Pain can be a midwife to great art. So it was with Paul McCartney and the Beatles. At least that’s the theory Chris Salewicz offers in this engaging if thin biography.
McCartney
was just 14 when his mother died from cancer. The loss cut him deep, but the lad
hid it well. Less than a year later, he would meet an older boy, John Lennon,
soon to lose his own mother. From that shared anguish came an outpouring of
music that would shape a generation and change a world.
Still the pain continued.
Many years later, when Lennon himself died from an assassin’s bullets, McCartney would surprise many when confronted about it by a reporter, saying: “It’s a drag, isn’t it.” For many, it was further proof that McCartney was as soulless as his run of solo pop hits. For Salewicz, it was a glimpse of the boy who never recovered from his mother’s death:
Yet
in the very brevity of that understated reply was exposed every screaming nerve
end running amok beneath the impenetrable blankness of his shock as – in what
had become a chilling pattern – yet another person suddenly vanished from his
life.
While
its lame title and run-of-the-mill collection of “fab photos” proclaim this another
cheap cash-in pop-star bio, Salewicz actually tries to do something useful and
unique with his book: Make a case that Paul McCartney was more than a glib
tunesmith when it came to driving the Beatles’ success.
In
fact, as Salewicz tells it, McCartney had at least as much to do with that
success as did Lennon:
Paul
showed John all the guitar chords he had learned, but as Paul played
left-handed guitar, John would have to go to the mirror in his bedroom and relearn
them. Their relationship, however, was not one-sided: as much as John was
inspired to progress by Paul’s unswerving diligence, so the younger boy was
equally liberated by John’s anarchic approach to music.
Salewicz
was sailing against the tide when McCartney was published in 1986; back
then it was easy to dismiss Paul as the cute lightweight who pulled the girls
while the martyred Lennon reached deeper and mined real gold. Salewicz works
hard at constructing a counter-thesis, offering some evidence to back it up.
Paul McCartney (on left) lines up with George Harrison and John Lennon in a 1958-era photo, when their band was still The Quarrymen. Between Paul and George may be then-drummer Colin Hanton, who Salewicz says was delegated the job of sacking another guitarist from the band so George could have the job. Image from https://www.beatles-komplet.cz/fotoalbum/1958/quarryman-1958.html |
A
next-door neighbor who knew Mary McCartney suggests Paul’s best-known song,
“Yesterday,” was a direct response to his mother’s death and another
unfortunate remark Paul had made after, about how the family would cope without
her income. As he sings in the song: “I said something wrong, now I long for
yesterday.”
While
Lennon works hard for his success, Paul is even more determined, becoming a
perfectionist on stage and in the studio. When Lennon’s buddy Stu Sutcliffe
can’t carry his weight playing bass in early Beatles shows, Paul pressures John
to get rid of him.
Beneath
an amiable surface, Salewicz writes, lay a spine of steel: “He had to be
strong, for his father and brother, and for his mother. And he had to be
successful.”
When
Salewicz explores the origins of Paul and the Beatles, the result is
impressively detailed and researched. Salewicz lays out how and where exactly
John and Paul first met (St. Peter’s Church in Woolton, July 6, 1957) and how
their manager Brian Epstein landed his boys an audition with EMI, via a tip at
a copyright office by someone impressed with the band’s material.
The
common view is that these and other parts of the Beatles’ beginnings were mired
in myth until Mark Lewisohn came along in the 1990s, yet Salewicz’s story is
closer to that version than I expected from a mid-1980s book. Furthermore, he
tells it well.
An
early promoter of the band, Sam Leach, describes the night “when Beatlemania
began,” a show in New Brighton called “Operation Big Beat” in November 1961.
Leach recalls how it looked to be a flop when he saw no one in the audience at
the start; then he walked to the lobby and discovered a line as long as he
could see waiting to get in.
Leach
describes the symbiotic connection John and Paul had in their pre-fame
performances:
“They
were good mates, they’d help each other, and they never tried to upstage each
other. While one was at the front of the stage, the other would do the backing,
and vice versa. But whoever was doing the lead singing would put so much into
it, that it was as though he was saying to the other, ‘Go on, follow that!’
That was the rivalry they created – they pushed each other on. But it was a
very healthy rivalry.”
Accounts
like this make McCartney worth a look for Beatles fans. What makes it no
more than that is a matter of sourcing and focus. The more I read, the more I
realized it was basically a clip job dressed up with some informative
interviews with minor players that do engage and give you a sense of the man
behind the image, but often run on too long. Salewicz seems a solid
interviewer, but a poor editor.
In
terms of focus, the more successful Paul becomes, the less Salewicz has to say
about him. The Beatles years are a blur; Paul’s solo run, which had already
gone on for considerably longer when this book was printed, takes up just the final
25 pages of a 252-page book.
The
best information is on Paul as a student in secondary school, making good
grades without effort before the distractions of rock ‘n’ roll suck him in. He
was seen as having great promise, according to teachers who were still alive in
the 1980s and willing to talk to the author:
No
matter how much he modified his uniform or how many minutes of his morning milk
breaks were spent in front of the washroom mirror perfecting his quaff, it was
his cheery greetings and friendly smile that his teachers noticed. They
resolutely refused to consider Paul a Teddy Boy, and would comment among
themselves on how neat and smartly turned out he was; perfect material, they
thought, for some provincial teachers training college that, from their
conversations with this communicative boy, they had deduced he had set his
heart on.
You
can tell who Salewicz interviewed himself and who were pulled from other texts
by a slight device he employs. When he got the quote himself, the source
“says.” When he pulls it from a book, it’s “said.” His failure to better
explain who he interviewed and what he picked up from other sources (his
bibliography at the end lists just thirty books, many of them what
Beatleologists would term “the usual suspects”) makes for a loose narrative where
trivial bits are thrown up in the way of substance while large segments of
McCartney’s life fly past undigested.
I
suspect Salewicz started into this project with great gusto, then found himself
hitting a roadblock as too many people declined to talk to him with a deadline
fast approaching. [McCartney himself is not quoted,
though he would give Salewicz a Q Magazine interview shortly after that suggests McCartney had read and liked this book.]
What
you wind up with here is half a book. It’s not a bad half-book; Salewicz is a
respected music journalist and really dives into Paul’s life before the
Beatles. But that’s all it winds up being.
Salewicz
looks at the cheery façade Paul presented to people long before he was rich and
famous, determining that while he was never a phony, he could be quite a hard
character, too, if not in the same famously-caustic way John Lennon was.
As
a small boy, he would retreat into his parents’ bedroom after being disciplined
and make small tears in their lace curtains. He would blow off press interviews
arranged by Beatles publicist Brian Sommerville, then walk in while Sommerville
was offering excuses to happily answer questions, pretending he hadn’t been
informed.
Dezo
Hoffmann, whose photographs of the Beatles made him famous, tells of how Paul
would giggle encouragingly as John excoriated some unfortunate with his
dagger-sharp wit:
“In
a way Paul wallowed in it, because John always played up to his requirements.
It’s a useful thing to have somebody like that, who’s capable of putting down
people you don’t like.”
Yet
Paul’s gentler side was no illusion. Salewicz describes how Lonnie Donegan, a
star whose skiffle music Paul and John would emulate, took time out after a workday
lunch show to write explanatory notes for his fans’ bosses. “The commendable,
and rare, consideration that Donegan showed toward his fans struck Paul as the
right way for stars to behave,” Salewicz writes.
Later,
Paul would take time out to sit on a window sill to play his new song
“Blackbird” for the many female fans gathered outside his home.
There
is an aura of calculation here – singer Nick Lowe tells Salewicz how Paul
once confided to him on a tour bus “all I had to do was to wink at them, or
give a thumbs-up, and not only have I made their day, but I’ve got myself out
of lots of trouble.” But Salewicz makes clear Paul’s nice-guy act is authentic,
too. Just don’t mistake him for a lightweight.
McCartney would have been a
worthy corrective to all the pre-Lewisohn Beatles books that downgraded him
(e. g. Philip Norman’s Shout!) if only it had more to say about Paul
after he hit it big. Instead, what begins as a fresh look at a familiar face
stops much too soon.
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