For Paul McCartney, the concept of being a prolific bassist has always been a bit of a chip on his shoulder, because it was the one thing that The Beatles forever lacked.
It’s not that he didn’t have respect for them or misunderstand their value, but when the instrument had been passed between himself, John Lennon, and even Stuart Sutcliffe back in the day, it seemed that it never found its permanent home within the band and thus never truly became a staple of The Beatles’ musical diet. They were all for big guitars, vocals, and drums. That famous wall of sound left little room for quietly keeping the beat.
In this sense, given that the vast majority of other bands out there did have the bass guitar as one of their core pieces, and often sounded all the better for it, it was possibly the single occasion in which McCartney became a little sheepish towards his own group’s supposed shortcomings. But in a rock star’s typical bravado fashion, he tended to laugh this off with a certain slightly arrogant swagger – because no one wanted to see the true anxiety underneath.
Having said that, it was obviously impossible for Macca to avoid the orbit of the bassist entirely, especially when his rock and roll career was at its peak and he was constantly surrounded by other bands, all desperately pining for the same glory. He may have ordinarily found solace in The Who – a band that rose to the psychedelic ranks more or less at the same time as The Beatles, and ultimately outlasted them. But John Entwistle was always the thorn in his side.
It wasn’t necessarily the case that the pair hated each other’s guts, at least on the face of it. There was always going to be some mutual, almost contractually bound, level of respect, given that they hailed from two of the most illustrious forces in rock. But with the odd slip-up here, the occasional jibed comment there, it was clear that Entwistle and McCartney were never going to be a match made in heaven, as far as rival bands go.
But it was on the subject of the bass that Macca patently found it easiest to let rip, given that he liked to paint the picture of him viewing the instrument with a certain level of distaste. Speaking about how The Who’s techniques largely didn’t match up to his own, he later subtly sneered: “I often thought it was like the bass as lead guitar. I don’t think it makes as nice a noise as lead guitar. It’s sort of like speed merchants. I’ve never been one.”
Clearly, as much as the rest of the world was wooed by the rush and the thrill of the machine, turning rock music into a motorsport, but this god of the scene wasn’t fooled by the ruse. “It’s one thing to be fast, but that’s short-lived. I think I’d rather be melodic. I’d rather have content than just speed,” he mused, ultimately saying so much by saying very little.
The fact that The Beatles never had the bass guitar as a permanent anchor within their band dynamic obviously didn’t blight them too much, but when it seemed like every other band was using one as some sort of secret weapon, it can’t have been a comfortable realisation. The only real option left to McCartney was to bluff his way out of it – and if that had to involve the odd snarky comment along the way, then so be it.
