Quotes from Allan Kozinn

But if he and Linda composed together, they stood to earn a higher share, since unlike Paul, Linda was not under contract to Northern Songs and could route her part in the collaboration through another publisher—specifically, McCartney Music, Inc., the publishing arm of the newly formed McCartney Productions Ltd.

Wanting to use someone he had not worked with before, and who could give him an up-to-date sound, he settled on Tony Visconti, a New Yorker whose work with David Bowie and Marc Bolan's T. Rex made him one of the hotter producers on the London scene. Laine had worked with Visconti before he joined Wings; Visconti wrote the arrangements for Denny's classical-rock hybrid, the Electric String Band. And Paul knew him slightly—he had married Mary Hopkin in 1971.

All Paul had to do was show her how to make the leap from listener to creator. Teenagers in garage bands were doing exactly that, all over the world; there was no reason Linda couldn't become a songwriter too.

Linda was keen to try, but musicianship and songwriting did not come easily to her, and she quickly discovered that she could not count on master classes from her highly accomplished husband. "No, he is not a good teacher, Paul," she said in a frank moment. "He has no patience what-so-ever with somebody who doesn't know. He

Visconti, like most arrangers, was not used to his orchestration ideas being preempted, or dictated to him as if he were simply an assistant, hired to notate someone else's musical lines. But there was some flexibility within McCartney's instructions. "Some ideas he wanted me to strictly adhere to, and some were just sketches that I was asked to improve upon.

His goal now, he continued, was to write "just kind of songy songs that the milkman can whistle."4

jovial perfectionist

Paul and Linda were deeply wounded by Seiwell's rebellion. In Henry's case, they knew what the problems were, and they knew he would leave eventually, having already quit once. They even, to a degree, respected him for standing up for his own artistry. But their relationship with Seiwell was not just that of band colleagues. It went back to the Ram sessions and had quickly become a real friendship.

Painting a picture of 'Loup' for Melody Maker in late November, it was clear that Paul considered the jam to be a highlight of Wings' yet to be issued album.

Paul had already resolved to account for Henry's absence by overdubbing the lead guitar lines himself; Seiwell's leaving complicated that plan only slightly, since Paul was also an able drummer. Mostly, though, the defections activated one of Paul's strongest internal motivators—prevailing against the odds and the I told you so's

I just pulled together Paul's ideas," Arrowsmith said. "When you work with Paul, you know, he has very strong ideas about what he wants.

Though illustrating a Wings LP, Arrowsmith's cover shot also symbolized Paul's feeling of contractual imprisonment with Apple. The seed of an idea sown by George at their July business meeting had now been captured in both song and photograph, and a veiled illustration of Paul's desire to finally shed his legal ties with John, George, and Ringo would soon be in the hands of music fans.

Tony Visconti took issue with this vague listing, which offers no hint that he wrote and conducted the orchestrations. And though Thorgerson (but not Powell) is included, Hipgnosis is not mentioned.

The final credit, common to the British and American releases was, "And Paul would love to thank Linda and Linda would love to thank Paul and thanx Denny"—not quite the wording one would expect from musicians trying to project a group image.

Jimi Hendrix selected one of her photos for the cover of Electric Ladyland.

It simply became very difficult for me to write with Yoko sitting there," he explained. "If I had to think of a line I started getting very nervous. I might want to say something like 'I love you, girl,' but with Yoko watching I always felt that I had to come out with something clever and avant-garde. She would probably have loved the simple stuff, but I was scared. I'm not blaming her, I'm blaming me.

Ça ne fait rien"4 (or "It does not matter," more loosely translated as "Don't worry, we'll sort it"). Paul and Linda heard Richards's comment as "San Ferry Anne," a phrase they adopted to mean "don't worry," and true to form, McCartney began toying with the phrase as the title for a new song.

For Paul, the suit against Klein could not have been richer: Lennon and company were now arguing that their May 1969 contract with Klein—the contract they tried to strong-arm Paul into signing at Olympic Studios—should be considered invalid "because they did not understand the nature and effect of it."13 They argued, too, that an amendment to that contract should be rendered invalid on the same grounds, plus misrepresentation, by Klein, of its meaning.

But the experience was also fulfilling: Paul's new album had the variety that was his hallmark, with ballads and rockers, acoustic tracks, and high-energy electric cuts. But most importantly, where each of his post-Beatles releases had tracks that Paul knew were throwaways—throwaways that he liked, or that struck him as having a personality that earned them a place on an album, but throwaways all the same—Band on the Run had an energizing consistency, track for track.

Wings had become a formidable live band, in which Seiwell's fluid drumming and Henry's sleek lead playing were crucial. Paul was dying to tour Australia and America, huge markets for both the Beatles and himself, but he held off until Wings were ready. At the end of the British tour, they were. And then they were gone, just as he was about to record a hit album to take on tour.

The Beatles wanted their new enterprise to have a less corporate name than Beatles and Company. "And everyone, sort of, hesitated about a name," Brown recalled. "Then Paul, in his efficient way goes, 'Let's go through the alphabet.' And he said, 'A is for Apple.' And he didn't have to go any farther."9

Henry was right to observe that two players left Wings, and Paul hadn't asked why. But Paul hadn't asked why because he knew the answer. The dispute that led to McCullough's departure mirrored fights he'd had with Harrison over what to play and how to play it, as well as Lennon's complaint, in that painful Rolling Stone interview, about Paul treating them as sidemen. He was, once again, accused by his bandmates of being a control freak.