A little insert into this reissue of Paul McCartney’s 1973’s album Band on the Run says that “coming soon” to the “Paul McCartney Archive Collection” are expanded reissues of McCartney, Ram, Venus and Mars, Wings at the Speed of Sound, Wings over America, and McCartney II—all excellent records in the catalog of McCartney’s half-century of music-making. Though at the time many of those records were poorly received, history has proven much kinder—and it’s about time that they receive a polished, well-orchestrated revision.
It was wise, though, that the series begins with Band on the Run, an album that is arguably McCartney’s finest post-Beatles record. The story of its creation, of course is well-known; the band recorded the album in August and September 1973 in Lagos, Nigeria, as a three-piece, when drummer Denny Seiwell and guitarist Henry McCulloch quit the band. That it was recorded in Africa doesn’t particularly make much difference on the recording; aside from the somewhat tribal-sounding “Mamunia,” the music found in its grooves is standard, straightforward 1970s rock.
What is obvious, though, is that this working three-piece version of Wings was incredibly tight. Up to this point, McCartney had taken his band out on tour, and had finally whet his live chops. McCartney has always had a soft-tooth for cohesive concepts for his records, and the one found here—as depicted by the iconic cover art—is that of a band on the lam. Creating a post-Beatles repertoire must have been on his mind, as McCartney forgoes some of the more self-indulgent song-writing moments that had dominated his previous work. (Indeed, the band’s setlist for the massive ’75/‘76 Wings over the World tour would include all nine songs, with four of them being found on 1977’s Wings over America live album.)
Launching with the title track (inspired by George Harrison‘s moaning “If I ever get out of here” at a post-breakup business meeting, likening the Beatles to a prison he wanted to escape from), Band on the Run is relentless in its delivery. The one-two rock punch of “Band on the Run” and “Jet” is followed by “Bluebird,” a song sounds like a companion to 1968’s “Blackbird,” and is followed by “Mrs. Vandebilt,” a scathing narrative about a worry-wartism and stress, with him declaring, “What’s the use of worrying,” with an extremely catchy melody hook.
If there’s one common stylistic distinction found here, it’s that most of these songs beg for the listener to sing along with them, not only with the choruses of the title song and “Jet,” but also with “Picasso’s Last words (Drink to Me)” and album closer “Nineteen Hundred and Eighty Five.” Then there’s “Let Me Roll It.” A slow-burning blues number, it instantly recalls Abbey Road‘s “Oh! Darling.” It’s one of McCartney’s finest numbers, with his voice displaying a power rarely heard before or since. It’s the album’s highlight; it closed out side one, it is, indeed, the album’s centerpiece, and begs for repeated listening. That McCartney sounds like John Lennon on it…well, make of that what you will.
This reissue does Band on the Run right; forget, then, the 25th anniversary version—with a bizarre and uninteresting “commentary” bonus disc that only offered one or two authentic outtakes in full, whilst splitting up 1990s-era recordings of album songs and piecemeal swatches of alternate versions and interviews. (If you really must have this rather pointless disc and have the money to spend, you can buy a “Deluxe version” of the “expanded version” that comes in a hardback book of Linda McCartney photographs and offers this disc as a bonus.) Instead, a second disc offers nine songs from the era, including single “Helen Wheels” (heretofore offered on the US versions of the album), B-sides “Country Dreamer” and “Zoo Gang,” and the rehearsal versions of Band On The Run songs from the previously unreleased tour rehearsal documentary One Hand Clapping, which is the highlight of the DVD that’s included, which also contains videos for “Helen Wheels,” “Band on the Run,” “Mamunia,” a promotional Band on the Run film, and a collection of home movies.
A question lingers: it would not be unfair to call many—if not all—of the songs on Band on the Run “Beatlesque.” Was McCartney—an artist notorious about following his muse with no regard to what his audience may think—consciously trying to make songs that would live up to the standard of his previous band? Maybe he was, maybe he wasn’t. That his most Beatles-like record was his biggest success…well, is that just a coincidence? It’s a question best left for late-night discussions. Band on the Run is a fine, perfect McCartney record; may the rest of his catalog be treated with the love and care shown here.
