McCartney & Me

When I met Paul McCartney for the first time, I handed him sunflowers. The second time I met him, I asked him about Tina Turner. The third time? I was interviewing him for a feature article.

A lot of life happened between those second and third times, but let me go back to the very beginning … to young Christian staring, mesmerized, at the album cover of Wings Greatest. These past few weeks, I’ve been spending a lot of time in the house where I grew up. Seeing the snow on the ground reminds me of this particular album cover. Before I tell you what it is, let me tell you what I thought it was …

As a two year old, I had no idea how to interpret this image of what appeared to be a statue standing in the snow. The back cover didn’t offer many clues, though I was fascinated by all of the pictures that accompanied each song title. Like I often did as a young boy, I found meaning in the artwork by listening to the music. The first part of “Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey” made that image make sense to me: the instrumentation had a vastness to it that seemed to mirror how the blue sky met the snow-capped peaks in the photograph. The statue’s pose seemed to connote flight (or “Wings,” naturally) and some of the sound effects in the song reminded me of a bird in flight. Though there’s a photo of Paul and Linda McCartney and Wings member Denny Laine on the back cover, I connected “Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey” more with the statue in the snow than McCartney himself.

In reality, that statue depicts Semiramis, the Queen of Assyria. It’s a chryselephantine that was made by Art Deco sculptor Demetre Chiparus. Paul and Linda had the statue flown to Swiss Alps for the photo session! (Read more about that here.)

To become aware of Paul McCartney during the early-‘80s was a unique experience for me because I had no preconceptions about his already legendary career. Wings Greatest — my sister’s album — marked my introduction to Paul, then there was the gradual discovery of several Beatles albums in my parents’ collection, Abbey Road specifically, since two year old me was curious about why there was a photo of an apple on the record label. I’m not sure when I realized Paul was a part of both bands; it was probably as simple as recognizing his voice on “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer” and vaguely sensing that the barefoot guy on Abbey Road looked similar to the guy on the back cover of that album with the statue.

And then hearing McCartney and Stevie Wonder on the radio with “Ebony and Ivory” and McCartney and Michael Jackson with “The Girl is Mine” … and then the best of those duets, McCartney and MJ’s “Say Say Say.” My sister got that 45 single. Thinking back on it now, “Say Say Say” bridged my love of Wings Greatest with MJ’s Thriller, an album so massive that my sister and I each got our own copy for Christmas 1983.

Of Paul’s considerable catalog — solo, duets, Wings, The Beatles — I will always have the most affection for Wings Greatest. At such a young age, I didn’t realize it was a compilation. I just thought of those songs like they were a series of vignettes; very few of them your standard pop song, despite strong melodies. I’ve always admired how Paul could explore and synthesize so many disparate elements in four-five minutes, “Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey,” of course, but then the epic “Band on the Run,” the brief reggae interlude in “Live and Let Die,” the opening chimes and trick fade in “Let ‘Em In,” whatever that sound is in the introduction to “Silly Love Songs” (aka Paul goes to the disco … one of my favorites, of course).

There’s a whole period of my life, say 1987-1989, where I became a massive Beatles fan. I was a disciple of The Compleat Beatles documentary, which was second to Girl Groups as my favorite music doc from early childhood. There’s a photo I have where I’m holding copies of Rubber Soul and Revolver, two Beatles albums that my parents didn’t have, but I first saw in The Top 100 Rock ‘n’ Roll Albums of All Time book I got from BookHampton (see “How I Started Writing”). I remember feeling such excitement and pride when George Harrison had a comeback with Cloud Nine because that made my Beatles interest feel even more of the moment.

I must add here: my parents’ wedding song was “Something,” one of the most stunning songs George Harrison ever wrote during his time with The Beatles. If they could have had two wedding songs, I’m pretty sure the second one would have been McCartney’s solo “Maybe I’m Amazed.” They both loved that song, and had that first McCartney solo album in their collection.

When my sister got a CD player in 1989, I had a tough decision to make: what CD do I get to christen her new sound system? I decided on Paul McCartney: All the Best, which overlapped with Wings Greatest in some places but also introduced me to “Listen to What the Man Said,” “Goodnight Tonight,” and the live version of “Coming Up.” I could finally hear all my favorites from Wings Greatest without skips or scratches!

Three years later, I started working at Dayton Farm in East Hampton during summer vacation and managed the stand on side of the road. We sold flowers and vegetables. Paul was one of our customers. I’d heard he’d visited the stand and wondered if he’d come on a day when I was there. I remember when it finally happened — Paul and Linda drove up in a convertible. She was wearing a black bathing suit with a sarong. I was 14 years old. I composed myself and waited on them, like any other customer. The second time Paul came by that summer, he was alone. I asked him what it was like performing with Tina Turner at The Prince’s Trust Concert. He told me how he was so taken by Tina’s energy onstage and was inspired by how she’d overcome so much in her life, more so than many other people would ever understand. I’m thankful that he indulged the question of a nervous yet excited teenager who’d never met anyone who’d actually performed with Tina Turner!

Fast forward to 2007. I’m sitting with McCartney at a recording studio in the Meatpacking District where we discuss his new album Memory Almost Full. It’s for one of my first feature articles on PopMatters. And I was ready. I had zeroed in on a few key tracks, but then also asked him about his artwork and classical compositions. The night before he’d done a secret gig at the Highline Ballroom. He said the walls were sweaty but he wouldn’t have minded if they were a bit sweatier because it reminded him of his early gigs with The Beatles. It was a short interview, 15-20 minutes, but ever the pro, he answered succinctly and with depth.

I’ve only read that interview once since it was published but I remember exactly how I felt. I wasn’t nervous. I was focused. I was open. I was curious. And about 10 minutes after it ended, blocks away from the studio, I burst into tears. Why was I crying? Part of it was a release of adrenaline, part of it was taking on other people’s excitement about interviewing McCartney (“one of the Beatles!!!”), and maybe part of it was me channeling young Christian John, overcome with wonder that he’d just shared space with one of his music idols. It was the first time I had the privilege of interviewing a legendary singer-songwriter, face to face … and I was only getting started.

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