海角大神

When 鈥淲ho鈥檚 your favorite Beatle?鈥� was a playground quiz in 1964, the cute one always won. Even though the quartet鈥檚 achievement was collective and their solo careers proved it, countless grown-up fans, critics, musicologists, talking eggheads, and even politicians have weighed in on the same question since. By and large, the recount has stayed almost as lopsided, but to the now 74-year-old cute one鈥檚 detriment.

His annoyance, too. 鈥淚t has always irked Paul that posterity regards him as the tuneful, cozy, safe side of the McCartney-Lennon partnership and John as the rebel, experimenter and iconoclast,鈥� explains veteran Beatles biographer Philip Norman in the new Paul McCartney: The Life. Yet even Norman did two books all about John before getting to Macca, and that was after his first Beatles tome 鈥� 1981鈥檚 "Shout!," which McCartney renamed "Shite"听鈥� cast Paul as the manipulative nasty to John鈥檚 newly martyrdom-certified genius.

Norman has obviously revised his 鈥�80s opinion considerably. Also, one presumes, sincerely 鈥� that is, not just to appease the McCartneyites who are his likeliest readers. But he鈥檚 still enough of a 鈥�60s product to take it for granted that rebellion, experimentation, and iconoclasm are innately superior to tunefulness, coziness, and safety in a pop star. That鈥檚 why some of the most provocative pages of "Paul McCartney: The Life" make a case for Paul as the band鈥檚 true avant-gardist, at least until Yoko鈥檚 arrival turned John into the expert literally overnight.

It鈥檚 not just that "Sgt. Pepper鈥檚 Lonely Hearts Club Band," the album that vaulted the Beatles from popular recognition as the best rock band ever to bedazzled intellectuals鈥� acclaim as creators of Great Modern Art, is basically McCartney鈥檚 baby, 鈥淎 Day in the Life鈥� or no 鈥淎 Day in the Life.鈥� Even that Lennon masterpiece wouldn鈥檛 be one minus the inspired mundanity of Paulie鈥檚 鈥淲oke up, got out of bed/ Dragged a comb across my head鈥� interpolation. The most ambitious departure from conventional pop-song formats the Beatles ever put on a record 鈥� the 16-minute collage of fragmentary tunes on Side 2 of "Abbey Road," which tops Lennon鈥檚 slovenly 鈥淩evolution 9鈥� as experiments go, not only because it鈥檚 cleverer but because it鈥檚 one whale of a lot more hummable 鈥� is, once again, all Paul.

In the mid-鈥�60s, when the world was the Beatles鈥� oyster, he was hipping himself to John Cage, Sun Ra, and Stockhausen while an increasingly morose Lennon 鈥� 鈥渂asically a lazy bastard,鈥� one Beatles factotum reports 鈥� sat things out in the suburbs. McCartney was also frequenting London鈥檚 chic Indica art gallery and helping to bankroll Britain鈥檚 first real alternative newspaper, all busily enough to make people decide that the cute one was also the artsy one. In fact, when Yoko got to London in 1966, Paul 鈥� not John 鈥� was the one whose good will she was hoping to cultivate.

It doesn鈥檛 matter, though. History will always see Paul as bourgeois and John as bohemian and radical, something explained rather than undercut by the fact that Paul grew up poorer than John did, making him forever 鈥渁spirational鈥� in ways his partner had no use for. With the big exception of bagging teacher training school to try his luck as a rock musician instead, rebellion was a luxury McCartney couldn鈥檛 afford; Lennon saw it as his birthright. And let us now note that I鈥檝e gotten a third of the way through this review without managing to discuss Paul other than by contrasting him with John, even though I鈥檓 trying to turn the comparison to the cute one鈥檚 advantage for a change.

That makes a remark by Tony Sheridan 鈥� the only performer ever to use the then-unknown Beatles as his backing band 鈥� unusually telling: 鈥淲atching them, I used to think that Paul could probably make it without John, but John was never going to make it without Paul.鈥� Sheridan knew them during the fabled apprenticeship on Hamburg鈥檚 notorious Reeperbahn that transformed the future Fab Four from innocent wannabes to toughened pros in one of Europe鈥檚 coarser sex-drugs-and-rock-鈥榥鈥�-roll purlieus. Norman does a first-rate job of reconstructing that environment: rotten living conditions, rats everywhere, the constant shagging, and amphetamine-fueled nightly sets.

He鈥檚 even better on Liverpool, steering us around that proletarian city鈥檚 school system, post-WW2 privations, minute but paralyzing class distinctions, and future Beatles landmarks 鈥� including, of course, the real Penny Lane, the setting for one of McCartney鈥檚 greatest songs 鈥� as confidently as the native son he isn鈥檛. It鈥檚 always good to be reminded that the Beatles were provincials, as remote from London鈥檚 cosmopolitan swank as a set of mop-topped, ambitious Balzac heroes. That was only slightly less true of Brian Epstein, the inexperienced impresario who nonetheless figured out how to turn them into, well, the Beatles. An ultimately poignant figure 鈥� unhappily aware his lads no longer needed him, he died of an apparently accidental overdose of barbiturates in 1967 鈥� Epstein gets his full due here.

Norman鈥檚 account of Beatlemania鈥檚 outbreak in both the UK and the US is surprisingly sketchy, no doubt because it鈥檚 not only an oft-told tale but one he鈥檚 told several times himself in his earlier books. Where his depth of knowledge comes in handy is in his descriptions of the Beatles, and McCartney in particular, at work. That means, above all, the Beatles 鈥� and McCartney in particular 鈥� in the studio, from the evolving collaboration with producer George Martin as their music鈥檚 complexity grew by leaps and bounds to the increasing frictions as Paul鈥檚 taste for pop virtuosity clashed with Lennon鈥檚 ongoing psychodrama, George Harrison鈥檚 also-ran petulance, and good old Ringo鈥檚 boredom with everybody else鈥檚 ego trips. Equally valuable is Norman鈥檚 appreciation of the key role played by the cultured family of McCartney鈥檚 鈥�60s girlfriend, Jane Asher 鈥� under whose roof he lived for years 鈥� in shaping his idea of sophistication, including wanting to be innovative and genteel simultaneously.

Then the boys acrimoniously call it a day, foundering in a welter of management disputes and financial hemorrhages, and we鈥檙e into the solo years 鈥� which have, in McCartney鈥檚 case, stretched to four and a half solo decades. Since Jane Asher was history by then, he spent most of them married to Linda Eastman, every bit as much his one-and-only as Yoko was John鈥檚. Try as he might, Norman can鈥檛 quite get a bead on Eastman; depending on who鈥檚 testifying, she was either kindness incarnate or a real piece of work. What鈥檚 painfully clear is that her death of cancer in 1998 was the major tragedy of McCartney鈥檚 mostly sunny life, and my heart genuinely went out to him.

Otherwise, once the excitement of his self-reinvention leading the band he named Wings is over and done with 鈥� "Band on the Run" was the breakthrough, 鈥淟ive and Let Die鈥� the peak of pure fun, and 鈥淪illy Love Songs鈥� the manifesto that Lennonists will hoot at forever 鈥�" Paul McCartney: The Life"becomes a bit of a slog, though that鈥檚 not Norman鈥檚 fault. He鈥檚 just got to march his readers through a whole bunch of frequently winsome but mostly inconsequential albums, along with pages of stuff about Linda the animal rights activist and vegetarian entrepreneur and the couple鈥檚 many houses 鈥� not to mention the music publishing acquisitions that turned McCartney into one of the wealthiest pop stars in history as he accumulated honors (including his 1997 knighthood) by the cartload.

Regrettably, beyond some standard-issue truisms about the cute one鈥檚 melodic facility and penchant for whimsy, Norman doesn鈥檛 have the chops for a serious evaluation of McCartney鈥檚 music or his place in pop history 鈥� though he鈥檚 right to zero in on bits like the exquisite choice of names for the grandchildren in 鈥淲hen I鈥檓 Sixty-Four鈥� (鈥淰era, Chuck, and Dave,鈥� in case you鈥檝e forgotten) to remind us of how deft and well honed Paul鈥檚 lyrics could be at their best. All the same, his book does convey a strong enough sense of McCartney鈥檚 temperament and life priorities to give readers a new understanding of how utterly they鈥檙e reflected in his art.

At once remarkable and screamingly obvious, the most salient takeaway is simply that he鈥檚 a man without anger 鈥� not any he鈥檚 willing to cop to, anyhow. That doesn鈥檛 just put him at odds with Lennon; it makes him an anomaly among all of rock鈥檚 鈥�60s godheads, from Dylan to Mick Jagger to an idiot like Jim Morrison. Even that introvert Brian Wilson arguably transmuted a rage he didn鈥檛 think he had any right to express into a melancholy he was all too at home with.

Even at its jolliest, 鈥�60s rock 鈥榥鈥� roll was implicitly adversarial, generationally if not politically 鈥� but not Paul鈥檚 rock 鈥榥鈥� roll. He was virtually alone in seeing his own generation鈥檚 music as just another innovative episode in pop music history, not a seismic break with everything that had gone before it.

Any reconsideration of the cute one ought to start there, because being the totemic geniuses of an innovative episode in pop music history is what will keep the Beatles immortal. Although it鈥檚 still stirring if you鈥檙e in the right mood, Lennon鈥檚 radical project did fail, after all. What鈥檚 proven most durable about the Beatles鈥� achievement is their melodic virtuosity, puckish showmanship, fusion of blues-based American rock 鈥榥鈥� roll with Tin Pan Alley and Brit music hall, and almost unparalleled ability to generate pure happiness 鈥� in other words, the virtues we identify most with Paul, who鈥檚 done his best to go on exemplifying them throughout his solo career. I can鈥檛 be the only boomer who never expected to ask this, but: Good God, what if Paul McCartney was right all along?