Last December, Paul McCartney gave fans an early Christmas present in the form of McCartney III, an event that—short of a holographic Beatles reunion tour or an official release of Carnival of Light—fulfilled the ultimate fantasy of many long-time Maccaphiles. But the excitement was as much about him embracing old ways as making new music: The album revisited the mad-scientist methodology of die-hard fan favorites McCartney (1970) and McCartney II (1980), DIY efforts that deconstructed his perfectionist streak through off-kilter folk-funk and bizarro synth-pop. The enduring cult appeal of the latter record, in particular, has done much to transform McCartney’s image from a sentimental, set-in-his-ways rock dinosaur into an eccentric godfather figure for a new generation of home-recording misfits and pop omnivores.
But while McCartney III featured no lack of inspired, off-the-cuff moments, unlike its predecessors, it didn’t really showcase any new musical obsessions or curiosities that allowed us to see its creator in a new light. So in this case, a remix album isn’t simply a matter of extending the record’s shelf life—it’s more about tending to unfinished business. On McCartney III Imagined, Sir Paul presents a resequenced, alternate-universe version of the record as overseen by an eclectic cast of alt-rock icons, current indie darlings, and modern pop phenoms that would make for a pretty solid Coachella bill. This isn’t random stunt casting for clout—with few exceptions, the artists entrusted with remixing or covering these tracks are noted auteurs themselves, turning McCartney III Imagined into a talent summit.
In other words, even if you don’t look at the album credits, you’ll probably know exactly who’s behind the boards. Beck turns “Find My Way” into a song that originally sounded like a Mellow Gold demo into a bongo-slapping Midnite Vultures workout; St. Vincent amps up the film-noir melodrama of “Women and Wives” by multi-tracking herself into a girl-group chorus line; and Khruangbin’s “Pretty Boys” pulverizes its dainty source material into dubby vapor trails. The most successful remixers here work in service to the song rather than themselves. Blood Orange’s Dev Hynes rehabilitates the once-tedious synth-soul strut of “Deep Down” with his own velvety harmonies and an urgent piano arrangement recalling the Wings classic “Nineteen Hundred and Eighty Five.” Best of all is Anderson .Paak, who elevates “When Winter Comes” from a farmhouse ditty into a breezy, space-age bachelor-pad reverie that would fit comfortably into his new Silk Sonic project.
Alas, even seasoned pros like Damon Albarn and Massive Attack’s 3D RDN can’t totally salvage McCartney III’s more half-baked ideas: The former turns the folk-blues warm-up exercise “Long Tailed Winter Bird” into pawn-shop trip-hop, while the latter valiantly tries to organize the free-floating murk of “Deep Deep Feeling” around an acid-house pulse before eventually losing the plot. Compared to these overwrought reconstructions, the simplistic tack that Radiohead’s Ed O’Brien and producer Paul Epworth take with “Slidin’” counts as an admirable act of trolling—they basically just speed up the tape and dial up the distortion until the song becomes a disco-metal jam.
But if the remixers embrace McCartney III’s lawless ethos, the cover renditions here are faithful to Macca’s fundamental tunefulness. Almost too faithful: You’d hope Josh Homme would add some QOTSA-sized muscle to a bluesy chugger like “Lavatory Lil,” but his take is actually more restrained than the original. Still, there’s a great deal of fun to be had in hearing Phoebe Bridgers make “Seize the Day” her own—certainly, a line like, “I don’t care to be bad/I prefer to think twice/All I know is it’s quite a show, but it’s still alright to be nice” acquires a delicious irony when delivered by someone who clearly gives zero fucks about ingratiating herself to the rock establishment. And if the ultimate goal of McCartney III Imagined is to sell Macca to the “who is Paul McCartney?” generation, the album finds its most effective Trojan horse in Dominic Fike’s “The Kiss of Venus,” where the Florida SoundCloud sensation transforms the creaky acoustic serenade into a slice of quirky indie R&B that, if not a surefire chart-topper, could score a premium position on a Spotify Bedroom Pop playlist. Of course, the path to pop-cultural currency looks much different now than it did 60 years ago, when McCartney was logging his 10,000 hours in Hamburg. But as this whole two-part McCartney III experiment proves, what hasn’t changed is Macca’s commitment to putting in the work to stay relevant—even if he has to occasionally delegate some of the tasks.
Buy: Rough Trade
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