McCartney’s first LP in the midst of the Fab Four shipwreck, like a diamond of touching melancholy buried amid the garbage of accusations and resentments.

‘Mccartney III’. 2020. Among the surprising audacity that the ‘exbeatle’ includes in his latest collection of solo songs is this beautiful piece of pastoral folk inspired by a book on the movement of the planets in which Macca dares to put his almost octogenarian voice in falsetto mode . Once again, he comes out triumphant.

‘Wings at the speed of sound’. 1976. Only someone with a musical gift as developed as McCartney could think of harmonizing with a second voice the fleeting moment in which the names of Phil and Don (that is, the Everly Brothers) appear cited in this irresistible invitation to hold the doors. open houses before the arrival of new guests.

‘McCartney’. 1970. Never has Macca sounded more vulnerable than in this love and gratitude letter to his wife Linda at a time of intense personal distress. The guitar reliably evokes the style of George Harrison but the voice is unmistakably McCartney in one of his most astonishing performances.

‘Nineteen hundred and eighty five’

‘Band on the run’. 1973. An excellent reason to listen to the LP ‘Band on the run’ to the end. The lyrics, vaguely Orwellian, are perhaps functional but the combination of piano, synthesizers and guitar is overwhelming and the orchestral arrangement of the last act is directly killer.

‘The Beatles’. 1968. Trivial, cloying, cheerfully idiotic & mldr; ‘Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da’ has endured insults for more than half a century and there continues, indestructible, a joyous celebration of multicultural England that was relevant in the days of the racist Enoch Powell and his discourse on the “rivers of blood & rdquor; and that today continues to be just as necessary.

‘Single’. 1967. Everyday life in post-war suburban England encapsulated in three minutes and three seconds of pop perfection. An absolute classic.

‘The Beatles. 1968. McCartney wrote this little musical western with his tongue on his cheek, as the English say. But the piece’s undeniable parodic vocation, a joke that testifies to its author’s admiration for music hall artists such as George Formby and Stanley Holloway, does not diminish its twisted charm one iota.

‘Red Rose Speedway’. 1973. The most obvious choice for the letter S is the unbeatable ‘She’s leaving home’, but here we opted to give this little gem hidden in the B-side of one of the Wings’ less distinguished albums a shot that even McCartney doesn’t seem like. remember too much today. That is how much the man goes.

‘Chaos and creation in the backyard’. 2005. There is something miraculous that after composing songs for 45 years Macca was able to continue to find such memorable melodies in his pockets. The lyrics, with their outpouring of empathy towards all those who have too much rain in their lives, this time is at the height of the emotion that music provides.

‘Uncle Albert / Admiral Halsey’

‘Ram’. 1971. The first part of this ‘bizarre’ single that unusually reached number one in the US has been defined as “a celebration of stoner indolence & rdquor ;, but in reality the architecture of the song is so complex that not even McCartney himself has been capable of never performing it live.

‘Venus and Mars’. 1975. It is difficult to ponder this evocative acoustic ballad apart from ‘Rock Show’, the song with which it forms the effective diptych that opens the fourth Wings LP. Fortunately, the existence of the ‘Reprise’ version (longer and with a different letter) gives us a new opportunity to appreciate its ethereal magic and cosmic beauty.

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