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DISCLAIMER: These reviews were NOT written by Mark Prindle.  This is meant to be nothing more than a light-hearted, hyperbolic tribute to my favorite record reviewer on the web.  In fact, it was uploaded in February of 2005, was never finished and was never intended to be read by anyone but me.  After I'd forgotten about it, Mr. Prindle himself stumbled upon it and complimented me on it, so I decided to keep it up.  Enjoy.

That guy from The Beatles who shits out albums like I shit out gorditas

special introductory paragraph! McCartney Ram Wild Life Red Rose Speedway Band On The Run Venus And Mars Wings At The Speed Of Sound Wings Over America Thrillington London Town Wings Greatest Back To The Egg McCartney II Tug Of War

Guess what?  When Poop McFartney left the Rutles, he started doin' his own thing!  If you like Paul's pop stuff in the Thrustles, as well as his keen ear for production and such, you will most likely appreciate his work in the '70s and (brother) beyond!  At one point he even started his own band: Wings.  Apparently Linda wanted to call it Maxi Pads but Paul, being a pompous ass, wouldn't have it.  So they compromised and called it Wingle Dingles.  Anyhow, Paul was one of the most popular performers of the 1970s, certainly the most popular ex Beatle, selling out stadiums and picnic tables the world over, and he had a good little run with some very nice pop rock albums.  But he started to suck the big tangerine in the 1980s and hasn't really stopped suckin' that tangerine since.  I think it has something to do with John Lennon getting shot, but then I'm a cynical bastard.

He's got a frigload of albums, though, and only a couple are totally good, so you really have to be careful where you tread, just like Woodsy the Owl once told you to do.  "Give a hoot.  Don't buy Paul's shittier albums!"  He said that.

That Maxi Pad joke didn't really work, did it?

So, when Paul McCartney was not busy breaking up the biggest friggest band in the world (the Reet Peteetles, for those of you playin' along at home) he was busy having sex with Linda.  But really, who wants to think about THAT?  I mean having sex with a dead woman is pretty

When Paul was not busy breaking up the Beatles, he was having some private, secret, James Bond kinda sessions down the hallway for what would be this, his first solo album, entitled McFartney, for those who can't read the little thingie I wrote up there.  Ironically, the whole time, Phil "Nutcase" Spector was in the next studio working on remixing all the Let It Be songs, which would later cause Mr. McCartney to run through a San Dimas mini-mall with a semi-automatic weapon, singing the theme from "Good Times."  But that wasn't until 1980, so I'm getting ahead of myself here.

Paul plays all the in-stro-ments here, which is really cool, and somebody told me that if you listen closely you can hear children playing in the background.  That's because some of these sessions were recorded at home on a 4 track recorder.  (You thought I was gonna say Neverland Ranch, didn't you?)

WOW!  This album is folkin' and smokin' and pokin' your mama all over the place.  It's raw, quiet, and much of it is kinda acoustic.  It is much like The Beatles' last long-player, Let It Quief, except instead of John and George songs you get ALL PAUL!  24/7!  Sometimes, it's great.  Other times, it sucks big fat rectal exhaust pipe.  But even the sucky stuff is still pretty fun. Except for "Teddy Boy," a tune that John "Georgie Boy" Lennon and George "Johnny Boy" Harrison had the good sense to reject when they was Peetles.

This album has perfect pop tunes that McCartney was capable of farting out in his nightmares at this point, like the folky fun o' "Every Night" and the piano power ballad "Maybe I'll Get Laid (Tonight, After I Record This)."  A lot of people like the later live version of the latter from Wings Over Antarctica, but I prefer this early, more intimate version, so shuck it shuckas!  You know the song "Junk" on the Beatles Anthology 3: The Search For Spock?  Well, Paul's version is on here, and it ain't much different.  Nice tune though, and you get double bang for your buck, because ol' Paul has provided you with a karaoke version near the end of the record.  And you get some typical "Paul trying to be a brutha" stuff like the blues-rocky "Oo You Little Dick(ens)."  There's also a couple of instrumentals which are alright, with one ending with a weird as frig sound of wine glasses being played.  So the album is kinda hit and miss, but even the throwaways sound pretty neato.

But god...somebody please fart on "Teddy Boy."

Do you feel my reviews are becoming too flatulent?
 
 

So what do we have here?  A FUCKING TEN, that's what we have here?  Sorry boys and girls. That means his catalogue is all downhill from here on out.  Unless he slips me a twenty before I get to the end of this review page.  Paul?  I am waiting.

This album is like the complete opposite, negative, reversal mirror image bizarrooooooo thingie of the predecessor McMintyfresh.  Oh, there's some more folk here and there, and more of Paul trying to sound like one o' dem negros, but everything has a smooth, polished sheen.  There's some orchestras hither and thither, weird voices, and little pop operas bouncing off the satellites!  "Eddie Albert/Cerebral Palsy" is a lullaby in the form of one big old medley, just like side two of Abbey Road.  It takes you on a little adventure, just like side two of Abbey Road.

Hey, remember Brian Wilson?  That genius guy who was in the Stacy Keach Boys but then flipped his wig and ended up in bed whacking his (Bruce) Johns(t)on to pornography for an entire decade?  Well, if you liked them Keach Boys, Paul has taken the liberty of nicking their best ideas, put forth in a song called "Back Seat Of My Car (Is Where I Get Laid, Every Night, But Not The Same Every Night On That Previous Album)."  The orchestra is loud and proud in this one, and the chord changes are oh so Brian.  And then Paul sings in these weird high voices all over the place.

There's lots of other stuff!  Too!  Just like side two of Abbey Road!  Like the sitting in the grass playing my acoustic guitar sound of "Heart Of The Country," where Paul gets closer to post-genius Brian Wilson, informing you that he wants a horse and a sheep and a good night's sleep, and you goddamn well better give it to him, because he wrote "Yesterday" for fuck's sake!  There's a total "Revolution" ripoff where Paul says he can smell your teeth and your feet.  So brush your fangs and put on some socks for god's sake.  There's a jaunty (did I say jaunty?) song called "Dear Boy" that will stick in your mind like crawfish, even though Paul and Linda spend one entire verse going "for taffita" or something like that.

And there's a couple of songs where Paul allegedly (it's all in litigation) takes a swipe at his old buddy Jonathan Livingston Lennon, just like side two of Abbey Road.  In fact, Paul OPENS the album with a folky, bluesy little toe-tapper, which is a dig at Lennon entitled "Too Many People (Unfairly Compare Me To John Lennon Dammit And I'm Tired Of It, Oh Wait, That Doesn't Really Happen Until John Gets Shot)."  A lot of people say Paul ain't ballsy, but I say that's shmallsy!  (And if you disagree with me, you'll get cerebral palsy.)  He opens up this goddamn album with a swipe at his old buddy!  Just like side two of Abbey Road!  In fact, he is ballsy all over this record, which is something you can't often say about the old man.

In fact, the most ballsy-shmallsy song of all is this FRIGGED up, stomping little Russian ditty called "Monkberry Moon Delight," where Paul screams bloody murder about pianos up his nose and how his hair is a tangled Baretta and how he left his pajamas to Billy Budapest. The whole thing's hard to describe, but if I had to describe the sound in one word it'd be...
. 

.

.

.

.

.

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What a country!

(C)Ram(it!) is tuneful Paul at his best, but it's also weird and colorful, unlike a lot of his other stuff.  Everything works on this album, and there's even this nice little "Ram On" motif that pops up twice, with Paul playing a uke and Linda singing heavenly vocals.  Just like side two of Abbey Road!  But if you squint it sounds like he's singing "grandma."  Just like side
 
 

Oh Paul.  I thought we were becoming friends!  But then what do you go and do?  You tell me to bend over as you reach for the Vaseline!  And you didn't even buy me dinner first!

Apparently Paul thought making albums with his wife Lovely Linda wasn't enough, and he was intimidated by his buddy Ole Roy Lennon who had put together this thing he called The Plasmatic Oh, No! It's DEVO band.  So Paul decided to get up on that high horse himself and throw himself together a b-b-b-b-band!  Band to the bone!  If you recall my special introductory paragraph, you will recall he called it call Wings call call call!

If you read the elpee back cover for this one, you will see a stupid sketch, but you'll also see this long ass essay about how Paul literally threw these guys together in five minutes, rehearsed a couple o' tunes and SHIT this sucker out.  "In this wrapper is the music they made?  Can you dig it?"  No, I can't!  And I've been waiting such a long time!

This album sounds like shit.  Literally.  It's like a turd floating through my speakers and then eventually into my head.  But Paul wanted it to sound like that, I guess.  The rawness is fine.  I like me some punk rock garage antics just like the next grandma.  The problem with this sucker is that there are a couple of great IDEAS that don't go anywhere.  And since the album is only EIGHT SONGS LONG (AWWWWWOWOOUGHGHGHGHGH!!) you'd expect good value for your money.  I work hard for a living and when I come home I want to eat meat, not smell Paul McCartney's shit-stained underwear breath coming out of my speakers!

The album basically sounds like one big garage band rehearsal, because that's what it is.  And since there's only eight songs, do you want me to come back there?  I mean do you want me to detail each one for you?  Okay, here goes: "Mumbo" is this mid tempo rocker with Paulio SCREAMING bloody murder, but there's no frigging lyrics.  It's all just "WELLL MY MAMAM MY MYE MY MIMIN NO MRAKE IT!"  Then we have "Bip Bop" which is a little country-stroll with MORE FUCKING RETARDED LYRICS.  "Bip bop, bip bop bop, bip bop bip bop bey."  Thanks Paul.  Then Paul tries to be a black man AGAIN, except this time he's a black MON, cause it's reggae straight up your ass with this kinda sorta cover of "Love Is Strange."  "Wild Life" tries to be an accomplished song, but it's LONG AS FRIG and SLOW and DON'T GO NOWHERE.  And he starts out the song by explaining what it's about, which makes me want to slap him across his limey face!  "Some People Never Know" is just this boring little mid tempo song with meandering (marijuana) joint Paul and Linda vocals.  If you hated "Bip Bop" before, you'll hate it again with an acoustic guitar variation called "Bip Bop (Fart) Stink (Breath)."  Then we fina-FUCKING-ly get to a REAL SONG!  "Tomorrow"!  It's an emotional piano rocker that sounds like it coulda shoulda woulda been on Ram (It Up My Hairy Ass), except it's raw and Linda goes waythefuck outta tune on the word "SORRRROOOOOOOWWWW."  The album concludes with the long piano ballad "Dear Friend" which sounds like it was cut from the same cloth as "Back Seat Of My Pants," except like I told you before it GOES NOWHERE.  Paul even gets bored with you and keeps repeating the same verse.  And there's some piece of shit scrap o' nothing at the end called "Mumbo (Link)" which is like a retarded little brother instrumental version of the opener.

The more I listen to this reeeecord, the more I think Paul wanted to try and put out his own Plastic Ono Band.  Maybe Paul should have gone through primal scream therapy first, because these songs aren't nearly as good as on Oh No We've Been Banned From Tokyo Again.  Some of the songs are alright, but JEEZY PEEZY (keep it greasy!), Paul should have TRIED HARDER.  He was the TRYHARDER of the Smeatles, he should TRYHARDER on his solo albums.  Even the best songs on this album get FUCKED UP in some way or another!  C'mon Paul!

In short, this album sucks my peen' to a polished sheen.  And then fucks me up the ass like Mean Joe Green!

Or is it Mr. Green Jeans?
 
 

Well, okay, dismember when I told you Paul needs to try harder?  Well, he does here.  Kinda.  I mean at least there's some PRODUCTION on this one, and unlike Wild Shonen Knife, it doesn't sound like some big marijuana-soaked rock band jamming in the backyard on a sunny day in Jamaica while the overly amorous Rastafarian tour guide is in the house fucking your wife.  (I ree I ree indeed!)  But where are the songs?  Where are the pretty melodies and the at least medicore lyrics?  We've gone past light lyrics and into ludicrous lyrics.  Just like in that movie.

And Paul puts together a big medley on side two.  Just like side two of Abbey Road!  But the problem is these songs mainly suck corny loaves out of my ass, showing just how much Paul needed his pa(u)l John L(e)n(n)o(n).

Well, we got your standard-shmandard McCartney "I woke up and wrote this love song while I ate a big fat donut, but no meat, of course" love song called "My Love."  And it's boring and saccharine.  We got some good ones, though, that sound like outtakes from Ram It, Ram It, Ram It, Ram It Up Your Poopshoot, namely the fantasticly dopey opener "Big Barn Bed" (it sounds like he's singing "who ya gonna quief on next?," seriously) and "Get On The Right Thing," with sections that lull you into a false sense of security before rockin' your ass like Herbie Han(d)cock.  "Little Lamb Dragonfly" has a nice "lull you to sleep while I come in your window and kill you" kinda feel to it, with some nice sound effects and an orchestra.  "Single Pigeon" is a neat piano-only (no negros allowed!) tune that feels way way way too short, but there's this big ol' brass band that comes in at the end to kick your rear like Rosie Greer.  But then there's tunes like the instrumental "Loup (First Native American To Sit On His Ass)" which is just Paul trying to be arty but really being boring and pretentious.  And it does sound like, well, an Indian dancing on the moon, except with a drugged up funky garage band backing him up, which shows what a racist fuck Paul McCartney can be.  (He did write a tune for the Weebles called "No Pakistanis."  Did you know zat?)

But side two has this medley (just like side two of Abbey Road!) that is filled with LAME ideas and just goes nowhere.  The opener is "Hold Me Tight," and yet it's not nearly as exciting as that rocker he wrote ten years prior (which of course was called "Hookers Anonymous Is Calling You").  It's just Paul going through a serious of neverending chord modulations on his pinnano, and singing, over and over mind you, "hold-a me right, hugg-a me right, hold-a me tight, hugg-a me tight, love-a me right, love-a me all night, get-a outta my sight, I wish-a I wasn't-a white, I have-a the power to smite, I sound-a like Gary Wright, make-a left at the light, it's-a ME, MAAAAAAAAAAARIO(ight)" until you want to EAT your turntable(ight).

In short, Red Rose McGowan Sure Is HOT (Don't You Think?  I Sure Do.  I Mean HOLY HOT FUCKIN' DAMN!!!!!!) is Paul moving a bit away from the crusty underwear sounds of Wild World Of Batwoman and into a more Peetlesque, production heavy sound (just like side two of Abbey Road!) except he's being lazy again, and most of the songs suck.

Too bad they don't suck on Rose McGowan.  That's something I'd actually pay to see!!!  (ight.)
 
 

Now Paulie, was this so hard, you animal-lovin', one-legged-girl humpin', vegetarian, limey, millionaire bastard?

Well, yes it was.  Actually.  I hear him seem to say.

Paulie and Lindie took they's new band to Lagos, Nigeria, thinking a change of scenery would revitalize their songwriting and record production and stuff.  But there were problems from the getgo.  The studio they had rented out was a complete piece of shit with old archaic equipment that didn't work.  And then Paul and Linda got mugged at knifepoint.  And then two members of Wings decided to up and leave the project altogether, leaving only Denny Laine (basically Paul's Ed McMahon throughout the entire '70s) as his "band."  And then a monkey gave Paul's bass AIDS.  And then that guy killed that other guy, just like in that movie.

So what did Paul do?  He turned shit into gold is what he did!  Fecal alchemy at its finest!  In fact, the original title of this album was Fecal Alchemy!  It says so on the cover (but only the vinyl version, and only the one made in Bulgeria, limited to 5 copies, four of which have been destroyed).

So this album here has a sort of a return to the intimate rock of McFleestreet, at least from where I'm sitting, which is at an ugly old white plastic chair at my computer, covered with a blankie because it's cold as frig these days and I hate sitting on cold hard plastic.

...dildos.  Did I leave that out?

At times, Paul tries to make this album into a conceptual thingie, just like side

There are some "motifs" running through some of the songs.  Like at the beginning you have the title cut "Band On The Run," which is also reprised very briefly at the end, but it just sounds like Paul trying really hard to recapture his Beetle Peetle Pepper glory.  I mean the least he could have done was record a proper reprise version.  But no, it's just a chorus from the title tracked ripped and remixed and crossfaded over the last track at the end of the album.  And then you have this "ho, hey ho" thing in "Mrs. Gloria Vanderbilt" which pops up in another song caled "No S-words."

Anyway, how does this album SOUND???  Well, it's warm and intimate, like your mama, and it's a real return to SONGS SONGS SONGS!  GLORIOUS SONGS!  SO SCRUMPTIOUS AND LUSCIOUS?  What else is more versatile?

Paul had to play most of the instruments when Blinky and Clyde left the band, so the sound is much like McManus.  A very warm, cozy, well produced sound with all the instruments in yer face, kinda like the first couple Cars albums.  He even enlisted the help of former Peniles engineer Geoff Imadick, once he realized Lagos was not exactly a hotbed for recording activity.  The diff between this album and that first one which I will not mention again is that there are SONGS here.  The title cut weaves its way in and out of several different sections within a few minutes.  Linder plays a whiny bagpipe synthesizer on this one, which is the only thing you may remember about it.  "Jet" cranks!  It's a loud rocker with a very streamlined approach, and a neato-peato orchestra!  "I Swear She Was Nineteen Officer" is like that too...very theatrical song with a disco beat and jolly rollicking roger piano part, and a big swelling orchestra for effect, just like side two of Crappy Road!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  "Gloria Vandebilt" rocks me like a hurricane!  Okay, so half the song goes "ho, hey ho," but then so does "Blitzkrieg Bop," and nothing kicks my ass like the first five Ramones albums, so FUCK OFF!

But there are quiet moments too, when Paul is to be found sitting in the corner, reading Sylvia Plath.  Like the largely acoustic snore "Bluebird," and the entirely acoustic "Mamunia" which sounds like a refugee from that first album.

And FUCK, there's a song about a land rover called "Hell On Wheels"!  A SONG ABOUT A LAND ROVER!  The guy who wrote "Hey Jude" is trying to sell you a land rover, and you damn better well buy it, because it's a rollicking little rock number that sounds like it came straight out of the hip swinging 1950s.

This album is really good, and it's the one that everyone and the mother tells you to buy, and the one people say he'll always be remembered for (just look on AMAZON.COM!  Don't you believe everything they tell you?  YOU SHOULD!  Why the hell are you reading MY REVIEWS???  GO READ Amazon!  THEY KNOW WHAT THEY'RE TALKING ABOUT!) but that doesn't mean it's his best (OKAY DON'T READ AMAZON).  I mean there is something very workmanlike about this album.  It's well produced and well played and all but nothing here quite kicks my ass like anysong on Ram Man.  I give my peep Paul props though for o'ercoming the odds, just like Rocky Balboa, and turning shit into gold, just like side two of Abbey Road.  Buy it.  It's good, it's nice.

Oh, and Howie Casey plays saxophone, and he was the big tall black guy in "Revenge Of The Nerds" (I THINK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)!

I'm going to start a band called Fecal Alchemy.
 
 

So apparently the rest of his chickenshit backing band that stiffed him during Nuns On The Run came back for this one, because they had nothing better to do.  I'm beginning to think Paul is better when he's on his own, being the megalomaniacal prick that he is, because when he involves too many other folks it all turns to liquid shit.  Of course there's McCartney II which disproves the fuck outta THAT theory, but we're not there yet.

This is an okee dokee album that tries to reclaim the success of its foodprocessor Crabs On My Nuts, but clearly Paul is running out of ideas.  The title track, "Penis In Furs," shows that Paul is trying to attempt another ZZZZZzzzzz concept albm.  It's setting the stage for a big ol' arena rockin' fandango that Elton John would be envious of, and then goes right into, wait for it, WAIT FOR IT, "Mach Shau," a SIX MINUTE pedestrian glam rock tune that sounds like a refugee (but not Tom Petty's) off of David Bowie's Aladdin (The Movie) Sucked.  "Love In Song" is a wonder.  A wonder it made the album!  HA!  No, it's a slow one, with a very melancholy melody, and some truly haunting guitar work.  But then, ho boy, we get "Honey Pie Part XVII" in "You Gave Me The Answer."  "Ooh, this is fun!"  Good for you Paul, but it ain't fun for us!  Get a real job, pal, and cut that mullet for chrissakes.  "Letting Go" is a nice funky, slow, groovy rocker, like Paulie had been listening to a little "Come Together" before the session.

But then there's side two, and ooh, how it sucks!  And here's the shitkicker: Denny Laine (Is In My Ears And In My Eyes) is allowed to SING.  What fucks?  This is Paul McGoddamnCartney here?  Why on earth would I buy a Paul McFringey album to hear a Wing sing!  (I'm a poet and didn't know it!)  "Call Me Back Again" is just a clumsy "Oh! Darling" rewrite, although it features a showstopping Paulie "black man in a white limey body" vocal.  And then we get "Listen To What My Ass Said," which is either a nice little funky mid-'70s pop tune or the sign of the coming apopcalypse.  You choose.

I accidentally typed "aPOPcalypse" up there.  How fitting.

So this is kinda good, but it's got some UUUUNNNGGGH!! puke stuff too, and most of it all it shows that Pauldle Nauldle is running out of steam.  It's the beginning of his steep decline, before he fell off a cliff and died on impact in 1966, so BUY IT NOW before he starts to suck and DIES in the past!

Limey.
 
 

In the words of Irwin M. Fletcher, gawd dawd DAWWWWWWD!  What the hell happened here?

If Wild Wild Life was the Paul McCartney shit-breath album, this one is the corn in that shit.

For some dumbass reasons unclear to me, Paul decided to let EVERYONE in on the fun on this album.  It's a family afriggingffair!  That is, he lets the other Wings--including his no talent wife (I'm sorry she's dead and all but it is TRUE)--SING.  Now please tell me why the most popular member of The Sex Pistols and the biggest performer of the 1850s would suddenly decide to let the rest of his AMATEUR BAND SING ON A RECORD!

Judging by the songs on this 33&1/3rd RPM long shitter, I have an idea.  It's because the songs SUCK!  Paul was tired and shagged out after a long squawk and had to put out another album, and wasn't gonna be caught DEAD singing these pinched loaves, so he let the the members of his band have a crack at it 'cause HEY, then he could blame it on them!  This is the guy who wrote "Eleanor Rigby."  He wouldn't be caught dead crooning boring, listless, mid-'70s, "listening to the AM radio while I wear my bellbottoms, smoke reefer and think dreamy thoughts about Bonnie Franklin" drivel like "The Note You Never Wrote" and "Must Do Something About It."  It doesn't help that the meticulous production is almost completely gone.  It sounds like it was recorded down a WELL compared to the previous two albums.

What else is on here?  Oh yeah, there's "Cook Of The House," a totally innocuous novelty song in the style of a '50s blues rocker, SUNG BY LINDA!  Aren't you lucky?  If you buy this album you will get LINDA MCCARTNEY SINGING A DUMB SONG!  Isn't that what you've always wanted?

But that's nowhere near the worst song on this frisbee!

Okay, okay, okay, so there are a few decent chunes here.  The album opens with the thudding hypnotic march of "Let Them In To My Dressing Room So I Can Shag Them Senseless," which is an okee song.  Serviceable, but okay.  "Beware My Love" is a pretty good, dark, heavy, thunderous rock and roll (in a minor key!) but its weighed down by these other lame parts that don't sound anything like that, where Linda and Paul are "harmonizing" (if you could call it that) over a stilted rhythm.  It's like Riled Mice all over again.  He bloody well fucks up a great song!  "San Ferry Anne" is a kinda pretty, brisk little acoustic tune, but it never really goes anywhere.  And then Ian Anderson comes in with his pansy flute stolo and ruins it.  "Warm And Nubile" is a nice "Paul sitting at the piano one afternoon, bored out of his fucking gore, deciding to write a quaalude-induced sequel to 'Maybe I'm Amazed'" but here is where you can tell his voice is seriously thrashed from touring (and partying with Alice B. Toklas) because they SLATHER THE DATHER out of his vocal with ECHO ECHO ECHO ECHO every time he tries to hit a high note.  You thought you were going to get that past me, Ol' Paul, but you didn't, you lazy limey.

The reason this puppy sold is because it contained a little ditty called "Silly Love Songs (That I Write, Because I Can't Do Anything Else, Apparently)."  Some people like it...some people hate it....30 Helens agree it has a good bassline.

The best, most melodic, memorable song on here is "She's My Baby," and that's because it sounds like Bill Withers composing the theme to a 70s sitcom!  HAHA!  And it has that funny "Still Crazy Just The Way You Are Weaver" kinda mid 70s electric piano sound to it.  Though I'd like to know what he's "mopping up."  Maybe I don't wanna know.

In short, DON'T BUY IT!  Have your cool, young, cyberhacker friend BURN you a copy, and then go listen to it and BURN it youself, because it SUCKS!  And then tell me when that happens, because I'll notify the RIAA and have them bust down your cool, young, cyberhacker friend's door, because hey, I need the street cred.

Oh, and sorry, I didn't mean The Sex Pistols earlier...I meant The Butthole Surfers.  They were the most popular band of the 1850s.  It's true!  Stephen Thomas Erlewine said so!
 

Baby beluga in the deep blue sea
You swim so wild and you swim so free
Heaven above and the sea below
And a little white whale on the go

That song's not on this album, but it should be, because the whole damn thing sounds like one big RAFFI JAM!!!11  That's right, if you go down to your big, hep, local Licorice Pizza or similar establishment where they sell prerecorded music and plop down your hard earned cash for London Town, you will get an elpee filled to the rim with songs that sound like they were written and recorded by a bearded Canadian who writes music for children!

HEY!  WAIT A MINUTE!  I'M LYING!  I WAS JUST YANKING YOUR PITO THERE, PAL!!!  You'd better get that checked out.  There's nothing worse than suffering a yanked pito.  Don't suffer in silence!  Call Pito Yanked Anonymous today at

So what have we here, Paulie-oddle-doodle-all-the-day?  And then there were three.  It looks like most of your band up and left you again, you limey ASSHAT.  HAHA!  AND RIGHT AFTER YOU LET THEM ALL SING, TOO!  WHAT UNGRATEFUL BASTARDS!!!  Like Joe Fucking English got all excited that he sang one damn song on a Paul McCartney album and suddenly thought he was gonna have a brilliant fucking solo career??!!  FUCK THAT SHIT!

So it's down to Paul, Linder and Dentist Von Lainstrand.  If you don't believe me, just take a look at the cover, which features the three of them on a boat, sailing the Mersey.  If you still don't believe me, take a look at the back cover, which also features them on a boat, but this time they're animated, and it's sunny, and Paul looks like a fruitcake.  Oh, and there's also song titles on this side.  And BOYDY HO CHEESY GRANDMA PETIE FUCKER, are there a SHITLOAD of 'em!  Just like side

Okay so basically what we're looking at here is another album by Big Mac that attempts to incorporate a lot o' different styles under one roof.   It doesn't have the cohesion of some of his other albums, and it kinda lacks focus (wait, isn't that basically the same thing said twice?  What the hell is wrong with me?).  I mean there are some nice thingies here, but a lot of is it approaching heavy 1970s MOR/AOR/WHOR/ALBACOR(E TUNA) status.  The most heinous example of this of course is "With A Little Fuck (We Can Fuck It Up)," which contains a shitload of very campy, cheesy, dated sounding electronic synthesizers, and a return of that goddamn ubiquitous 70s electric piano sound.  And if you buy now, you get the LONG AS FRIG VERSION which is like two minutes longer than the single versions, replete with a CHEESY FUCKING SYNTHESIZER SOLO!  If that ain't enough electric piano cheese, you also get "Girlfriend," a slow ballady pop song that he later gave to Michael Jackson, before Jacko gave him one big gloved finger and bought all his songs from him.

In other places, we have Paul trying to do some good ol rock and roll, like "I've Had Enough" (which sounds like it could have been on an earlier Swings album) and "Give Me Your Name And Address Now, Bitch, Before I Cut You, I'm Paul McCartney, I Don't Need This Shit," which has Ol' Paul doing  his best to impersonate everyone's favorite redneck, sideburned, bloated, pill taking, TV set shooting, karate chopping, fat assin', wife hitting, negro-hatin', Nixon sympathizin', jailhouse rockin' music industry puppet: Pat Boone.

You thought I was gonna say ELVIS ARON PRESLEY, didntchoo?  Just shows you how you don't know your music history!

There's "I'm Carrying (A Spliff In My Pocket)," which is a nice little gentle acoustic thingumybob which recalls "Yesterquief," and this weird fucking song called "Famous Groupies" which is like a little two step where Paul sings in an outrageous Yorkshire (not the dog, you dickbrain) accent about girlies who got a hankering for the rockandroll rod, if you knowahtImeanjeyybean.  I think he may have been speaking from experience here.  I know I was.  "Cafe Latte After A Light Wank" is another fun number because it sounds like something that could have been on Hand On My Buns.

But guess what?  There IS a song that sounds like Raffi!  I lied to you AGAIN!  To your FACE!  "Deliver Your Children" is just about the most goddamned annoying song I've ever heard in my life!  Unless of course you dig Raffi, mang, then I'm sure you could HANG with it, enjoy some TANG and then do a backflip onto my WANG.  John Fugelsang!

So basically there are some good songs and some bad songs here.  It's an altogether light affair and there ain't much rockin' to speak of, no way, no how.  But if you dig '70s MOR, Raffi tunes, and songs about women fuckin' musicians, it'll be the bees knees for ya!  I gar-annnn-tee!!  I mean it's leagues better than that gawd awful Sing About The Speed Of My Cock, and Stephen Thomas Erlewine says it's the cousin of Band On The Run, so it must be true!  FUCK ME!

Oh, and belugas ain't white, they're grey.  Raffi is a dumbass.  Send him hate mail here.
 
 

So after "With A Little Fornication" shot up the charts with a bullet (ow, point that somewhere else) apparently Paul McPringle made that all important decision in an artist's career: to take stock of what he had accomplished up to that point (as if Wings Over Easy didn't ram that point up our asses hard enough).  So what we have here is a completely no-brainer, softball collection of most--but not ALL--of Paul's biggest solo extravangas up to that point.  The good news is that it contains some tracks that had never been released on an elpee before: the Austin Powers tune "Live And Let Kike (I Hate Jews)", "Hi Hi Hi (This Is Not Really A Song About Rolling Doobies, I Swear)," "Another Day (Another Dollar Tucked In My "Yesterday"-Writing Ass)," "Junior's Getting Laid Out In The Barn Right Now By That Jezebel Who Lives Down The Lane" and perhaps most important of all, "Mulling Over The Career Of Joey McIntyre," which was the biggest selling single in the United Kin(k)gdom up to that point...even surpassing "I Wanna Hold Your Gland"!  These are all good songs in the HORS D'OUVRE of Mr. Paul McCan't-he...except for the last one, which to my incredibly discerning ears sounds like a Big Country record played too slow.  But "Hi Hi Hi" rocks in a way that other Paul songs...don't...and he talks about doing Linda's sweet banana, which means he was married to a MAN!  How about that?  This is the kind of confessional writing Paul had been wanting to do since his buddy Lenin recorded Glass Dick? Oh No (The Wife Will Never Need My) Gland (Again). "Junior's Farm" also rocks pretty sweetly and "Another Day" sounds like a Ram outtake.

The bad news is that for some bizarre reason this is missing the jaunty little pop ditty "Listen To What Aimee Man Said (Hush Hush, Keep It Down Now)," which means if you want this HUGE #1 single you will have to buy The Sheen Brothers Are From Mars (Women Are From Venus) if you want it.  And nothing is on here from Mc(Art)Carney either, even though everyone and their mother knows "Maybe I'm Amazed," and the live version was even released as a single and got a lot of airplay.  And don't tell me it's because it wasn't Wings, because "Another Day At The Office" and "Prince Albert/Admiral Stockdale" weren't either, and they're both on here.

So there's some good stuff here, yes, but it's not really a complete hits collection.

And it's just your run of the mill, take no chances, hit singles repackaging, along the lines of your Hilary Duff's Most Wanted.

Is it possible to bore one's self into a coma.  Because I think I just did.

I like my butt.  And this record too.

Paul is a bassoon in German.

So apparently with this record Mr. Yesterday is trying to explain to us that he has in fact retired from show business to live in Linda's ovaries or something.  Either that or this is yet another tired attempt by Paulie to "get back" to his roots, which is what he does any time he's stalled for ideas.  He's got a new band this time too (except for Denny McMahon, who's back for more exciting three-way action) and this weird thing he cheekily calls "Rockestra," which is him and like every musician in the rock music scene of 1979 all playing together on this weird rolling little instrumental.  I'm not sure why he decided to do this, other than he probably needed a gimmick to reinvent himself.  Yes, Paul was the Madonna of the 1970s!  Just like side two of

This is Paul's most rock-orientatatated record since, oh, fuck it, I'll say Band On The Run, even though that isn't totally accurate.  But it is true that there are lots of loud, glam rocky and even new wave-y songs on here, like the excellent "Getting Closer," which deserved to be a big hit and the weird sort of loud, thudding Doorsy/Zeppeliny "Old Siam Sir."  I mean this record is produced by CHRIS THOMAS who produced THE SEX PISTOLS for frigging out loud!  That's not to say it's all fun 'n games, no way no how.  'Cause there's also some typical ballads on here and some VERY dated funk and disco leanings!  I mean Paul has a song on here called "Arrow Through Me" which sounds like George Benson ass-raping the cast of "Bosom Buddies" (starring Tom Hank s and the ultra-hilarious comedic genius Peter Scolari, who should have gotten Hanks' career.  I mean what the hell has Hanks done besides play men in various states of arrested development all his life?  Scolari was on NEWHART you fucks!) and features that Billy Joel porno organ again.  Fortunately, unlike the last album, there's nothing even remotely like Raffi on here, so that bearded Canuck fuck can stay the hell away from my ass, as far as I'm concerned.  I've got a one way valve, sir.

The real problem with this album is that Paulie tries to fall back on that old "concept album" thingie again, but there doesn't seem to be any coherent storyline.  And he pulls that old "reprise other songs" trick out of his Limey hat.

There's some other shit on here too.  And if you buy the DIGITAL COMPACT DISC version of this LP, you will also receive Paul's two Christmas records from that year, one of which is called "Wonderful Christmastime" and will no doubt remind you of drudging through Buffoms with your parents when you were in 3rd grade, and they wanted you to try on shirts and you just wanted to go play fucking Ms. Pac Man and get an Orange Julius.

This wasn't very insightful was it?  Okay, here's a much better review:

This album sounds like glam rock, except it doesn't.

Your buddy in Christ,
Gary Glitter

And now, I, Mark Prindle, record reviewer extraordinaire, and less than, skilled user, of, commas, would like to present you, the lucky readers, with my review of this elpee entitled McCartney II: On The Rocks.

And I would like to begin my review of this elpee called McCartney II: Electric Boogaloo by asking what Paul McDawdle was thinking when he unleashed this sucker on the unsuspecting public.

The story is that Paul had been fucking around with some demos at home and got tired of people asking him when he was releasing a new album, so he mixed and mastered this McCartney Too! record at home and put it out, basically saying "okay, okay, you want a new album?  You got it!  Now STFU and leave me the hell alone!  My former best friend is about to get shot for Chrissakes!"

It is important for a music reviewer to be truthful, so here is my truthful, heartfelt analysis of this record: IT SOUNDS LIKE PAUL MCCARTNEY WAS EATEN ALIVE BY THE W.O.P.R. COMPUTER FROM "WARGAMES."  THE W.O.P.R. THEN DECIDED TO PLAY A MUSICAL GAME WITH PAUL, SHITTING OUT POP SONGS AT WILL, ONLY SOME OF WHICH RESEMBLE PAUL MCCARTNEY IN THE SLIGHTEST.  SOMEWHERE DOWN THE LINE, THE W.O.P.R.'S CIRCUITS GOT FRIED AND PAUL'S DATA GOT MIXED WITH THAT OF BRIAN ENO, DEVO AND KRAFTWERK.  A FEW BASIC TOSS-OFFS AKIN TO THE MCCARTNEY 1 LONG PLAYER SLIPPED THROUGH THE SYSTEM, BUT MOST SOUND LIKE THEY WERE WRITTEN BY A SIMON GAME, BECAUSE THE PRODUCTION THROUGHOUT THIS RECORD IS THIN, BRITTLE AND UNWELCOMING, JUST AS YOU'D EXPECT FROM THE W.O.P.R.

Seriously...half of this album doesn't sound like anything Paulrea McCardle (of "Annie" fame) had ever done up to that point, and if you played them for someone they probably would have no idea it was Paul and kick you in the nads (or 'ries, if yer a GAL) for making them listen to this.  There are some instrumentals here, where Paul is dicking around with keyboards, like "Frozen Jap" (way to be sensitive Paul...no wonder your ass went to jail in Tokyo...unless of course you were talking about Jewish American Princesses, in which case I support you, since we all know the Jews killed Christ...just ask Mel Gibson).  There's a song on here called "Darkroom" which just may be the biggest Paul whigger anthem yet.  Seriously...if you didn't know better, you'd think it was a Grandmaster Flash backing track. Try bumping this anthem in the car at maximum volume with ALL the windows down...in Watts!  I bet you'll get a hero's welcome!  And if you do see anyone of the negroid persuasion, I invite you to yell "hey NIGGA, listen to this joint.  It's fuckin' DEF, man!"  They love that!!!  But the weirdest goddamn song on here is this thing called "Temporary Secretary," where Paul is singing over a neverending random sequence of blips and bleeps (that Kraftwerk would rip off a year later with the Grammy Award winning hit single "Sequence Of Blips And Bleeps")!  IT'S FRICKING WEIRD, I tell ya!

A live version of the excellent "Coming Up" was a big hit single around this time, but the "studio" version here sounds like it was recorded and performed by robots.  This is what I am trying to say to you: aside from maybe the two acoustic sleepers "Waterfalls" (that r&b group TLC would rip off 15 years later with the Grammy Award winning hit single "No Scrubs") and "One Of These Days," all these songs sound like they were written and recorded by machines.  Even the guitar based songs!  I do not understand how this record sounds 10 times more archaic than its counterpart McCartney Won.  Who engineered this piece of shit? Alvin Lucier?

And there's this abomination called "Bogey Music" which is just about the most frightening goddamn thing I've ever heard.  It's got a walloping big band backbeat and Paul singing in these heavily echoed, retarded voices.  It makes me feel like he is sleeping under my bed and will attack me and eat me alive if I so much as let my foot slip off the mattress.

So if you want an album that is very experimental and despite its name isn't AT ALL anything like McCartney Uno and shows your favorite Bleatle messing around in his home studio and farting out an album, by all means, pick up McCartney II: The Wrath Of Khan because you might enjoy it.  I give Paul an E for effort but a D for being such a dick!

Paul is a mensch-machine in German.

The character of Balki Bartokamous, as portrayed by Bronson Pinchot, effectively symbolized the ongoing struggle between the United States and the Soviet Un

The album Tug Of War, as written and performed by Paul McCartney, effectively symbolizes his neverending desire to return to a more sophisticated, production oriented...oh fuck it, he wanted a HIT record.  For this one, he hooked back up with Beatniks producer Georgy "Living La Vida Loca" Martin.  The result is a lush, very radio friendly pop record.  Someone told me this was supposed to be a Wings record, but Paul changed his mind and fired the band at some point. Although Denny "Dillon" Laine appears on many of the cuts here.

You as a listener need to be aware that there ain't no rock to speak of on this here record: instead we got ready for radio staples like "Take It Away," which has this 70s Philly soul thing going on and sounds like it coulda been on Venus And Mars or the theme to "WKRP In Cincinatti."  Not sure which.  There's some usual Paul pretending to be Toucan Sam stuff like "Ballroom Dancing," a weird nostalgic two step with brass and stuff that would be ripped off a year later by The Kinks with their monster hit "Come (On The Ballroom Floor While) Dancing." And here's a small acoustic song dedicated to his now dead friend John Lennon entitled "(If You Were) Here Today (I Wouldn't Be Such A Dicknose To You, Because That's What Happens When People Die, They End Up Acting Like They Would Do Things Differently If They Could, When In Reality They Wouldn't, People Suck, I Change My Mind, Fuck You John)".

Unofrtunately, this album also marks the beginning of a very ill advised trend on the part of Mr. McCarthy.............duets!  They're all over this sucker!  As we all know, Paulio had a monster hit with "Chocolate And Vanilla (Why Don't We Take A Bite?)" with the immensely talented Stevie Wonder Bread, but I say it SUCKS!  How on earth could the guy who wrote "Boogie On Reggae Woman" have shit this thing out?  Sounds to me like Paul was the principal writer.  If that isn't bad enough, they actually attempt a FUNK song called "What's That You're Doing"........which DOES kinda sound like "Boogie On Reegae Woman."  It's like the Wild Life reggae debacle all over again, except this time Paul has an actual black man to help him satiate all his negro needs.  The most harmless duet is a short, quiet one with Carl Perkins called "Get It (In The Ass For Doing Those Fucking Awful Duets With The Talented Black Man Stevie Wonder)" that you can just picture big-butted women in tight jeans doing the electric slide to.  And if that isn't a ringing endor

Pardon me, I need to go listen to this track again...I'll be back in about five minutes......

So anyway, this record is LUSH LUSH LUSH LUSH.  So lush, in fact, you'd think it had been produced by Richard Lush, tape operator at Abbey Road!!!!  hahahahhhahahaha!!!!!!11111111111  But you'd of course be wrong, because it was in fact produced by another dude in that studio...........by the name of Yoko Ono.

So this record is a pretty good'un, and some people say it's his best, but with the dumb duets and lack of anything even remotely resembling rock and roll, it marks the beginning of Paul's steep descent into plastic MOR '80s hell.

My balls hurt.