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Lyrics and Life

By Caitlin Ward

Paul McCartney writes amazing, silly love songs

Maybe I’m Amazed
By Paul McCartney

Maybe I’m amazed at the way you love me all the time
Maybe I’m afraid of the way I love you
Maybe I’m amazed at the way you pulled me out of time
And hung me on a line
Maybe I’m amazed at the way I really need you

Maybe I’m a man and maybe I’m a lonely man
Who’s in the middle of something
That he doesn’t really understand
Maybe I’m a man
and maybe you’re the only woman who could ever help me
Baby won’t you help me understand

Maybe I’m amazed at the way you’re with me all the time
Maybe I’m afraid of the way I leave you
Maybe I’m amazed at the way you help me sing my song
You right me when I’m wrong
Maybe I’m amazed at the way I really need you

Last weekend, I was in the midst of a very intense conversation. As I remember, I wasn’t a part of it, so much as just in the middle of it. In fact, I know I wasn’t a part of it, because I’m pretty sure I interrupted everyone to say, “can’t we just listen to Paul McCartney now?” while someone was making no doubt a salient point about whatever it was we were arguing about. McCartney was on the PA system, you see: Silly Love Songs, off 1976’s Wings at the Speed of Sound.

Slightly nonplussed that I’d interrupted this very intense conversation, some of my companions were annoyed. Others, stuck in the middle of the intense conversation against their will as I was, were grateful for the distraction. One, though, started an intense conversation about Paul McCartney instead of our previous subject.

Now, I’m all for very intense conversations about Paul McCartney. Who wrote which Beatles song, which solo album is the best (Ram. No question), whether or not he was really pulling off the full beard in the early 1970s. These are not the Big Questions, of course, but in my mind it’s a discussion worth having.

Rather than speaking of instrumentation, lyrics, and how having a second-favourite Beatle is just as important as having a favourite, though, this discussion became about the seal hunt. McCartney, as many of you may know, is an avid animal rights activist. While I was trying to lead the table in a sing-along of Silly Love Songs, this friend of mine was explaining to me how much he objected to McCartney’s position on the seal hunt.

At the time I thought he was missing the point. The point was, McCartney writes amazing love songs. His position on the seal hunt was immaterial. So I started talking about Maybe I’m Amazed, off McCartney’s first solo album (titled, aptly, McCartney). I spoke of how genuine the song is and then I started quoting the lyrics: “maybe I’m afraid of the way I love you.” I feel a bit bad about that, given that few things are more irritating than someone quoting the lyrics to a song you’ve never heard. I wasn’t going to give up, though. I needed to make this friend understand the loveliness of the song.

This friend of mine has recently come off a bad breakup, so I decided sending him a bunch of heartfelt love songs after the fact was not the most appropriate thing to do. But the whole affair has got me thinking: regardless of McCartney’s feelings on eating meat or wearing fur, I have a special place in my heart for his love songs. The thing is, though, what I love so much about his love songs (and Maybe I’m Amazed in particular) is the context from which they spring. The album McCartney, released in 1970, was recorded largely at the artist’s home between 1969 and 1970, just as The Beatles were falling apart. He played every instrument on the album, and the only sound not created by him is some backing vocals contributed by his wife Linda.

I must admit, I’ve built up something of a romantic picture in my head about the recording of McCartney. His life’s work falling apart, this new and incredible love in his life: out of the ashes of The Beatles springs McCartney, released just a week after he publicly left The Beatles. And on that album, Maybe I’m Amazed is this testament to a love that we now know stood the test of time. Paul and Linda spent less than a week apart throughout their entire married life.

See, but the problem here lies in the fact that most of that isn’t in the song, is it? It’s beautiful, but I’ve made it far more epic in my head by building this context around it. So when my friend speaks about disliking Paul McCartney because of his animal rights activism, I don’t know if I have the right to say that’s wrong. One of the things I value about McCartney’s love songs is that in many ways they line up with my own politics on the matter of love: believing in covenantal marriage and valuing monogamy, finding one person with whom you can build a life.

So far as I know, McCartney hasn’t written any songs about the seal hunt, but it does make me wonder how much an artist’s beliefs or politics should affect how (or if) we listen to that artist. I don’t think it would be possible for me to only listen to musicians who have the exact same code of ethics that I do, but I will admit that I occasionally have a little sighing disappointment when I find out that a previously favourite artist is an advocate for Planned Parenthood or doesn’t know that the Thursday before Good Friday is called “Holy Thursday” not “OK Thursday.”

It generally doesn’t stop me from listening to the music entirely, though. So, regardless of McCartney’s position on the seal hunt, I’m going to continue to love that song. And when my friend is in a better position to hear it, I’ll probably force him to love it, too.

Ward is a freelance writer and aspiring documentary filmmaker based in Saskatoon. You can find her short bursts of insight and frustration at http://www.twitter.com/newsetofstrings