Paul McCartney
– Flaming Pie
Flaming Pie is Paul McCartney remembering how good he is at being Paul McCartney. It’s not a return to form because he never really left—it’s more like a casual stroll through a field of his own greatest strengths, with the weight of nothing but legacy and love in his pockets. He’s not trying to prove anything here, which is what makes it all so convincing. This is a seasoned craftsman clearing his throat and smiling, knowing full well the magic still lives in his fingertips.
Best of…
Inspired, in part, by the retrospective lens of The Beatles Anthology, McCartney sounds reflective but not sentimental. There’s a looseness to the recordings, like he finally told the internal perfectionist to go take a nap. Jeff Lynne lends some shimmer without drowning the songs in gloss, and even Ringo pops by to remind everyone that rhythm can swing without shouting. The album doesn’t chase trends or run from time—it just exists, comfortably, like an old denim jacket that somehow still fits better than anything new.
The real strength of Flaming Pie is that it doesn’t shout for attention. It whispers, hums, and occasionally belts one out just to remind you who you’re listening to. It’s the sound of a pop architect leaning back, sketching in the margins, and still pulling gold out of thin air. Nothing forced. Nothing wasted. Just McCartney, doing what he’s always done best—writing songs that feel like they’ve always been there.
Choice Tracks
The World Tonight
It kicks with a laid-back confidence that belies its punch. The guitars are rough around the edges, the drums snap with intent, and Paul sounds genuinely fired up. It’s one of his most alive rockers from the post-Wings era—sharp, kinetic, and anchored by that ever-curious voice.
Calico Skies
A gentle protest, a love song, a quiet meditation—pick your angle. Recorded during a hurricane blackout, it carries the hush of candlelight and the weight of a heart that’s seen both war and tenderness. McCartney the balladeer never left, and here he’s practically glowing.
Flaming Pie
The title track plays like a cheeky nod to Beatles absurdism, with lyrics that wink while the groove wobbles along like a rickety parade float. It’s loose, unpolished, and all the better for it. You can hear him smiling.
Souvenir
A slow-burn soul jam with vintage reverb and longing baked right in. It could have fit on Let It Be if they’d let McCartney run wild with a Fender Rhodes. The cracked edge in his voice says more than any perfect note could.
Little Willow
Written for the children of Ringo’s late ex-wife Maureen, it’s maybe the most touching thing here. Delicate, hushed, and full of compassion, it’s grief dressed as lullaby. A reminder that Paul’s emotional range isn’t just romantic—it’s human.
Flaming Pie isn’t about reinvention. It’s about remembering. And in doing so, McCartney delivers one of his warmest, sharpest, most quietly affecting records since the ’70s. Not flashy. Not fussy. Just Paul, in his element—again.