![power cut song paul mccartney lyrics power cut song paul mccartney lyrics](https://media.newyorker.com/photos/61607e5f59460a2dfe693542/3:2/w_2532,h_1688,c_limit/211018_r39178.jpg)
Back in England, in late May of 1968 (no one remembers the exact date), they gathered at George’s bungalow at Esher in Surrey to see what they had.Īmid George’s Hindu décor, sitting on the cushions that replaced chairs, the four friends formed a circle and hashed out the songs that might become their next album. The most exciting revelation of the seven-disc box set for the White Album is the disc devoted to the Esher Demos, the acoustic demos that the Beatles made of 27 songs they’d written while on retreat with Maharishi Mahesh Yogi in Rishikesh, India. But it’s easier to write about the desperate plea for comfort in the lyrics for “Help” than it is to write about the astonishing intervals in the melody for “Yesterday,” so John’s psychodrama becomes history and Paul’s triumph is glossed over. Of the songs most often recorded by other artists (“Yesterday,” “Eleanor Rigby,” “Blackbird,” “Let It Be,” “Michelle,” “Something,” “Help” and “Come Together”), only the latter two were written by John (“Something” was written by George Harrison). Stevie Wonder, Brian Wilson and Stephen Sondheim came close, but Paul was the best.Īnother way to look at this is to ask which Beatles songs have endured. But no one was a better melodicist in the second half of the 20th century than Paul. John was a skillful lyricist, but he was eclipsed by the likes of such ‘60s peers as Bob Dylan, Randy Newman, Smokey Robinson, Paul Simon, Joni Mitchell, even Ray Davies (though John was a better singer and composer than any of them). For all that, though, John is championed for his verbal intellect, while Paul is underappreciated for his non-verbal inventions.īoth John and Paul were versatile songwriters and performers who could excel in many areas, but if you ask which one had a once-in-a-generation gift, the answer is Paul. So let’s recognize its role.īefore we go any further, let’s acknowledge that John wrote many memorable melodies (just listen to “Don’t Let Me Down” or “Julia”), while Paul wrote some unforgettable lyrics (“Eleanor Rigby” and “Paperback Writer”). In fact, one can argue that melody is the listener’s first and most crucial link to the song’s emotion. How does one distinguish a great vocal line from a pedestrian one? But difficulty is no excuse for shrinking from the task. It’s easy to write about lyrics, of course, and fairly easy to write about arrangements and rhythm, but melody and harmony are elusive. If music supplies at least half the power of a song, the music should get at least half the credit. As a result, Paul’s achievement tends to get underrated and thus history gets distorted.Īfter all, these are songs we’re talking about, not books. This isn’t surprising critics work with words, and it’s far easier to describe John’s strengths in words than it is to discuss Paul’s. Such an argument might seem silly, but it highlights an important problem in the history of popular music: Critics find it much easier to write about lyrics and concepts, which were John’s specialties, than to write about melody and harmony, which were Paul’s. And listening to all this music has prompted this critic to make the case for Paul as his favorite Beatle-the most important Beatle of all. His sainthood was confirmed when he was martyred by a forerunner of the modern era’s most dangerous cult: deluded people with guns.Īs 2018 draws to a close, we have a new solo album from Paul McCartney and four box-set treatments of older albums: the Beatles’ White Album, John Lennon’s Imagine, Paul’s Wild Life and Paul’s Red Rose Speedway. For most critics, the answer has been John, the Beatle who wrote books, led protests, attacked sacred cows and confessed his misery to the world-all activities that critics can relate to. Music critics are really no different from those girls, and they’ve been engaged in the same debate for more than half a century. When the Beatles first arrived in America in 1964, it sparked a fervent debate among 14-year-old girls from Seattle to Miami: Who is your favorite Beatle? Was it Ringo, the goofy one Paul, the cute one George, the silent one or John, the brainy one?