What I’m about to do feels absolutely felonious. In the few hundred words that follow, I will liken several of the songs from Paul McCartney’s aptly titled new album, “New,” to the signature sounds of (gasp) contemporary artists.
Surely if anyone’s earned the right to be examined in sui generis, it’s Sir Paul, right? Types like myself are always going on about how this song sounds “like the ‘A Tribute to Jack Johnson’ sessions if Miles Davis had forgotten to bring his trumpet to work” or that singer resembles “Mick Jagger with his finger smashed in the doorjamb” (both phrases I’ve shamelessly printed within the margins of past columns). Shouldn’t I at least have the decency to leave McCartney out of it?
Well, I don’t. Not when the boot slides on like a cashmere glove.
And I don’t think McCartney will mind. After all, he’s the one that put the big, high-voltage-Mumford strings between verses in “On My Way to Work,” a sort of 2013 edition of the Beatles’ 1967 classic “A Day in the Life” and the spurts of syncopated Vampire Weekend-does-Afrobeat fuzz that punctuate “Looking at Her.”
“I Can Bet” is the closest this Liverpudlian’s ever come to Southern riff rock. The song, with its repetitive chorus featuring McCartney’s digitized self-harmonization, chunky guitar and a synthesized organ solo would make a friend or two pretty quickly if shoved into a room with tracks from the Sheepdogs’ latest record.
McCartney recruited a little help from his friends Mark Ronson, who’s worked with Christina Aguilera and Amy Winehouse, and Paul Epworth, who has worked with stars such as Adele and Florence + the Machine, as well as others in giving “New” its Top-40-ready sound, and there are moments when all the untz and oscillation and bombast leave songs like “Save Us,” “Everybody” and “Road” totally skip-able and virtually indistinguishable from all the other slick-production filler that’s become all too common on the FM waves.
But even when his experimentations fall flat at times here, it’s just refreshing to hear Sir Paul trying something new after 2012’s professional but bland standards collection, “Kisses on the Bottom.” McCartney’s rich recording history, both with and without John, George and Ringo, propagates high expectations. But if we step back for a second and put this record in perspective – a fun, modern bunch of four-minute-or-less tunes from one of pop’s supreme veteran songsmiths – we’ll be inclined to appreciate it even more.
Not surprisingly, “New” succeeds most when McCartney tempers Ronson’s and Epworth’s control room toys with his never-failing knack for putting a good line to a catchy melody. You’ll be able to hum the album’s harpsichord-driven title track, which augments fuzzed background synth with a punchy horn section, after just one listen. In “Alligator,” the mid-song break to Ellie Goulding-esque digitized octave-jumping clashes beautifully with the rest of the track’s bouncy chorus line.
Super wild “Appreciate,” one of my favorites on the record simply by virtue of its incongruity with anything else Sir Paul’s ever done before, digitally stratifies his still-supple voice into ethereal octave confluences over synthesizers and drums with roles more textural than musical.
The album’s two sparsest arrangements are its most rewarding. Simple acoustic guitar sets the perfect stage for McCartney’s tender, reflective vocals on “Early Days.” There’s a rare, beautiful vulnerability in the semi-falsetto he adopts here. When you hear it in line at Starbucks you’ll think it’s Iron & Wine.
Hidden bonus track “Scared” is exclusively Sir Paul and his piano, save only for the subtlest of synth crescendos that slowly develops over the course of the entire song. “Scared” is more melancholy than most of the album’s other material, and the spare treatment its given by producer Giles Martin is quite poignant.
Even at 71, McCartney once again proves he’s unmatched at turning, and performing, a beautiful line. And maybe that’s the real impetus of this whole record. On each track, he borrows a little something from the radio titans of today, but it’d be hard to point to any of the folks I mentioned above that haven’t drawn inspiration from McCartney’s magnificent 50-year catalogue. In adopting some of the tools of his many successors’ trades, Sir Paul’s validating, not plagiarizing. It’s a little sign of renewed interest and respect from an old pro, a little reward for all of us. He’s been paying attention to what’s going on; he’s showing us that he wants to – and can – contribute.
“New” may not be a timeless classic on the level of “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band,” but it’s comfortable. You get the feeling you’ve enjoyed these sounds before, and probably will again.
