Two years on from the original two slipcased hardback volumes and close to 1,000 pages, the Greatest Living British Songwriter is celebrated once more with a thin, lighter, more portable edition that just happens to have seven more songs as well. Bonus tracks, if you will.
Just 590 pages cram in 161 lyrics and accompanying commentaries, and the urgent need to possess both editions might largely depend upon how you feel about: “Bluebird,” “Day Tripper,” “English Tea,” “Every Night,” “Hello, Goodbye,” “Magical Mystery Tour” and, for all the Cilla completists out there, “Step Inside Love.”
The fact is, however, in terms of protracted browsing, easy reference, or simply reading in the bath, this latest edition is a lot more user friendly than its predecessor. Having everything in one place, as opposed to needing to flip between two honking great tomes, makes tracking through an entire album easier; and anyone holding back on a purchase till the original came down in price will likely rejoice in the $30 cover price.
As for the contents —if you care, you’ve already leafed through a copy; if you don’t, McCartney could say whatever he wanted about any song in the world, and you wouldn’t give a damn. Suffice to say, his acknowledged resistance to writing an autobiography (“the time has never been right”) is at least mitigated by the sheer depth of detail he gets into in his commentaries.
No, you could not excise the lyrics, rearrange the pages, and read his life from cradle to everybody’s fave rave. He does not dwell, he does not indulge, he doesn’t even seem to settle scores. He just tells the story of every song like it is, and if there are myths to be punctured or indeed reinforced, that’s where it happens. His acknowledgment, for example, that “Yesterday” might well have been written about his mother (he always used to deny this) is one that past reviews have dwelled upon, but his denial that every love song is about a particular lover knocks a few sacred cows around a little.
He admits that, lyrically, “Old Siam Sir” embarrasses him a little, but agrees that the song is all about feel; and he describes “Another Day” as “‘Eleanor Rigby’ meets Alfred Hitchcock’s Rwar Window,” which is so spot on an analogy it’s amazing that nobody else has said it before. Probably because they’re still too busy chuckling over John’s dismissal of the song in “How Do You Sleep.” “One of his little piss-takes,” says McCartney simply.
It is a wonderful book, an exhilarating read and, if you need to soundtrack your listening, the songs themselves will keep you going for days. But sigh, if you will, a wistful sigh as you get up to dance to yet another song that was a hit before your mother was born. Once he wrote about such things. Now there’s several generations out there for whom he actually wrote them.
