James Paul McCartney

McCartney: a teenybopper with wife and kids?

PAUL McCARTNEY dealt a blow for liberty and self-expression here when the ABC network devoted an hour of television prime time to his special, “James Paul McCartney”.

This may be considered a television ‘first’, since there’s always the possibility that solo specials from other former Beatles or big heavy rock groups may now be forthcoming.

We saw the band Wings relaxed and in good humour, warming up as the camera dollied in for close ups. While this was going on, typed mini-biographies were superimposed over the picture.

Each musician had evidently been asked to supply real and middle names, height, weight, birth date and place.

It was interesting to note that all gave their real names except Linda, who mentioned neither her maiden name of Eastman nor her pre-McCartney marital moniker.

Neither Linda nor Paul gave their weight, although Linda said that hers “varied”. Linda didn’t give her birthdate or place. although everyone else did.

(Drummer Denny Seiwell listed that he was as “American as kidney pie”). Colour of hair was also requested. and Mrs. McCartney charted hers as ‘strawberry blonde.’

After the band close ups, the cameras moved back to show the “audience”. dozens and dozens of stacked-up TV monitors showing people madly applauding. Very expensive technicality. that. but it worked extremely well.

(It was also somewhat suggestive of the TV production scene in “A Hard Day’s Night”, when Victor Spinetti yelped “Cut!” in front of five TV monitors).

The programme commenced with an acoustic guitar medley built around “Black Bird”, segueing into “Michelle”, and concluding with “Mary Had A Little Lamb.

On “Michelle”, Paul crooned as if he were Gilbert Becaud and Linda, dressed to the Bianca and a half, snapped pictures with expensive cameras as rapidly as David Bailey, frantically diving and bobbing for angles.

“Mary Had A Little Lamb” was, appropriately, shot at a bucolic lakeside setting. complete with Linda tinkling a tambourine and drifting from a tree, attired, this time, à la Little Miss Muffet, in a billowing innocence white dress and a Gainsborough chapeau with streamers.

Cut to “Heart Of The Country”, with the band frolicking in a rowboat together (rub a dub dub). then to lovely Linda astride an enormous white station, hair flowing Lady Godiva style (but wearing expensive threads), followed by a zany motion clip of paunchy Paul galloping behind on a small Big White Steed of his own.

Paul apparently wants to be a permanent teenybopper idol and he’s taking along his wife and kids. He’s like a grown-up David Cassidy or a tubby David Bowie charming, but anaemic. bouncing, but babyish surrounded with expensive tackle. human and electronic.

Another cutesy segment opened with Linda pouring tea over milk and sugar while Paul read his paper to the tune of “Uncle Albert Admiral Halsey” which was unaccountably chopped off by one of the numerous Chevrolet commercials.

“Uncle Albert” had rain noises, location office shots, and a slick fisheye lens sequence with close-ups of old people on telephones. something like a cinematic mating between Richard Lester’s Beatle films and Luis Bunuel’s “Discreet Charm Of The Bourgeoise.”

Then it cuts to a Liverpudlian autobiographical sequence where little Paulie is surrounded by massive numbers of friends and relations, including Gerry Marsden. formerly of Gerry and the Pacemakers. pints of bitter all around, and Paul’s Aunt Jinny who had encouraged him to play music as a child.

They sang, too, rounds of such vintage goodies as “April Showers”. “Lone Way To Tipperary”, and “Pack Up Your Troubles”. Linda looked nauseated during this farce.

A shrug of the shoulder, with a wink from Paul’s eye, as if to say “See what I’m powerful enough to do in prime time?”

Explosions, hydroplanes, and plenty of McCartney scruff’s were in evidence via borrowed footage from “Live And Let Die”. There was a stadium type concert hall towards the end which worked at attaining an almost real aura of Beatlemania.

It is hard not to be cynical, as it was all so contrived, despite the fact that some of it worked. There was a live bit with a Little Richard song, “Long Tall Sally”, where the tinny TV sound was made even worse suddenly when the bottom fell totally out of that segment.

There was a mindless muzak Beatle medley, with oldsters chirping one line each in wretched voices of “When I’m 64”. “Please Please Me”. “Ob La Di. Ob La D ” and “Yellow Submarine”.

And there was a Bushy Berkley like segment with dancing girls and a song unmistakably derivative of much smarter Cole Porter type material (or even derivative of something by John Lennon).

Wings wore flashy, but not trashy versions of street wear, and made several costume changes for the various scenes. It was all an obvious showcase for Paul, nothing more, and often a good deal less.

Henry McCulloch played strong lead guitar, while Paul performed primarily on bass and piano, with a gift of acoustic guitar up front.

Linda laid out some simple lines and chords on the piano, but didn’t do anything out of the ordinary and kept well out of the way if the band did happen to start cooking.

Denny Seiwell did nothing elaborate on drums, but kept time and stayed in his place. There you have it, McCartney fans: the man and his friends. shown doing what they like best, and playing at being pop stars for fun and profit.

He seems to have lost respect, generally, for his music, and he capitalises on and makes sport of the Beatles at the same time. His only serious performances were material from his three solo albums and his theme song for “Live And Let Die”.

I talked to at least half a dozen music-absorbing friends and they all agreed that although there were some fleeting musical diversions the overall production was low-level rubbish, a waste of time, energy and money.

From New Musical Express – April 28, 1973

McCartney lets it all hang out 

JAMES Paul McCartney, to judge from the TV spectacular of the same name to be beamed into homes across the length and breadth of the country on May 10, has finally let it all hang out.

Following in the well-worn path of the traditional British rock and roller see Tommy Steele and Cliff Richard for examples he has emerged from the quiet years after the Beatle break-up as a fully-fledged bona-fide all-round entertainer.

James Paul, equally at home with a steamy old rocker like Long Tall Sally or a nonsense singalong like Mary Had A Little Lamb, can tap out a song and dance with the best of them, shows a delicate touch of whimsy, and looks as if he’s going to combine the Jekyll and Hyde roles of greasy teenage rocker with Wings and that of television personality at the same time.

At any rate, there doesn’t seem to be any need for him to worry about what he’ll be doing when he’s 64.

Denny Seiwell, drummer in Wings, told RM last week that the band’s aim was to appeal to everybody from six to 60. With a leader in Paul, they’ll be all right. If ever there was a man who understood what pop is, it must be him – nothing ever gets too heavy, there’s always a touch of the mickey-take to prevent a complete topple over into dreadful schmaltz.

The show, which is basically light entertainment and no more, is a showcase for Paul’s amazing ability to be all things to all men, women and little lambs.

Cavorting

Mind you, he doesn’t sing Give Ireland Back To The Irish. The tone of the show is set when you see the lovely Linda, bearing an increasingly striking resemblance to David Bowie, cavorting across fields on a white horse, in slow motion, followed by a speeded-up Paul on the same horse.

Mary Had A Little Lamb comes through on sound while everybody rows across an ornamental lake, Linda swings on a swing and several sheep heave into view.

Then comes Paul’s bringing it all back home section, shot in a Liverpool pub; the beer flows, Paul touches his dad for a few notes, Gerry Marsden smiles hello, Auntie Dill too, and everybody sings You Are My Sunshine, Tipperary and Pack Up Your Troubles except Linda, who being American, doesn’t know the words. Now that should knock them out in the States, the British Pub in real life. Almost.

Slicked

There’s a gently campy production dance number, straight out of the Busby Berkeley / TV Toppers book, in which Paul wears slicked-down hair, pink tails and golden shoes, and dances pretty well, until the picture flashes to Paul and Linda saying that American popcorn was always better than the English variety, and the band, on a studio stage surmounted by a threatening emblem, launch into the theme from Live And Let Die, the new Bond film. On come the film clips of motorcycles crashing; Roger Moore in a speedboat that leaps out of the water, all sorts of fun and games.

“A Beatles Medley” says the fancy lettering on the screen, and as in a Polo commercial, men and women in the street have a go at She Loves You, Yellow Submarine and others; they’re usually grossly out of tune but having a good time, and the dubbed-on backing track has a bit of fun trying to adjust to their unusual timing and pitch.

Finally we come, at long last, to a set of live numbers from the whole band, of which I’d have preferred a little more and a little less of the soft-centred variety bandbox corn.

Wings show themselves to be a great little band, playing pop in the best sense of the word. Over their two years together they’ve grown tight and tasty and, as Denny Seiwell said, have learned to keep it utterly simple. The only suspicion of ego-trip comes from Paul, who knows how to use his face to best advantage for the camera, but after all, a good frontman is no easy thing to come by.

Henry McCullough’s The Mess, a stomping twelve-bar rocker, is followed by Paul’s Maybe I’m Amazed the song of which Rod Stewart once declared “If you don’t know it then I don’t know where you bin” which leads into the biggest treat of all as far as all of us in the ATV preview room were concerned.

Twitched

Feet of staid-looking TV executives started to twitch the minute Wings launched themselves into what else but Long Tall Sally, the Little Richard classic that the Beatles’ used to close their act within the early days.

The revelation is that Paul, unlike many an ex-rocker, can still crank out that incredible screeching high-register voice as he approaches his middle years; the old edge hasn’t gone.

Finally, the titles roll and we’re left with Paul on a stool playing a solo acoustic rendition of Yesterday to the rest of Wings, who are sitting at his feet. But, having seen what the band are capable of, they aren’t going to have to play on nostalgic reminders of former glory.

At a time when good, spirited simplicity is at a premium in pop, you could do worse than put your money on Wings to be one of the biggest successes of ’73, and a few years to come.

From Record Mirror – May 5, 1973