Ebony and Irony

Q: Why did the tricycle make it up the hill, but the bicycle did not?

A: The bicycle was two-tired.

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McCartney is in the news, undertaking the singularly painful ordeal of dissolving his marriage. A marriage, I believe, entered in good faith, for the right reasons, with the full expectation of lasting a lifetime.

A marriage that, ironically, did what it set out to do: Demonstrate, before God, the very definition of true love, of durability, of staying together through thick and thin. Regrettably, though, this marriage did not make this point about ‘Paul and Heather’. No, this marriage proved, before God, that the ultimate love story of the rock era was Paul and Linda.

Irony is a hobby of mine. Black humor, karma, comeuppance; I am in an industry where bad news is good news. A sly chuckle betrays my darkly ironic core, as I ponder the fact that someone got the better of Paul in a business deal.

For the past several decades, McCartney seemed invincible. A record collector brandished the very first Beatles amateur acetate recording, a creditable version of “That’ll Be the Day,” and was hawking it to the highest bidder. No way, Jose, said Paul; you cannot sell a recorded disc unless you have permission of the copyright holder. And the holder of the rights to Buddy Holly’s evergreen chestnut was, you guessed it, MPL, headed by none other than James Paul McCartney. Over a barrel, the collector ceded the coveted collectable back into Beatle hands.

Recall, too, that it is Paul who had the foresight to register the Beatles’ Apple trademark on a worldwide basis. A few years later, a certain computer company came along, unwarily undertaking a worldwide marketing bonanza brandishing that very moniker – and their oversight netted the Beatles a very pretty penny.

Take my word for it, too – it is a much longer story – but Paul is single-handedly responsible for saving the Beatles financial empire from wolves that would have otherwise picked it clean. True, he missed out on the opportunity to acquire the Beatles’ publishing catalog, but he did it for honorable reasons – friendship and loyalty, to Michael Jackson and John Lennon, respectively, compromised his killer instincts on that infamous occasion.

In my last installment, I made mention of certain criticisms directed at Paul. Though I did not attribute these to a single source, many of these allegations have, in fact, been leveled by someone who, ironically, must be one of McCartney’s biggest fans.

Geoffrey Giuliano has penned probably a dozen books about the Beats, many of which I have thoroughly enjoyed. It has been made clear, however, in his writings and his interviews, that while he admires Paul’s body of work, he does not enjoy a high personal regard for Liverpool’s Favorite Son.

And herein lies the rub: I may be one of Giuliano’s top fans, but I will no sooner sit still for Geoff’s foibles, than he will suffer in silence about Paul’s.

I recently corresponded with a reader on this blog. My previous installment, Resolver, opened a dialogue, wherein I remarked to a reader that I had written to Geoff a couple of years ago, on his Web site, protesting his harsh criticisms of Paul, but not received a response.

The ironic part was, it turned out to be exactly ‘a couple of years’ previously – to the day.

Researching the archives of Geoff’s website, I found my posting, dated Jan. 7, 2006 – exactly two years earlier than my web comment, dated Jan. 7, 2008. You can find the self-evident text by scrolling down this page:

http://www.geoffreygiuliano.com/New/Author/Reader.htm

Adding another rich level of irony, Geoffrey Giuliano goes by the nickname of “G2” – a nickname that is well-known to every employee of The Times Herald, as employed by a certain managing editor named Gordon Glantz. And the name “Giuliano” itself bears a strong resemblance to that of a certain presidential candidate, who was the first choice of another well-known name around here, Stan Huskey.

Perhaps, then, this is a suitable time to put my promised Springsteen Blog on hold, to revisit my good-natured, would-be sparring session with Geoff.

First, on the sharp decline in the quality of Paul’s post-Beatles work:

Paul saw some critical and commercial success with his premier solo release, McCartney. In recent interviews, Paul has cited several of the album’s gems among his all-time favorite originals. Maybe I’m Amazed, he cautiously offered, might top his all-time personal top 10. Honorable mention went to That Would Be Something, a cheerful ditty from the same LP, which he described as ‘very me’. Not forgetting the musical bauble The Lovely Linda, which has the distinction of being Paul’s first ode to his bride-to-be, the song Teddy Boy actually was a Beatles record, born and raised, narrowly escaping release on the Let it Be album.

The thing to remember, however, is Paul was still a Beatle when this record, McCartney was made. Though the album symbolized – even trumpeted – his departure from the band, he was, at that moment, still a Beatle; their company, Apple Corps, was still a going concern. Paul’s next album, however, Ram, was his first true post-Beatles effort. It was a clunker, a disappointment that sounded like what it was: An incapacitated man, grieving for a loss.

Try to imagine losing your job, and losing your three oldest friends – the very people you would ordinarily turn to – in the same moment. From the very first lines of the very first song, “Too Many People,” Paul is doing nothing so much as crying out.

Worse, he had to bite his tongue in the face of acrid criticism from Lennon and others. He silently suffered insult and injury, out of residual loyalty, or out of fear that John would best him in a petty war of insults. Paul did what a British man does; he put on a stiff upper lip, stifled his feelings – feelings that may remain unresolved to this day – and trod forward.

The point being, Paul was a man twice-removed from himself; his true voice and feelings buried beneath insurmountable, incomprehensible levels of grief. It is no wonder that his writing suffered.

Add to this the intimidating task of trying to follow an act like the Beatles. Remember, the Fab Four themselves shied away from the prospect of following up their Sgt. Pepper triumph with anything that could be compared head-to-head; they issued an EP – half an album – entitled Magical Mystery Tour, then a double album, The Beatles.

The next thing Giuliano has to say about Paul: How could McCartney allow Wings stalwart Denny Laine, a collaborator on some of the biggest hits of the 1970s, to go broke, living in a trailer like some disturbed Vietnam-era LSD casualty?

The simple answer: Paul did not allow it, Denny did. Denny easily had a million pounds in his hand at one time, and he blew it, and he has only himself to blame.

Did Paul put himself first in Wings transactions? You bet. Why shouldn’t he? He was the star, the draw; no one truly cared about Denny. Who would bankroll good money on a show in which Denny Laine was the star? History has, sadly, provided the answer.

On the subject of history, there is only one reason that Denny Laine is anything more than an asterisk in the rock archives: Paul McCartney. Denny has a place; a name that is reasonably well-known and respected; which is greater currency than many rock musicians can lay claim to. After fame and fortune have receded, most fools and their money were lucky enough to get together in the first place.

Furthermore, Paul McCartney must be the most ripped-off individual in the history of show business. Take his first manager, the feckless, naïve Brian “I suppose half of one percent is better than nothing” Epstein, the lowball chump who signed any piece of paper handed him… please. Honoring low-paying, inconvenient bookings rendered laughably obsolete by the Beatles’ explosive fame; allowing merchandisers to sell their Beatles knockoffs without paying a proper tribute; millions, nay billions, slipped straight through his limp-fisted grasp. Or publisher Dick James, who signed Lennon and McCartney on their understanding that songs were ‘in the air’, and ‘everyone owned them’. Why shouldn’t Paul look out for himself now? Would we have him do anything less?

Geoff’s other prominent allegation centers around McCartney’s use of lesser-known musicians, who ‘needed the gig’, and would ‘do what he wanted’. Citing Robbie Macintosh, who ‘ain’t Jimmy Page’, and a host of insolvent lesser-knowns, Giuliano proffers the idea that Paul only hires low-budget, subservient musicians. To which I say, isn’t it a better world when someone who ‘needs a gig’, gets a gig? Weren’t these guys delighted and relieved when the offer of a high-profile, paid engagement came along? Would Geoff, himself, turn down such an offer, at any price? I may just ask him that very question… on his Web site.

For my money, McCartney deserves every dollar, every ounce of respect, and every courtesy on this earth.

You’d have to go a long way to find a man of more impeccable moral fiber.

You would certainly have to look a lot farther than McCartney’s erstwhile partner, the late John Lennon.

- Kevin