McCartney pulls it back together for what is probably his best work post-Beatles. There are two Wings albums between this and his rather perfunctory first post-Beatles album, but evidently it took time for him to really find his niche. That this album was recorded after two of the original members of Wings left, leaving only Paul and Linda McCartney and guitarist Denny Laine, makes it more incredible that it turned out well; much of it is McCartney over-dubbing himself.
Further troubles beset the production. On pretty much a whim, McCartney decamped production to Lagos in Nigeria, thinking it to be a beach paradise and not a crime-ridden country fresh out of civil war. They were robbed, Paul became ill, they had a confrontation with Fela Kuti (who was angry in case they’d come to culturally appropriate African music) but in the end were helped out by Kuti’s pal Ginger Baker. Considering all of this mess, it’s remarkable that the album sounds as good as it does.
The title track is a suite of three mini-tunes, in effect, but somehow manages to work, while the other big hit, Jet is some straightforward but really solid pop-rock. Kuti’s concerns are largely unfounded, but there are traces of African rhythms in both Mrs Vanderbilt and Mamunia, two of the stronger tracks on the album that aren’t the famous singles.
By and large, there’s very little trace of Beatles-era McCartney, these tracks are more complex than he tended to write, but a couple of them do have a Beatles feel – Let Me Roll It sounds more Lennon, and No Words has a Harrison feel, oddly enough. Enough, indeed, to spur me to go back and check that some old Beatles collaboration wasn’t going on, but no, it’s probably due to a process of osmosis through having worked with them for so long.
For me, the weakest track is probably Picasso’s Last Words, written, apparently, after a bet, or a dare, from Dustin Hoffman. And it sounds like it too. The final track, Nineteen Hundred And Eighty Five, however, is a rousing finish to the album, turning back to the slow first movement of Band On The Run at the end.
For me, this is probably McCartney’s best album, and as a post-Beatles album it’s on a par with Lennon/Plastic Ono Band for the sheer interest and variety of its tunes. The cover is fun too. Some of the people (Christopher Lee, James Coburn) being more enduring and recognisable outside the UK. Michael Parkinson is probably somewhere in the middle, I don't know how many people who aren't Brits of a certain vintage would recognise (comedian) Kenny Lynch or (boxer) John Conteh these days.
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