Readers Digest

Reader's Digest spoke with Paul McCartney about his new music, John Lennon and why even boys from Liverpool sometimes cry.

"Who knows? At 40, we may not know how to write songs anymore," a 21-year-old, saucy, mop-haired Paul McCartney told a BBC reporter in 1963 when asked how The Beatles imagined their future. Fast-forward more than 40 years.

RD: Do you reveal more of yourself on your new album?
McCartney: I probably do. Oops, what have I done? [Laughs.] But, I think, as an artist, you shouldn't have rules about that. If you're talking about the paparazzi, then I have rules; or being interrupted at a restaurant when I'm having dinner, then I'll say to people, "Excuse me, this is a private moment." And they understand. I'll talk to them, but I may not want to do an autograph while I'm eating.

RD: Is there a wink to The Beatles on this album?
McCartney: On Friends to Go, I got a feeling I was playing George Harrison. If this had been The Beatles, I could imagine George bringing this in – it just had that feel melodically. I started strumming along with a chord with no particular place to go, and I had this idea of "I've been waiting on the other side, but I want to go over to see my friend." OK, the other side of what? Of the road? Of the world? The spiritual other side? A psychiatrist would have a whale of a time with this! But there's this idea of "I'm waiting. I'm on my own, but don't worry about me; I'm all right." I'm lousy at analysing my songs. That's for you to do.

RD: You've said your song Follow Me is quasi-religious. In the '60s, you said you didn't believe in God. Do you follow any religion now?
McCartney: I believe in the spirit of goodness, so I can sympathise with Christians, Jewish people, Buddhists, Muslims. I think essentially they're all trying to say the same thing: you ought to choose between good and bad. Something I thought about years ago is that "God" is the word "good" with an "o" taken out, and "devil" is the word "evil" with a "d" added. So they're personifications of forces. I don't subscribe to any one religion, but I do feel a oneness with a spirit of goodness. But I don't know if there's an old man with a beard in the sky.

RD: Is that how you felt in the '60s?
McCartney: It's changed a bit. As you get older, it's a bit more important to have a belief, because more happens to you. And your kids say, "Dad, what's that about?" and you have to have an opinion. It's funny that my song Let It Be has become almost a religious anthem. My mother was called Mary. She died when I was a teenager, and I was going through certain troubles in the '60s, probably just overdoing it; it was all a bit crazy. And she visited me in a dream and said, "Don't worry, son. Let it be. It'll be OK." And I thought, Wow, what a great message! Chill out, really, is what I took it to mean. I woke up and wrote, ". . . in times of trouble, mother Mary comes to me." Obviously to Catholics, that's the Virgin Mary. I heard that song just before writing Follow Me and I thought, It's cool to have a song that people can use like a hymn in times of trouble.

RD: Did rock ever become an outlet to vent your hurt or anger? Didn't you get into it when your mum died?
McCartney: It was around that time, but no, it had nothing to do with that. I mean, I was listening to Elvis Presley sing Don't Be Cruel, You ain't nothin' but a hound dog, and it was just good lyrics, good songs, good beat. I never felt like it was helping me get rid of my anger. Oddly enough [laughing], Elvis did help me get rid of my headaches. I had a headache one day, and my friend and I put on All Shook Up. My headache had gone away by the end of it.
RD: So you do believe words can help you feel good. It sounds like you healed through your song Here Today, about John Lennon. You wrote, "I am holding back the tears no more." Why did you take so long to mourn him? Why were you holding back?
McCartney: Because I'm a guy.

RD: It can't just be that.
McCartney: Sure it is. And I'm a guy from Liverpool. We don't cry; we're too tough. Us guys don't talk about stuff like that. We hold it all in.

RD: But when Linda passed away, you were very open about crying.
McCartney: Yeah, I matured. I now cry at the drop of a hat. Well, maybe not at the drop of a hat, but I'm quite free with my emotions. But when I was younger, one didn't, my dear. We're English, do remember; we have a certain reserve. Even if a film was very moving, you just sat there; and the girls cried.
RD: When your mum passed away, you didn't cry?
McCartney: Yeah, I did – in private. It was the character of the people at that time. Now it's OK. But you'll still meet a lot of people who wouldn't be seen crying, no matter what. I have gotten over that, and I say [laughing], God wouldn't have given us tears if He didn't want us to cry.

RD: You seem more open nowadays about your past and The Beatles. Is that because there's no more bitterness about it all?
McCartney: There never was much. There was just a period we were going through when we separated where it got a bit bitter, but even then it was bittersweet. We still spoke to each other on the phone and stuff. Now I look back on it with great fondness, and I often relate to John in my mind and think how sad it is that he's not here, that George isn't here. But I am more open to talk about it now than before. It's because I've matured.

RD: You keep saying that, that you're mature.
McCartney: Well, I am. Don't I look mature? I think, if you're lucky, you grow up, mentally and emotionally. Most important, emotionally.

RD: Is there a fun story about John Lennon that you could tell us, one you haven't told before?
McCartney: Hmmm, Johnny. [Smiles.] Most of it was just madness. We used to get very drunk in Hamburg. John got very drunk one night, but we still had to do one more set, and in no way could he manage it. We were sober compared to him. We got ourselves on stage, and he appeared naked except for a pair of underpants, with a toilet seat around his neck. This was his new image. Later he had to do his vocals lying down. [Laughs.]
Looking back, we were like college kids. We had lots of great times. Sometimes I picture John and I wandering down the streets of Liverpool, dressed in black, in tight trousers – drain pipes, we used to call them – with our guitars slung over our shoulders and without a thought in the world that there was ever going to be this group called The Beatles or that it would be a phenomenon. We were just two kids with no money. One day we walked into a sweet shop, and John bought some chocolate. He said, "Would you like half?" I said, "Wow, you're willing to share your chocolate with me?" What a dude! [Laughs.] The things that stay most in my memory are the smallest things, the ordinary things.

RD: Do you speak with Yoko Ono?
McCartney: Yeah, on and off. But again, I've come to terms with that. We're not not friends; we're just not great friends. I'm in New York now, but I wouldn't ring her. When she's in London, she wouldn't ring me. But there are eight million people in New York I wouldn't ring either. So there's no issue at all. She's a good lady, a great artist, and John loved her, so that's really what I must respect. That's the way I see it.

RD: You're a few years away from 64, the song [When I'm Sixty-Four] you wrote when you were a teenager. What do you think about that?
McCartney: I'm one year away, love, not a few. I think there's a mistake on my birth certificate, that I'm actually many, many years away from it. It's funny, with a song like that, you've got to laugh. When I dreamt up that melody, I was 16 – it was one of the very first songs I wrote – and I never imagined I would be 64 and have to face the music. My kids said to me the other day, "Dad, you have got to be off the face of the planet next year." I said, "Or in the middle of it." [Laughs.]
Once, I met this lady on holiday who said, "I'm a pianist, and I play your song at my local old folks home, and they love it!" I said, "Really? Which one?" She said, "The main one I play is When I'm Sixty-Four, but I hope you don't mind that I've had to change the lyrics a bit. I've changed it to 'when I'm eighty-four' because 64 is a bit young for most of them.? [Laughs.] I like that. [Now singing] Will you still need me . . . When I'm eighty-four!