Like that of some of his illustrious contemporaries from the 1960s, Paul McCartney's new music needs to perform a move of such complexity that it would be more at home in yoga: looking forward, while looking back, while remaining relevant. It's decidedly difficult to pull off, this move, and New, McCartney's 16th studio album, almost does it.
Disregard the cool neon bars that spell out the title on the cover: this music is not all that stark. With the possible exception of excursions such as Ecce Cor Meum, his classical release from 2006, or the Fireman, his electronic alter ego, it's probably impossible for McCartney, now 71, to make a record that doesn't somehow recall his work with the Beatles.
New is no exception, containing at least two obvious ruminations on the old days, and at least six songs where the tunes remind you of something (and one, I Can Bet, that sounds like Wings). When McCartney hits that seam you perk up. Alligator is by far the most engaging of many love songs here. "I want someone who can save me when I come home from the zoo," he sings, as echoes of about half a dozen of his previous songs nip by. "I want somebody who's a sweet communicator who I can give my alligator to."
New, though, is a record whose listening experience requires a little yoga too: the clenching of buttocks as you anticipate the dreaded "innovations", courtesy of name producers such as Mark Ronson and Paul Epworth, architect of Adele's 21; the exhalation, as you realise these 12 songs (and the not-very-secret 13th) are not all that bad. Apart from the relevance that McCartney has bussed in, the rest of the desk work is kept in the family. Ethan Johns may have produced Kings of Leon (among others), but he is also the son of producer Glyn Johns, who worked with the Beatles in 1968-69. Giles Martin's dad was George.
Ironically enough, the title track is one of the Beatliest of all here, replete with harpsichord, loved-up whimsy and trademark McCartney oompah. Ronson is in the room merely to bring out the swing of it, rather than palpably add anything. If further historical frissons were needed, New was, apparently, written on McCartney's dad's piano, one bought from Nems, the Liverpool music shop managed by the Epstein family.
Track one, Save Us, is the bigger talking point. A pell-mell, directional guitar romp, it owes something to the Strokes and the mannered pop-rock of the early 80s as well as Queen (although they probably nicked those cascading harmonies from the Beatles). Here we find McCartney trying a bit hard. But the results are demonstrably energetic and worthwhile, as is Appreciate, a murky collage of sounds held together by a surprisingly slinky rhythm. Other experiments aren't so successful, with the album closer, Road, aiming for grandiose mystery and being let down by McCartney's frail vocal.
McCartney fans of long standing will probably thrill to songs such as On My Way to Work or Early Days, in which the septuagenarian chews over his youth – taking the bus to work, walking the streets, guitar slung over his back. There is little sonic or thematic restlessness here, just retrenchment, however pleasant the tunes.You might say that Early Days is brave, in that it exposes McCartney's increasingly warbly upper register. In marked contrast is the perky Queenie Eye, a galumphing playground rhyme. It's a bagatelle that looks back, without looking mawkish, sounding not dated, but timeless; most of all, for a songwriter constantly playing push-me, pull-you with his legacy, it feels effortless.
