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McCartney interview

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Olufunmilayo McGauran

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Sep 12, 2000, 4:34:59 PM9/12/00
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The Guardian (UK) had an interview with Paul McCartney. He seems to be
opening up a bit more these days. I remember interviews that he gave to
Q and various TV stations in the 1980s when he would produce reams of
words without actually saying much at all.
--
Olufunmilayo McGauran

diane lacasse

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Sep 12, 2000, 8:49:55 PM9/12/00
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I agree. Even in the Daily Record, I read an article today, Paul McCartney
by
Paul McCartney. Quite interesting. Glad to see that he's giving more
interviews for sure, and that he's being so candid.

Diane

Tony Pinto

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Sep 16, 2000, 11:13:17 PM9/16/00
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Are there any links to either of these articles? I'd love to read them.
Thanks,
Tony

KroppMA

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Sep 20, 2000, 3:00:00 AM9/20/00
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After Linda - It has been a hellish two years for Paul McCartney, and they have
left him a changed man. Here he talks to Simon Hattenstone about his grief, his
music, his paintings - and his new romance
(Simon Hattenstone, Guardian)
Monday September 11, 2000

Paul McCartney clicks the Wurlitzer jukebox, and Fats Domino springs into
action. "Hey, Hey I'm In Love Again." He sings along and says it is his
favourite at the moment. If there was one of his own songs on the jukebox what
would it be? "Maybe I'm Amazed," he says without hesitation.

We are looking over Soho from the top of his fiercely corporate office block.
Outside, in the park, two bedraggled middle-aged fans pop their head over the
hedge at regular intervals and stare up to the window. They look as if they
could have been there for years.

The office is a celebration of all things McCartney. Any number of gold and
platinum discs, awards galore, the car number plate Ay Jude, two identical
photographs of McCartney being pulled across Abbey Road by a sheepdog - the
only difference being 30 odd years. His shelves are stuffed with art books, pop
books, business books. Next to an eight-volume encyclopaedia of popular music
is How To Succeed In Business Without Really Trying. McCartney has succeeded,
to the tune of £550m, but only because he is a pop genius and he has tried
very, very hard.

McCartney, 58, is dressed in formal black jacket, jeans with a self conscious
rip, groovy T-shirt, Jesus sandles and not so groovy blue socks. Clothes that
somehow encapture his disparate, almost contrary elements.

It has been a hell of a two years for him. Really, hellish. When his wife Linda
died many people expected him to crumble. He says he almost did. He cried and
cried, and talked to anybody who would listen, and cried some more, and
eventually he started crawling out of the mire. He looked to the future by
putting the past in context, visiting his old home in Liverpool, playing at his
old haunt, the Cavern, where the Beatles made their name 40 years ago,
anthologising some more of his musical history. He even found a new girlfriend,
the model and disability rights campaigner Heather Mills, who lost a leg when
she was knocked down by a police vehicle.

Now he is relaunching himself as a painter with an exhibition in Bristol and a
handsome book of his work accompanied by Linda's photographs. Actually, it is
unfair to say he is relaunching himself as a painter. He is unveiling himself.
He knows the critics will laugh and carp - many have already done so. But some
of the more abstract pictures are great.

One of the paintings is called "Is this a self-portrait?" I ask him if it is.
"I don't know. It looks just a bit like me in the Beatles." I say it also looks
like John Lennon. "Uh huh, well hence the title. 'Is it a self-portrait?' "

Perhaps Lennon was the other great love of his life - but if this was love, it
was a tormented, bilious love. Lennon and McCartney the great songwriting team,
the great rivals. Even now, 20 years after Lennon's death, the rivalry, the
bitter love, seems to be very much alive. What's his favourite Beatles song?
"All mine! No steady on. Favourite Beatles song!" He is struggling. "My
favourite Beatles song, I don't know. Of mine I like Here There and Everywhere,
Eleanor Rigby, Hey Jude, of John's I like Nowhere Man, A Day In The Life." I
tell him I'm disillusioned, I thought they wrote the songs together. He doesn't
answer. Since Lennon's death McCartney has been determined to tell his side of
the story, to divide up the spoils and label them accurately.

Many people spend their 20s growing up, shaping their characters. Did McCartney
feel he missed out on that? He says they all developed musically, and does a
simple breakdown of the Beatles' progression from the early days through
introspection and on to psychedelia. At times he sounds more like a marketing
director than pop star. "Thank You Girl... direct appeals to the fans by our
records. PS I Love You , From Me To You . You know, direct salesmanship."

But as individuals they were stymied. A life of sex, drugs and rock and roll,
and all the liberties they entail, can be imprisoning. "There was a little bit
of, you know, like being in the army. There was an element of being a unit, a
number." He remembers talking to Ringo about Christmas trees, and Ringo telling
him he was getting his from the office. When he realised they had forgotten how
to buy their own Christmas trees he knew things were going wrong. "It was
summed up one morning when we were doing the White Album. I was working all day
and till three in the morning and we'd worked late right through the weekend. I
was coming into work and there was a guy watering his garden. It was a sunny
morning and he just looked at me and smiled, ' Good morning !' and I said,
'Good morning,' and I just stopped and said, ' Shit, who's got it right here?'
"

By the time the Beatles split up, McCartney looked like an old man. He nods.
"I'm certainly a lot more happy now than I was then." He goes off on one about
how the management collapsed, their money was disappearing, how the others had
given up, and he was fighting singlehandedly to salvage their earnings. He
talks and talks, justifies his decision to leave and split up the band. "I was
trying to save as it were a family business, but everyone in my family wanted
to give it away..." He says how close he is to the two surviving Beatles these
days. "And before John died I got my friendship back on track..." He tails off.


We open the book at a painting of Linda in pastel yellow. What does he think of
when he looks at it? "Just her patience... how nice she was... her beauty . . .
fine lass !" He is trying to make a wee joke of it.

I ask him what has given him most happiness. "I think marrying Linda. Personal
happiness. It was a reawakening. With the Beatles you lose your identity. You
put your identity into the common identity and you're a Beatle." He often talks
about the way they would go driving and she would tell him to get lost, take
any turn, see where it took them - just how he and John had done with the
music. But in real life he wasn't used to that. "I used to say 'No, no, we
don't do that, I'm a driver, you've got to find all the signs... The reason I
like Maybe I'm Amazed is because it summed up where I was at that time, newly
married, a lot of amazement at getting out of the sort of factory, the factory
farming. I could suddenly buy my own Christmas tree."

McCartney went on to form Wings with Linda. "That was to do with finding this
great woman and having kids with her, and then sustaining that in the madness
of the business was the thing really." At times Wings became a houseband for
their kids. He tells me how he wrote Mary Had a Little Lamb for his daughter
Mary so he had something to sing to her at night.

Did it hurt that so many people ridiculed Wings despite their success? For
once, he doesn't allow me to finish the question. "I'm jumping on that because
what happened with me and Linda, we believed it. We set about doing Wings
because I wanted to continue in music, and I wanted her with me, we were just
madly in love, so there didn't seem to be an alternative. So we believed this
whole idea that Wings were never as good, that it was a failure, a pale
imitation of the Beatles. What's great now is that a lot of people actually say
they preferred Wings. Now that's something I never thought anyone would say.
But it's because they grew up with it, it's their life soundtrack."

I tell him I still can't cope with the fact that Mull of Kintyre outsold every
Beatles single. In the gentlest of ways, he stands his ground. "Oh it's cool
man! It's a great record that. And in the punk era! My daughter Heather was a
punk and she said her friends would put it on the jukebox after Pretty Vacant
and the Damned and the Clash and all that. They'd then want a mellow moment and
put on Mull of Kintyre."

McCartney looks amazing today. The same buttercup mouth, skin so smooth he
looks pre-pubescent, barely a hint of a belly. But he seems to have changed. He
is calmer, less boisterous. There are none of the boysy, ingratiating winks and
cheesy thumbs-up of yesteryear.

We're still looking at the painting of Linda. Why hasn't he included his most
recent paintings of her in the book? "I haven't done many later paintings." I
thought he had continued painting her since she died."They're not of Linda.
They're just of turmoil."

Has the pain eased? "That's the trouble. People say time is a healer, and time
heals by erasing. That is a sad fact. I love my mum, but I'm not so sure I've
got a very clear picture of her face in my mind. I'm not saying I could ever
forget my mum or my dad or Linda or John. In some ways you remember them more,
but the details... When she died all of us in the family expected her to walk
in the door, and we don't now."

He says he feels bad about the fact that it becomes more difficult to conjure
up her face. "This is life, this is guilt. If we're lucky we let ourselves off
a little bit more, that's what I'm trying to do." It is surprising to hear
McCartney talk of guilt. He always came across as the great, easy optimist. "I
am, pretty..." And for a second he sounds thoroughly miserable.

"It was so traumatic losing Linda that I had to say, 'OK, I don't know how I'm
going to get through this.' " It took him a year to feel better. He says it
felt like a cyclical thing, passing through the seasons, reawakening. He still
talks to Linda, looks to her for advice. "It is the weirdest thing to say
because she's not here, but I think most people who've lost someone know what
I'm talking about. A lot of people I know talk to Linda. Our old housekeeper
Rose says, 'Good morning, Lin,' every day.

"I thought to myself, 'How much would she want me to grieve?' A months, two
months, three months, what is a seemly amount of time? After a while I felt
she'd be saying, 'That's enough, you've done enough.' "

He suddenly introduces his girlfriend Heather into the conversation. It sounds
like a formal announcement. "I have a new romance with Heather Mills, and I'm
very into it, She's a great girl, you know. And I have to talk to Linda about
that. You know, 'What am I doing babe? How d'you feel about this?' and what she
says is, 'If I was there you'd be dead meat, sucker. But I'm not there and I
want you to be happy.' That's the feeling I get back."

Has he asked Linda how she rates Heather? "I haven't actually asked that, but I
know they'd like each other because they have a lot of things in common, not on
the surface so much. A spirit, a toughness of spirit. Nobody's ever going to do
either of them, no person would ever put them down. Put them down at your risk
. They have big hearts. I think they would have got on great actually. But want
to feel comfortable that she somehow wouldn't hate the thought of me continuing
in the world with a new woman."

So many men of McCartney's age are retired and have started to live their life
vicariously through the achievements of their children and grandchildren. He
says that it would be possible for him to do it - he is close to all four kids,
and the clothes designer Stella and photographer Mary are now celebrities in
their own right. But he says there are so many things to do, he feels so hungry
for achievement, desperate to create - there are his paintings, the poems he is
planning to publish, more music of course. He feels as creative as when he was
starting out with the Beatles. In the past month he has started to paint again.
"They're much calmer now," he says.

I ask him whether he feels Linda's death has liberated him, and judder at the
insensitivity of my question. "Prrrr." He makes a strange noise as if he is
suddenly freezing, as if his soul has frozen over. "I would have preferred it
if it hadn't happened, you know, but it has changed me. I don't know about
liberated me. It has changed me. And having been through a fire of having to
deal with it, it's nice to come out the other end."


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