As a child, my first memory of the adult world was dramatic. It was a worldwide sensation which seemed to stun public opinion; after which things would never quite be the same again. It wasn't the moon landings of July 1969 of which I have no memory; it wasn't the Vietnam War which I found out through its bitter end. It wasn't anything with a conventional political set of consequences.
The pivotal event for me was the end of the Beatles – when Paul McCartney announced to the world in April 1970 that he was leaving the group. This was major news. The end of an era. The end of the 1960s. The end of an exhilarating journey of music, imagination and of breaking through boundaries.
What I most remember, and that really affected me, was how much people were shocked, saddened and upset. Something wonderful had been taken from them. My parents like everyone it seemed loved the Beatles. They didn't have a favourite, they loved them as a group. They didn't even have any Beatles records because they didn't, like most adults then, buy many. They listened to the Beatles on the radio and watched them on TV. They followed them over the course of the 1960s, seeing them grow, play, mature and take risks – all while releasing fantastic single after single. That was how my parents followed their musical evolution.
The fab four more than anyone else musically and culturally – and maybe even more than most politicians – represented a force and expression felt profoundly by my parents and others like them. People pushing ahead; not being bound by conventions and the old stuffiness. Breaking through the barriers of conventional wisdom and deference. And showing what four young men from ordinary backgrounds could do if they had talent and created the opportunity. There was an explicit social message there about a Britain emerging from the shadow of the Second World War – and becoming more vibrant, modern and equal.
People were shocked that this revolutionary journey was ending. There was even anger towards Paul for calling time on something so loved that embodied the ideals of the 1960s. No-one knew at the time, as subsequently emerged, that John had said he was leaving the previous year but this had been kept private.
As a small boy making sense of this confused adult world, with raw emotions being projected onto defining public heroes of the age, this was all a first for me. What was this loss, anger and bewilderment about? Why did the Beatles matter so much to so many people? And why did so many dislike and even hate Paul when he seemed agreeable and talented?
My love affair with the music of Paul McCartney started then. I felt from this young age that so many people were being unfair to him and so when I began to look at his solo music through this lens, I felt a sense of sympathy and empathy for and with him.
A hesitant introduction to Beatles' music occurred at Christmas 1972 when I got a Phillips portable cassette player and – along with
Golden Hour Presents Chartbusters 1972 (including such greats as
Rocket Man and
Metal Guru) – I got
The Beatles Greatest. This turned out to be an obscure German import of some of their early hits and covers. It had the likes of
Please Mister Postman and
Twist and Shout alongside
She Loves You and
I Want to Hold Your Hand.
Another memorable moment was first seeing a video of Wings with Paul, Linda and Denny Laine performing
Helen Wheels on
Top of the Pops in 1973. This was a fun, joyful song and the three of them were obviously having a good time. When a couple of years later I started buying my first albums, not surprisingly I turned to Wings and
Venus and Mars and
Wings at the Speed of Sound in 1976. I purchased these before I got my first Beatles albums –
The Beatles 1962-66 and
1967-70 – which were my gateway to appreciating their music – as for many young people in the 1970s.
I listened to
Venus and Mars and
Speed of Sound at the age of 12 – my first serious introduction to Beatlesque music. I heard their melodies and inventiveness and thought that many of these songs would not have been out of place in the pantheon of the Beatles, tucked away on one of their albums. This was not a popular view and one that anyone who opined on music agreed with.
By the mid-1970s, I had more understanding of the adult world – having caught up with the moon landing and the importance of the Vietnam War. I realised that the wider world did not take to or rate solo Paul. Wings were deemed as 'uncool', even an embarrassment; having your wife in the band was not seen as 'rock and roll' (and Linda was judged differently in this from Yoko); his music derided and his personality seen as 'too square' and just not 'hip'. John was 'cool', Paul wasn't and this was presented as fact.
I never really understood this. I came to appreciate as the 1970s went on the phenomena of the Beatles together and solo. I grew to understand the oeuvre of Paul's solo work and such works of inventiveness and play as
Ram, which the critics then hated; I discovered and was in awe of the early John Lennon solo releases, and even had some time for George and Ringo.
When I got into serious music buying in secondary school, I had lots of solo Paul and John albums, as well as some George and Ringo, and a fair spread of Beatles albums. This was the late 1970s and the Beatles were by this point not viewed as cool by a large section of younger popular culture – what with punk and new wave. When friends came to my house, I used to hide my Beatles-related albums under my bed. They were deemed that unhip. I can remember one friend noting this large pile under my bed and me getting hot, bothered and flustered as I made up an excuse and distracted them.
John was killed in 1980 and things changed. As a result, John became even more 'right on' – the idealist and peace campaigner – whereas Paul became even more beyond the pale. He had brought us Wings, 'granny music' and numerous musical embarrassments – all before the oft-cited frog chorus.
I saw Paul live in Glasgow in 1990 at the cavernous SECC. By this point, I was 26 and knew the ups and down of Paul's solo career. And yet this concert was an eye-opener: it was truly terrible. The incessant people-pleasing; the literal interpretation of classic Beatles songs – one example being
The Fool on the Hill where Paul's piano went up into the clouds and during the lyric 'round and round and round' did just that; and the tuneless
Mull of Kintyre, with a full Highland bagpipe band on stage (which only Glasgow was treated to on the tour!).
This was the point at which I reappraised McCartney's music. I stopped buying any solo material for the next decade – missing albums such as
Off the Ground (no loss) and the celebrated
Flaming Pie – although I still listened occasionally to some of the classic McCartney of the 1970s. This felt right. I could regale friends with my childhood crush on Paul musically and laugh at myself at how at a young age I thought some of these inexorable Wings albums were any good –
Band on the Run being the obvious exception.
Eventually, I came back to the music of McCartney. I can't remember the specific trigger. Maybe it was revisiting some of those 1970s much maligned albums such as
Red Rose Speedway; combined with the Indian summer that Macca's career experienced in the 2000s with
Chaos and Creation in the Backyard and
Memory Most Full. This brought me full circle. I was back as a McCartney fan. But there was a difference. I was now not on my own or in a small minority. I was part of a broader sentiment which concluded that Paul was a unique talent and that even his solo career was worthy of investigation. He slowly became a national treasure.
I went to see McCartney live again in 2018 in Glasgow at the Hydro. I had been so disappointed by him in 1990. It was a completely different experience. It was a fantastic show, brilliant, rocking band, set of songs and performance overall. And he didn't play
Mull of Kintyre, although he did do
Wonderful Christmastime.
McCartney has been a musical part of my life for nearly as long as I can remember. And like many fans of musical artists, I feel a sense of connection. I don't feel that I know him on any real level. But his music has been a constant in my life and is something I have grown more and more to appreciate second time around – made all the sweeter by how critical opinion has undergone a somersault in how it portrays him.
At age six, I felt that all these criticisms and slights on McCartney were somehow deeply unfair. This might even be the root of my lifelong contrariness and often not going with the herd. I was prepared to furrow my own lonely path as a McCartney fan in the 1970s keeping it quiet from my friends. And what happened? Somehow the world caught up and now Macca is revered, widely respected and loved.
There is no great lesson to draw from this. It just happened. But looking back, if I had to take something away, it would be to listen to that youthful idealism and never forget it. The Beatles didn't – and they made the world a more wonderful place for which I for one feel truly blessed.
