Forgive me if this seems out of the blue, but I'm starting to come around on Paul McCartney.
I've been a Beatles fan since my dad gave me the White Album for my 13th birthday. My love for the band has fluctuated in its intensity in the intervening years, but it peaked concurrent with the 2009 remastering and reissue of their discography and has remained at a healthy plateau since. Just the other night I listened to Revolver, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band and Abbey Road--their three best records in ascending order--in one sitting.
Where I haven't been so consistent is in my appreciation for the individual members of the group. If there is one constant, it's George Harrison, who has been my favourite Beatle since I first listened to "While My Guitar Gently Weeps," and Martin Scorsese's Living in the Material World documentary only augmented my professional and personal respect for the man. And I suppose I've always liked Ringo, because I like underdogs and "Octopus's Garden" is a genuinely great song that I want to play over the end credits of a Call of Cthulhu movie. But my admiration for John Lennon and Paul McCartney has been like a see-saw over the last decade.
