Paul McCartney: on the phone with God
In an exclusive Australian interview, Paul McCartney reflects on grandfatherhood and writing a good children’s bedtime story.
When you learn that you’ll be interviewing Paul McCartney, two thoughts hit you. First: great! And then, a nanosecond later: shit! How the hell do you find a way to ask him a question that he hasn’t already been asked a hundred times before? The mind boggles, then reels, then begins to unravel.
If pop music is a religion, this man is the Pope. Or as a wide-eyed colleague phrases it when you share this thrilling, life-changing news: how do you spend 20 minutes on the phone with God?
Now 77 years old, McCartney has been globally famous since his early 20s. He has sat through more perfunctory press engagements than most of us have had hot dinners. Accordingly, he has developed a masterly deftness in navigating such matters. All music journalists know this as surely as they know every note contained in the mighty opening chord to A Hard Day’s Night. We study this stuff, learn it by heart, and seal it away in the filing cabinets of our minds — beside the genius melodic bass run in Day Tripper — in a jar marked: Break In Case Of Interviewing Paul McCartney.
Inside the jar is this 1986 observation by Rolling Stone writer Kurt Loder: “After a quarter century of Q&A, McCartney is a total interview pro, elaborately adept at deflecting any question that threatens to discomfit. His charm is a bit too studied to be entirely credible, but his humour is real, as is his talent.”
But that was 33 years ago, and that sense of adeptness, that acuity of deflection, has only sharpened as the old pro shrugs off any thought of retiring from public life. Instead, this year he and his trusted quartet of bandmates have played about 20 stadium and arena concerts throughout North and South America, where they shop slick, three-hour setlists spanning his work with the Beatles, Wings and his extensive solo career.
In the jar, scrawled beside Loder’s words from 1986 are these by Chris Heath, a British writer who profiled the prolific songwriter for GQ magazine last year: “It is not so difficult to get Paul McCartney to talk about the past, and this can be a problem. Anyone who has read more than a few interviews with him knows that he has a series of anecdotes, mostly Beatles-related, primed and ready to roll out in situations like these.”
When you live a life as full as he has, you tend to accumulate some pretty good stories — hence the repetition. And when you change the course of human history in your 20s with a bass guitar, a voice, a brain and a few of your musically minded mates from Liverpool –— who recorded 12 albums together between 1963 and 1970 — you can spend the rest of your days doing more or less whatever you please.
One of the strangest outcomes of that creative wanderlust is also the newest: a children’s picture book named Hey Grandude!, authored by McCartney. The story stars a white-bearded, purple-jacketed grandfather tasked with caring for his four grandchildren — who he calls “chillers” — for a weekend.
Its opening page shows “one of those days when nothing felt quite right. It was grey and drizzly, and everybody was grumpy and too bored to be bothered”. Enter Grandude, a spirited old bloke whose shiny magic compass allows the five of them to travel to the far-flung locales pictured in a pile of postcards pulled from the back pocket of his skinny black trousers.
With bright pictures drawn by Canadian illustrator Kathryn Durst, the tale is run and done within 30 pages, and it ends with the four chillers tucked up tight in bed, with brushed teeth and washed faces. It’s good fun, and its whimsical storytelling feels very on-brand for McCartney. Like so many things its author has had a hand in, it’s a hit: after publication in September, it topped a new type of chart in his career by reaching No 1 on The New York Times bestseller list.
While a children’s picture book might be one of the thinnest premises imaginable for a 20-minute conversation with God, it is also a remarkably helpful framing device — notwithstanding several gentle reminders from publicists that the focus of the interview is to be Grandude-related, please, and not about the minutiae of, say, outtakes from the Abbey Road session tapes recorded five decades ago. Noted.
And so, having filled your head with as much McCartney as possible with three days’ notice, you go about your Friday while trying to play it cool. Write some words. Cuddle your son. Walk the dog. Eat dinner with your wife. Watch some TV. That phone call you’ve got scheduled for 10pm? Oh, it’s just another musician. Another artist who’s rather good at matching words to music. Actually, he’s a children’s book author. A first-timer. Yeah, that’ll work to calm the nerves.
Except that, as 10pm approaches, your mind can no longer uphold the falsehood. It’s not just another musician. It’s one whose songs have affected more people on this planet than anyone else alive. The unravelling begins anew. Your body — whose bloodstream swims with fragments of Beatles melodies, having no doubt absorbed them through the umbilical cord — begins to vibrate at a pitch of high arousal.
As the remaining minutes tick down, you pour yourself a whiskey on the rocks and wonder how the universe bent itself so favourably in your direction. You hope that every other conversation you’ve ever had might somehow have bestowed you with the requisite skill, grace and wit to handle the voice that’s about to time-travel from a midday office by the Thames in London to your own eardrums in sleepy suburban Brisbane.
You try not to think about that wondrous night two years ago at a packed stadium across town, singing Hey Jude while standing beside your parents — who gave you life, and gave you the Beatles — because you’ll only start crying, and then you’ll be no good to nobody. Then the phone rings, and it’s Paul McCartney.
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Review: Congratulations on Hey Grandude!. I’ve read it to my son a few times and he thinks it’s hilarious. Or maybe he just thinks I’m hilarious — it’s kind of hard to tell at this point, because he’s seven months old.
McCartney: Oh, wow. That’s a very young readership, but that’s terrific. I always like the idea of parents reading to the kids, or friends, relatives, family. Since the book came out, people have done what you’ve just done. It’s great, it’s lovely. That’s why I did it. It’s nice to hear.
Did you have a test audience to read to when you were working on early drafts?
Well, you know what? I just kind of made it up, and worked on it with the publishers at Penguin. I didn’t really try it out ’til I’d finished writing the stories, and a couple of my grandkids — who happened to be knocking around — I said to them, ‘What do you think of this?’. They quite liked it. You know what it’s like: your own kids, they don’t bother …
They’re not impressed?
No, not really. No, they liked it, and then we finished it up. They’re very impressed now, with all the illustrations and everything. They like it.
Very good. You’ve made all sorts of people feel all sorts of things in response to all the art you’ve made during your life. What have you noticed about the way in which children have reacted to this book?
Well, I find out through the parents, and I always say to them, ‘What’s their favourite bit?’. And it’s nice, they each have different favourite bits. One was the horse, they liked the spotted horse, and I said, ‘Oh, well, that’s modelled loosely on my horse, who is an Appaloosa — so that’s why we mention Appaloosa in the book’. That was a horsey kid, and then one of them liked the compass, because he’d actually been given a compass the year before as a present. So now he’s going around, pretending he’s magic, you know? (laughs) But it’s lovely. It’s a great feeling, actually, to think people really are reading it. You kind of write it, you publish it and it gets out — and I think it’s my favourite bit, really, hearing the feedback of people. It’s very nice.
Maybe I’m wrong, but it seems to me that you’re in the unique position of having the resources to do whatever the hell you want. Why did you want to write a children’s book?
The first part — I suppose I can do anything I want, and that’s great, because that’s what I worked for all my life — to reach that position. So rather than retire, I just like doing various things. And what happened was, I’ve got eight grandkids, and I didn’t have to do a thing; they just all arrived! (laughs) One of them just happened to say to me, ‘Hey grandude!’ one day. We all had a laugh, and I thought, ‘You know what, that’s an interesting idea for a character …’ So I just went away and just started dreaming of this character called Grandude, who had some grandkids and the kids all said to me: ‘Is that us? Is that us?’ I said ‘No’ — I purposely tried to make it not my own grandkids — but they still say, ‘No, that one’s me, and that one’s her …’ But that was it, really, because I actually got called that, and I thought, ‘That’s clever’. So I started writing the stories and then Penguin had expressed some interest in doing something with me. I said, ‘Well, I’ve got this idea, I don’t know if you’re interested …’ And they said, ‘Yes, quite’.
So it was really nice, actually, because they were very excited. They didn’t quite know what it was; it was about this Grandude who goes off on adventures, but it was really nice ’cause they sent me round a presentation, like a pitch that you’d do. And so it arrived in the form of a suitcase; they’d mocked up a little suitcase, and in it they put postcards, and they said, ‘Oh wow, this is exciting — who knows where Grandude’s gonna go? It could all be very exciting’. So actually, the postcards, I thought, ‘That’s a good idea — I didn’t have it, so I’m gonna nick it’ (laughs). So that’s how it happened. I just started writing some stuff, and then worked very closely with the publishers. They explained what they were thinking of, and so it was quite a collaboration, really.
Did you have any particular hopes or goals for putting the book out into the world?
No, not really. Because the idea was so curious, I wanted to honour that idea and my grandkids. So I just wanted the book to be good. Originally, I was wondering whether the story should be long and it should be a little bit more in-depth. But then I started to worry that, wait a minute, I’m coming out and I’m going to try and rival Roald Dahl, or David Walliams, or Julia Donaldson — some of the big children’s book (authors). I thought, ‘I don’t want to do that’. Then Penguin got back to me and said, ‘Listen, anyway, we want short stories. We think it’d be better because the age group we’re aiming at is quite small’. The age that parents will read stories to you as you go to bed. And I’ve done it a lot with my own kids. I said, ‘One of the things I want is that at the end of the story, it’s time for bed’. Because I know that’s very useful for parents to say to the kids (adopts yawning voice), ‘Oh, look, everyone’s getting really sleepy in the story …’ (laughs) And by that time the kids have nodded off. I suppose that’s the biggest ambition: to have a good bedtime story.
I think you’ve succeeded at that. But I’m curious: is this book, Paul, part of some master plan to brainwash small children into becoming familiar with you, so that they might later start to explore some of your other material?
Yeah. Yes, it is. I will be unleashing special music packages and copies of my manifesto to all the children via this (chuckles).
Seriously though: was it your intent that the book would do for readers what a great pop song does for listeners — you hear it once, and then you want to hear it again and again?
Well, I hope that, you know. I didn’t really think too deeply about it. The idea was just fun and on an afternoon when I’m doing nothing, I quite like to just sit down and write some stories. I’ve never done that. I amused myself doing it, and then the idea that people might like it, and parents and grandparents, friends and family might actually read it to kids — I found that a fascinating idea. If it was catchy enough for them to want to read again, then that’s just a big bonus, you know? And I think it does happen, apparently. The parents are saying, ‘The kids say, can we have Grandude again?’. So it’s great. I remember thinking, years and years ago, that it’s a wonderful thing when you write music, if people put on a pair of headphones, you’re in their head. You’ve actually got in someone’s head, you know? And it’s such an amazing thought. It may sound a bit stupid, but I found it sort of fascinating. So this idea that you’re actually into kids’ childhoods, and they’re actually going to grow up — some of them, anyway — with the memory of this book. I like that. I’m a family man, so I love the idea that parents and kids can share. That’s very important to me, that you have something in common, even if it’s just a book at bedtime. It’s gratifying on a number of levels.
You mentioned you’ve got eight grandchildren. Were there aspects to becoming a grandfather that surprised you, or that took you a while to get used to?
It’s just joy, really. Because you think about it: hopefully, for you, it’ll happen to you. This little baby you just got, it’s gonna grow up and may have babies of their own. And you can’t explain the joy of that. But it’s really just your little baby, having a kid. And that in itself is miraculous. It’s very joyful, seeing parents happy, loving the kid; seeing the kid grow up. It’s a very joyful experience, really, and I count myself very lucky to have it eight times over.
Do you have any observations or guidance to share with people who are soon to become grandparents?
Ha. Just enjoy your grandkids. It’s like having kids all over again, obviously, but with the hand-off factor, which is a great factor. ‘Oh, he’s just pooed his pants! Over to you, mum! – or over to you, dad!’ (laughs) I think it’s a great thing, and the trick is just to enjoy it. To lay back and think of Britain.
I understand Grandude is approximately 77 years old, which just so happens to be your age, too. Did you find it easy to write a story starring that sort of character?
Yeah, I mean, I’ve got a reasonable imagination. I enjoyed writing stories at school, and when writing songs, it’s often like writing a story. I enjoy that. Yeah, I had a lot of fun doing it, I must say.
Did you enjoy writing something that wasn’t constrained by rhyme and metre?
Yes, that was interesting. I mean, it still had its own parameters, but they were different. As I say, I collaborated with the people at the publishers, and I was open to their ideas. I think it was a little bit unusual for them, because I imagine some writers just say, ‘You’re not touching my precious text!’. But for me, it was like, ‘I don’t mind. It’s just a little fun thing. You got any ideas?’. And so I let them guide me into the length of the stories, so I enjoyed working with people as a team on that. And they would send corrections to me, and I would either take them — or completely ignore them.
Kathryn Durst’s illustrations are wonderful. Were you closely involved with supervising the illustration process?
I just liked her work. I just thought, you know what, it’s got a special quality. So I chose her, and then I said to the publishers, ‘Okay, so can I give her a ring and talk to her about it?’. They said, ‘Oh, no, we haven’t got her number …’ Anyway, I found out that they had, but they don’t like the writers talking to the illustrators, I think because in the past, the illustrators and the writers have had arguments. So I said to them, ‘Look, I’m not going to cause any problems, but I don’t want to do something where I don’t even know the person, and I’ve never spoken to them. I want to speak to her’. They gave me her number, and I just rang her and surprised her. I said, ‘They’re a bit worried I was going to be a headache, but I’m not. I just wanted to speak to you, to put a voice to the name.’ It was great.
There’s a scene in the book where Grandude is playing guitar to the chillers. Did that reflect your own life, playing music for your family — or was home a place for you to have a break from all of that?
No, I’ve always got a guitar around, or there’s always a piano near me, always, in whatever house I’m in. But mainly I just have a guitar handy all the time, if I fancy plonking away. So it does reflect our household. The funny thing was, I’d be playing sometimes — I’d be maybe writing a song quietly over in the corner, kind of thing — and the kids would say, ‘Dad, be quiet! We’re trying to watch the telly!’. (laughs) Do you realise who is paying for the telly …? But yeah, I do have a guitar around pretty much all the time. I love it!
I play a little guitar myself, Paul. Do you have any recommendations for songs — or chord progressions — that my son might find soothing before bedtime?
(slowly) Yeeaahh. I mean, if you know Blackbird, that’s very soothing. My song, Blackbird, if you do that. And if you’re just looking for chord sequences, what came to mind was C, A minor, F, G. It’s what we used to call the Diana chords — not because of Princess Diana, but when we were kids, there was a song by Paul Anka called Diana. We used those chords, and we learned it, so we always called them ‘the Diana chords’. C, A minor, F, G. Nice.
Thank you. I’ll give it a crack.
Good!
You’re coming towards the end of yet another productive year in your life, where you’ve played about 20 stadium and arena shows throughout America. Where does publishing Hey Grandude! sit among your various achievements of 2019?
Well, it’s nice, because it’s out of left field. It’s not something I normally do, and I always like that. I think it keeps your life fresh, if you’re lucky enough, to be able to just do something different than the normal routine, you know? So I like to do that, even if it’s just going for a walk in the park or something, or going for a bike ride. It was a great freshener in the year. It was something else that I didn’t have to think about (while) going on tour. What I love is doing something like Grandude, because it’s like a holiday from your day job. I’ve got my touring, which I love — or I wouldn’t do it — and then I’ve got something like Grandude, which is almost like a hobby. It’s a nice little thing. We had a great tour in Australia, by the way. We loved it.
On behalf of everyone who saw that tour (in 2017), thank you. It was marvellous.
Oh, great.
Are you hoping to bring your band back to this part of the world again?
Yeah, definitely hoping to. No plans!
Lastly, Paul: I understand that when you were in school, you were advised to think about becoming a teacher, which you weren’t keen on. Yet in living the life you have, you’ve been a great teacher in your own way, by teaching all of us so many things about art, and music, and love, and the discipline that allowed you to hone your craft. Does that ring true to you?
That’s very nice of you to say that. Thanks a lot. I hadn’t thought of it like that, actually, but I think it’s true. Why I was going to become a teacher was, when you’re a kid in school — I don’t know if you did it — but you go to the careers master, and he talks to you about what you might do as a job when you leave school. And I just told him the qualifications that I had, which weren’t much, and he said, ‘It’s just enough for you to be a teacher. You go to teacher training college …’ That was what I was looking at, and I thought, ‘Oh, okay, I’ll do that …’ But the Beatles came along, and saved my life. But it is nice to think that, in some way, I’ve fulfilled that dream of somehow teaching, but not in the way I’d imagined it.
I bet that careers adviser didn’t see ‘children’s author’ in your future, either.
No, that’s right.
And neither did you, perhaps.
I certainly didn’t. Although we did kind of like all that kind of stuff. When I started writing with John [Lennon], one of the things we did — probably for the same kind of reason, just doing something different — we started trying to write a play. We got a few pages’ worth, then we decided, ‘This is too hard’. So we did have literary leanings. And what’s great is, I’ve got an archive at my office here [in London], and they collect all [my] old stuff and log it. I was going through it with my guy, my head archive guy, he said, ‘What’s this? I don’t know what this is?’ I said wait a minute, and started reading it: ‘Bloody hell, that’s that bloody play!’ So they actually had it from all that time ago. Isn’t that amazing?
Wow. What state’s it in?
I mean, it’s like six pages long or something. It’s cute, more than anything. It’s just amazing to have that memory actually show up. I thought it was just a memory and that the actual writing of the play itself was gone. Okay, I’m being told to wrap it up. You have a good one — and get some good sleep, now!
Hey Grandude! is published via Penguin Random House.