Paul McCartney – The Boys of Dungeon Lane (Black LP Vinyl)

On his latest album, Dream Chaser, Willie Nelson leads with the title track, the latest in a series of songs he’s released in recent years about aging and how it has affected him. “Last night a new song came to me faster than I could write it down,” he sings, then muses, “Sometimes I wonder if there’ll be another, then another comes around.” Ultimately, he concludes, “You may not understand it, why we live with the sacrifice/ But it’s worth every mile to get to sing for a while.”

Paul McCartney would surely agree. Although nearly a decade Nelson’s junior—McCartney will turn 84 on June 18—he, too, has been taking stock of where he’s been and what it’s all meant. Not superficially nostalgic but, rather, warmly reflective, the 14-track The Boys of Dungeon Lane, McCartney’s 20^th solo release, is named after a street in Liverpool that he remembered from his childhood, the phrase itself having surfaced first in a song McCartney wrote in the early ’90s called “In Liverpool.” He returns to it here in “Days We Left Behind,” the first single culled from the album, a song in which he reminisces affectionately about meeting a friend—he’s undoubtedly referring to John Lennon—on Forthlin Road, where the McCartney family lived. “See the boys of Dungeon Lane along the Mersey shore,” he sings. “Some of them will feel the pain but some were meant for more.”

Clearly, Paul McCartney was one of the boys meant for more, and for millions of us, whether those who were there for the first shrieks of Beatlemania or those who fell in love with his music later, he’s always been a gift that keeps on giving. While there have been missteps along the way for sure, anyone who would deny that McCartney’s been one of our most significant artists of the past century is simply living in an alternate universe. Admittedly, like many other musical artists in his age bracket, his singing voice is rougher, more ragged, than it once was—nature takes its course and few octogenarians, particularly creatives, are as sharp as they were in their youth. Will we still want to listen to …Dungeon Lane 10 years or even six months from now? Can’t tell you ’cause I don’t know (and ’fess up, neither do you). Perhaps it will be a keeper or maybe, after it’s settled in and been with us for a while, it won’t go down as one of the more memorable works of his long career. No matter: At this particular moment, in its newness, it feels to this lifelong fan that that there are at least some moments here that are nothing short of remarkable. And that, in itself, makes it an essential addition to McCartney’s hefty catalog. The Boys of Dungeon Lane certifies that he’s still got it.

Like the best albums of The Beatles, Wings and McCartney’s 55-plus-year solo career, the new one, his first proper solo release since 2020’s McCartney III, flaunts the artist’s penchant for diversity, and his skills: No two songs sound alike, despite the fact that most of it is performed by one person: Paul McCartney. Vocals and bass (of course), a range of guitars, a battery of keyboard instruments (he still digs his Mellotron!), drums—mostly Paul. The rest: mostly Andrew Watt, who produced the album. Only 35 years old, Long Islander Watt has produced fellow youngsters like Demi Lovato, Justin Bieber, Post Malone and Miley Cyrus, but has also shown an affinity for classic rock, lending his guidance to recordings by the Rolling Stones, Elton John, Pearl Jam, Ozzy Osbourne and Iggy Pop. He’s a sympathetic producer, whose greatest contribution would appear to be knowing when to step back and let genius take its course. Does Paul McCartney even need a producer? Nah, but it’s to his credit that he chooses to hire one, perhaps if only to add the occasional no to all of the yeses.

Most of …Dungeon Lane works, managing to sound both contemporary and seasoned. The word “Beatlesque” is often tossed around when describing a certain strain of richly melodic pop-rock, and there are hints of that to be sure—how could there not be?—but at the same time, this is as fresh as any other rock being made today, and arrives there without relying on soon-to-be-outdated technological gimmicks. A song as spare as “Down South,” a beautifully understated not-so-silly love song recounting the earliest days of McCartney’s friendship with George Harrison, needs nothing but one voice, one acoustic guitar and one electric, and that’s all that it gets. The aforementioned “Days We Left Behind,” a highlight of the recording, is another that features no other musicians: Whatever McCartney has to say, he can say himself.

That’s not always the case, but even when he invites others into the studio, McCartney prefers to keep the guest list small. Watt is the most frequent co-contributor, playing a bunch of instruments, filling out arrangements and spicing things up but never dominating: “Life Can Be Hard,” folksy and sweet, one of a few tunes on which McCartney employs a near-falsetto (the whispery “Days We Left Behind”—yes, that one again—being another), is populated not only with McCartney’s Mellotron, Moog and piano but Watt’s synth and both strings and woodwinds. It’s easy to think of a song like “When I’m 64” or even “Honey Pie” when listening to it, but there’s enough crackle in the vocal to serve as a reminder that the singer is no longer the 25-year-old who made that music. “Mountain Top,” which flirts with Beatle-era psychedelia but never gets too corny about it (well, there is this line: “Magic mushrooms peeping through/Seem to want to talk and say hello”), is another Macca-only creation—he’s credited with harpsichord, bass, electric guitar, acoustic guitar, piano, Wurlitzer, Moog, Moog bass, drums, maracas, book slap, bongos, tambourine, Brenell loops—or would be if not for a mysterious notation that a spoken word bit is that of Nancy McCartney, Paul’s wife of nearly 15 years.

This is probably as good a place as any to elaborate more fully on that Paul-ephant in the room: McCartney’s voice. Anyone who has seen him in concert on his most recent tour, or in the past several years, is exercising a serious case of denial if they insist that the man’s singing voice hasn’t become, well, less pristine. Like any number of vocalists who’ve managed to keep going this long and this hard (You’ve heard him sing “Helter Skelter,” right?), McCartney’s most special instrument has weathered. It’s got a fracture to it now, there are notes he can no longer hit, and at times he appears to be struggling. That’s just the way it is—it’s that aging business again. Some longtime fans have groused that it’s time for him to pack it in, that since he’s no longer singing as well as he did at his peak and has accomplished enough in this life, it’s time for him to pull up the old rocking chair and enjoy the rest of his time on the planet without doing this music thing anymore.

McCartney’s response to all that grumbling has been, more or less, to ignore it, to continue Pauling, and that means performing live. Don’t like the way he sounds? Then don’t, he seems to be saying by saying nothing, go to see him. Someone else will be happy to take that seat in the stadium. Anyway, a little grit never hurt anyone—there’s a new earthiness to his singing that seems to say yes, I’m old and I’m not trying to hide it. The authenticity has always been there, it still is, and no real fan would begrudge him for staying honest.

That said, those who do have an issue with the live vocals can take some comfort in knowing that the vocal work on The Boys of Dungeon Lane skirts the issue quite deftly. However he and Watt did it, the most obvious signs of that coarsening are convincingly masked in the studio—he hasn’t entered Dylan territory quite yet, and likely never will. Like the latter, McCartney has learned to use the jagged edges to his advantage, tempering the blemishes masterfully, turning the lack of smoothness into a sign of maturing gracefully, a badge of honor.

In each of the most talked-about songs on The Boys of Dungeon Lane, we are never unaware that the man at the heart of each performance is the act we’ve known for all these years, getting back to where he once belonged—so immediately familiar, albeit with a few wrinkles and age spots. Except when he’s not. “As You Lie There,” which opens the album—with a spoken-word verse—may at first seem an odd choice for an intro. Wispy and wistful at first, it rides on a bit of fantasy recalling a long-ago teenage crush. As a setup for the album’s overriding theme, it’s not creepy, and is actually quite empowering. But it doesn’t stay in one place for long With periodic accelerations, the intensity of the memory becomes more vivid, more manic, and by the time he gets to “In the room beyond the blind, do I ever cross your mind?” prior to the bridge, McCartney is shouting it out, much as he does toward the coda of a particularly raucous “Maybe I’m Amazed.”

From the garage-y “Come Inside” to the easygoing “We Two” to the tender, album-closing “Momma Gets By,” there’s plenty of ace McCartney music to be found on The Boys of Dungeon Lane. And then there’s “Home to Us,” the newsiest tune on the album, the first-ever true duet between Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr. “The place we used to live in you could say it wasn’t much, but it was home to us,” they sing together, and it works like a charm. Like Simon and Garfunkel’s old friends, sharing a park bench in their twilight years. 

As its verses unfold, mum washing dishes, kids playing in the alley, the purity of the shared recollection becomes ever clearer and homier. Joined in the chorus by Chrissie Hynde and Sharleen Spiteri, the Beatle bros sing, “We didn’t worry where the road was going to lead us to/There wasn’t time to make a fuss ’cause that was all we knew.” They still may not know exactly where that road is leading, but they have a better idea about it than they once did. So do we all, and one thing we know is that we’ve always been lucky to have them, and lucky to have them still.

Jeff Tamarkin - Relix

Side A

Side B

Side C

Side D

UPC: 199957248617
Label: Capitol
Release Date: 5.29.26
Format: LP Vinyl