1) London Town;
2) Café On The Left Bank; 3) Iʼm Carrying; 4) Backwards Traveller; 5) Cuff
Link; 6) Children Children; 7) Girlfriend; 8)
Iʼve Had Enough; 9) With A Little Luck; 10) Famous Groupies; 11) Deliver Your Children; 12) Name And Address; 13) Donʼt Let It Bring You Down; 14) Morse Moose And The
Grey Goose.
General verdict: Subtly creative and uncharacteristically
bleak — always fun to catch Paul McCartney in one of his less-than-happy moods.
This record opens a brief and somewhat
underrated mini-stage in McCartneyʼs musical biography: The Autumnal Season of
Wings. It is not just about the album cover, featuring gray skies over London,
Paul visibly shivering in his overcoat, and a somewhat battered line-up of
Wings, once again reduced to the «core trio» with Denny and Linda after
everybody else had split. It is also about the music, which has once again
performed an about face and left all of its glam-rock aspirations stranded in
the dirt, many miles behind.
London
Townʼs generally poor critical
reputation is primarily due to the chronological context: 1977–78, with their
revolutionary developments everywhere, were not particularly favorable to
«dinosaur rockers» (only the Stones somehow managed to make the grade with Some Girls), and a record that did not
rock out, stayed away from social issues, and made whatever points it had to
make in cute, subtle, inobtrusive ways could hardly make it in the same month
that also saw the releases of Patti Smithʼs Easter and Elvis Costelloʼs This
Yearʼs Model, among others. As in so many other cases, time has been kind
to the album — but not enough for Paul himself, who has pretty much shut it out
of his own memory.
Oddly enough, things had started out quite
auspiciously: ʽMull Of Kintyreʼ, released as a single in late ʼ77, became one
of the biggest songs of its time, as its Scottish overtones and anthemic nature
were too overwhelmingly impressive to dismiss — not to mention the Christmas
season release, which effectively turned it into a modern substitute for ʽAuld
Lang Syneʼ and boosted both sales and confidence. You would really be hard
pressed to find a better compromise between Celtic folk and British pop — or a
better example of Paul and Dennyʼs collaboration, with Paul providing the pop
hook and Denny indulging his folk appetite. Even the bagpipes manage to sound
glorious here, rather than traditionally irritating for the non-Scottish ear.
But the triumphant beginning had a
less-than-perfect ending, as this particular Tale Of Two Singles ends up ʽWith
A Little Luckʼ — or, more likely, without a little luck, since that particular song, in many peopleʼs
minds, remains typical of everything that was worst about Wings: cuddly
softness, inoffensiveness, sentimentality, and technological dependency — what
with its use of synthesizers so reminiscent of all the generic trends of the time.
Indeed, this was like a minor inept brother of ʽSilly Love Songsʼ — without
that songʼs unbeatable hooks, impressive musical ideas (the bass is nowhere
near as melodic and expressive), or endearing arrogance. Perhaps the songʼs
biggest fault, in addition to all that, is that it tries to pass itself for an
anthem of love and hope, but these anthemic aspirations clash way too harshly with the clinically
sterilized production and the central role of generic Seventiesʼ synthesizers.
I still think itʼs a good song after all, with a nicely unique central melody
line that is pure McCartney — but it definitely could have used a livelier
arrangement.
What is really sad is that the (in)famous
popularity of ʽWith A Little Luckʼ has pretty much eclipsed everything else you
can find on the album — and not only does it feature a wealth of interesting,
less-than-trivial ideas, but it has a general vibe of its own: the slightly
cold, damp, quiet, foggy vibe of an autumnal morning after a solid night of
steady rain ("silver rain was falling down upon the dirty ground of London
Town"). Calm sadness, light melancholia, friendly introspection, shy
reclusiveness — with the occasional exception of a more straightforward rocker
or too, London Town clads you in
rags, puts you under an umbrella and puts you out in the street to observe
frequently less-than-happy pictures of everyday life. It is as much anti-glam
as Venus And Mars was pro-glam: the
perfect hangover antidote to a few years of drunken glitz. And it has a kind of
depth to it that was really lacking in the previous two records.
I like to think of ʽLondon Townʼ as a sort of
subconscious remake of ʽPenny Laneʼ — another gentle piece of solitary life
inspection with equal parts love and pity for all of its characters. I am not
even sure that its base melody is objectively worse than ʽPenny Laneʼ: it
simply has a slower, lazier, less emotionally pinching vibe, which kind of
makes sense if we are talking ten years later. It is also being more realistic
about its dreams of escapism: the bittersweet "Oh, where are there places
to go? / Someone somewhere has to know" conclusion to each verse stresses
just how impossible imaginative escapism has become. Listen closely to the
song, and in time you will discern a disturbing streak of gloom under its
superficially soothing keyboard coating — a streak of gloom that sets the
defining tone for the entire album.
Take the very next song, the slightly funkified
dance-rocker ʽCafé On The Left Bankʼ — which, admittedly, takes us from London
to Paris, but the general autumnal vibe does not change much. Right-wingers
might want to interpret it as a rant against the emerging globalization
("English-speaking people drinking German beer, talking far too loud for
their ears"), but it really sounds more like one desperate manʼs
commentary on the pointless fuss of socializing, and everything about the song,
from the minor chords to Paulʼs wailing vocals to the frantic solo (still
played by Jimmy McCulloch), screams «panic!», which is not what you usually
expect at all from a song centered
around Parisian nightlife.
Another piece of weirdness is the ʽBackwards
Traveller / Cuff Linkʼ medley — one short mid-tempo pop rocker about an
"ancient wool unraveller" busy "sailing songs, wailing on the
moon", one slightly longer gruff funk instrumental with a nagging, but
memorable sinister Moog riff pushing it forward. Why are they together? What is
their significance? What does he mean when he says that "Iʼm always going
back in time"? Whatever it be, I really like how the two pieces complement
each other: I would guess that ʽCuff Linkʼ probably began life as a random
experimental jam (like ʽZoo Gangʼ or one of those other classic era Wings
instrumentals), but then, in an Abbey
Road-esque move, they associated it with this little snippet about time
travel so that the mystery quotient could go up a notch, and it does.
Then thereʼs the oddness of ʽGirlfriendʼ. Allegedly,
Paul wrote it specially for Michael Jackson, but ended up recording it first,
one year prior to Off The Wall. If
you only heard the Jackson version, you will think of the song as a feather-light
sentimental ditty — and that is precisely the way it begins in Paulʼs version
as well. But Paul adds an extra middle eight section, after which comes a
guitar solo that begins by imitating the vocal melody — then, all of a sudden,
takes a 180-degree turn into dark, bleak, mope-rockish territory for a few bars,
before trotting back to safe, fluffy territory. If there is a better
comparative example of why Paul McCartney is a great songwriter, while
Michaelʼs primary talents are in other
departments... well, there is no
better comparative example. It is precisely this ability to surprise and stump
the listener, even in small details like these, that elevates Paulʼs Wings-era
stuff above most of his «soft rock» competition.
Foggy doom-and-gloom stuff accumulates even
denser as the album reaches the midway point. ʽWith A Little Luckʼ
notwithstanding, the two best tunes on the second side are ʽDeliver Your
Childrenʼ and ʽDonʼt Let It Bring You Downʼ — both co-written with Denny (who
also gets lead vocals on the former), both featuring titles that seemingly
advocate for hope even as the music throughout remains painfully depressing. ʽDeliver
Your Childrenʼ, not coincidentally bearing an uncanny melodic similarity to
ʽRichard Coryʼ (which Denny, as you remember, sang on the Wings Over America tour), is a speedy acoustic folk-rocker with
some of the most cynical confessional lyrics you can ever find on anything
McCartney-related — fast, tight, tense, bitter, with a vocal arch on each verse
that begins on a note of hysterical desperation and ends on one of gloomy
disillusionment. Special praise goes to the bass-heavy acoustic solo that takes
all the points stated by the vocal melody and emphasizes them fifty-fold. Arguably,
this is the very best song Denny Laine ever wrote — and I never really know if
it is a good thing or a bad thing that it is so deeply concealed in the cracks
of a not-too-popular McCartney record. Probably good, since it still has a
bigger chance of discovery than Dennyʼs solo version.
ʽDonʼt Let It Bring You Downʼ, another
highlight, is a slow, stubborn, frigid waltz whose lyrics propagate hope in the
face of seemingly unsolvable problems, but whose music is one of the most vivid
portrayals of a broken-hearted person wallowing in his own pain. The quietly nagging,
monotonous electric guitar part that accompanies the main acoustic riff
throughout the song (and is only allowed to break into a real solo in the coda)
hangs in there like some dull toothache that refuses to let go; the counterpoint
flute riff breaks in from time to time like some ancient Greek funeral march;
the quietly mournful tone of Paulʼs falsetto is the epitome of bleakness. If I
knew nothing whatsoever about chronology, I would have easily made a blind
guess that the song was recorded for Driving
Rain, Paulʼs answer to Lindaʼs death — as it is, he happened to write the
most convenient song about the harshest event in his life twenty years before
the fact.
In between all these subtle emotional peaks, London Town places lighter elements,
such as the fairly straightforward pop-rocker ʽIʼve Had Enoughʼ (which could
just as well have been written around 1963), the somewhat gross send-up
vaudeville number ʽFamous Groupiesʼ (one of those songs that would today earn a
death sentence from the cultural police), and the nostalgic Perkins-meets-Vincent
rockabilly tribute ʽName And Addressʼ. These are all nice, but something
special; the albumʼs true wildcard is ʽMorse Moose And The Grey Gooseʼ, a
frantic mix of disco rhythms, prog noodling, folk harmonies, and nonsensic
lyrics that ends the whole thing on a note of total confusion and disarray — a
far, far cry from the melancholic tranquility of ʽLondon Townʼ. I am not a big fan
of this track (it lacks both the apocalyptic overtones of ʽ1985ʼ and the
sorrowful absurdism of ʽMonkberry Moon Delightʼ), but it does show Paul trying
to apply creativity and imagination to new musical formulae, rather than just
doing it the common way on tracks like ʽGoodnight Tonightʼ.
In the end, London Town might take more time to grow on you than is usual with
Wings, but its autumnal charms easily make it, perhaps, the second most intelligent Wings album after Band On The Run. If you are not
convinced, play it side by side with something like Pipes Of Peace, just to see what it is that separates an inventive
McCartney record from a flat and formulaic McCartney album. It may be so that
its very «grayishness» and persistent melancholy have blocked Paul from
revisiting any of its songs in concert, or maybe he just remembers it as the
single most Denny Laine-dependent project of his life; whatever be, London Town deserves to be dusted off
and properly enjoyed — particularly on those gray, dull, rainy days on which
you are tempted to wonder if itʼs all really worth it.
Thanks for yet another fine review. With Apple Itunes, I download music I like and have never had a problem with this LP, as I recall With A Little Luck on the airwaves back in 1978-79 and my older sister saying something like "this song gets bashed so much, but it is a nice tune": that kind of sums things up for me with London Town. Although I agree with you that the title track is complex and dark. I do not get much gloom as you describe from, say, Cafe on the Left Bank, but that is also a ... nice tune. And, certainly, Don't Let It Bring You Down is more than nice. It has complexity, too. In short, while I agree with your review in a general sense, London Town as "second place" to Band on the Run is truly a far ways away second place...
ReplyDeleteThere is something I don't understand. I have a dream: "I am hardly a fan of such choral pomposity." Sailing (old site): "let's just forget this stuff". But Mull of Kintyre: "anthemic, impressive, glorious".
ReplyDeleteAll three songs pull off the same trick. Same trick, same purpose, same effect and afaIc same dislike. No, I don't have a problem with bagpipes - but they are no excuse either.
Very simple. 'Mull Of Kintyre' doesn't have operatic pretense like the other two.
DeleteCan't believe that you came up with that one-liner in 7 minutes! Kudos to MNb for the incisive commentary too!
DeleteIs "Girls' School" on the remaster" Great song!
ReplyDeleteI believe it was in Philip Norman´s McCartney Biography I read Paul saying that "cafe on the Left Bank" is pure factual. John and Paul in Paris October 1961. The lyrics describes how Paul experienced it. The kind of song an old man writes,looking back at happy days of youth. Surprising that he was only thirtyfive at the time. You can compare it to On My Way to Work or Early Days from New, forty years later.
ReplyDeleteWhy is it that the bridge of With a Little Luck ("There is no end to what we can do, together...") rarely gets lauded? The chorus is kind of lame but that other part is pure Beatles magic to me.
ReplyDelete