← DISGRACELAND
DISGRACELAND
Paul McCartney: Paul Is Dead, Smuggling Drugs, and Composing the World’s Most Beloved Songs (Rewind)
00:42:30
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- [00:02]
Jake Brennan
This is exactly right. Double Elvis.
- [00:14]
Reese Witherspoon
Picture this Me, Reese Witherspoon in London ordering fish and chips so often they might start wrapping me in paper. I'm traveling with my Wells Fargo Autograph Journey card, so I earn rewards wherever I book. Travel five times points with hotels, four times with airlines, three times on restaurants and other travel, and one point on other purchases. Imagine getting rewarded for eating a toad in the hole. Wait, what is a toad in a hole?
- [00:38]
Julian Edelman
Visit wells fargo.com autographjourney Terms apply
- [00:44]
Terz
have you ever found yourself craving a cold snack?
- [00:47]
Sheba Cat Treats Advertiser
Yep.
- [00:47]
Terz
Montucky makes my favorite cold snack. It's a cold snackable beer.
- [00:52]
Montucky Beer Representative
Montucky is a light American lager from Bozeman, Montana. Go to montuckycoldsnacks.com snack-finder to find Montucky cold snacks and a retailer near you. And if you're looking for some Montucky merch, use important snacks all one word for 20% off their merch store.
- [01:13]
Julian Edelman
This is Julian Edelman from Games with Names. As a fellow dude, do you ever get that not so fresh feeling in your butt? That's because you're probably using the dry stuff to wipe wet. Extra large flushable dude Wipes get what toilet paper leaves behind in your behind. You wouldn't clean the tail end of your truck with dry paper towels, so why would you wipe with dry toilet paper? Wetter just cleans better. There are no more dingleberries, no more itch and irritation, just a deep down the seam confident clean. So don't fumble the ball with toilet paper. Stop being an A hole to your B hole. Drop the toilet paper. Available on Amazon and major retailers nationwide. Dude Wipes Best Clean pants down.
- [02:07]
Jake Brennan
So guys, this Paul McCartney episode from our archive, this special rewind episode that you're about to hear contains one of the wildest and most overlooked stories from music history. One that is hiding in plain sight. One that barely ever gets mentioned. And that's the fact that Paul McCartney in 1980. 1980, he did time in one of the world's most dangerous prisons. And I'm talking about real time here. Real prison time, not cushy white collar lockup. I'm by no means saying this to besmirch Paul or his reputation. I'm just shocked that this actually happened, that it's a thing that took place. If anything, it makes Paul more badass in my eyes than he was before. Anyways, before I learned this fact, the story. The story of Paul's time in prison and what he did to earn that time in prison and it's at the center of this Paul McCartney episode. But so are the wild details behind the Paul is dead conspiracy during Paul's time in the Beatles. And the episode also gets into the way in which Paul was treated in the 1970s by his critics. It's hard to imagine now because Paul is so wildly beloved and successful, but there was a moment there in the 70s, if you can imagine this, where Paul McCartney was actually worried about whether or not he was going to have a career in music anymore. It's a fascinating story and I hope you dig it. Here you go. Disgraceland is a production of Double Elvis. The stories about Paul McCartney are insane. He is one, if not the most successful and revered living musicians. Yet he died in 1966, so the story goes anyway. He was arrested numerous times for marijuana, accused of arson by German authorities, supported and literally helped build with his own hands London's avant garde art scene. He hung with notorious junkie William S. Burroughs, inadvertently inspired Charles Manson, and spent nine days in a notorious Japanese prison. Yet despite all all of that, Paul McCartney was considered the safe beetle. Paul McCartney, of course, made great music, some of the greatest music ever made. Unlike that music I played for you at the top of the show, that wasn't great music. That was a preset loop from my melotron called Ganja daiquiri slush rush mk1. I played you that loop because I can't afford the rights to Please Don't Go by KC in the Sunshine Band. And why would I play you that specific slice of my my my my my, beggin cheese, cheese could I afford it? Because that was the number one song in America on January 16, 1980. And that was the day Paul McCartney's plane set down in Japan, setting off a minor international incident that would land him in one of the world's most notorious prisons. On this episode, Paul is dead. Paul is safe. Paul is in prison. Paul McCartney is not who we were told he is. And I'm Jake Brennan and this is disgrace. Paul McCartney was dead. Car accident. His death came at an inopportune time. 1966. The Beatles popularity was raging. Lovable mop topism proved irresistible to the youth market and was now starting to turn adults on as well. Beatlemania was very much a still growing enterprise. Paul McCartney, John Lennon, George Harrison and Ringo Starr were generating unheard of amounts of money for their record label, management and publishing companies. News of Paul's death came to them quietly and they kept it that way. The night he died, Paul was uncharacteristically angry, he was unable to convince John of the merits of the new tune. He wanted to record a song about a fictional student named Maxwell, a deranged psychotic who took a hammer to his lover's head. A notion that in 1966 was too dark even for John Lennon to wrap his head around. So Paul split from the studio in a huff. Fuck John. He could follow Lucy around in her newspaper taxi straight to the bottom of the charts with his childlike drivel for all he cared. Paul drove fast out of London. The actual Aston Martin moved. The M1 motorway spread out before him. Paul headed north past Northampton, south of Coventry. It was near the market town of Rugby in Warwickshire, where the Aston Martin lost its grip of the slick road. Paul's back end slipped an unexpected curve on the M1 and spun the sports car to its right. Paul compensated with a quick jolt of the steering wheel to his left. And the result was a wrenching jerk of the tiny machine in the opposite direction. Paul slammed on the brakes and the Aston Martin stopped its spin, but slid instead with tremendous speed straight off the motorway, through the guardrail, over a small embankment, into a tree and crushed itself with alarming precision. One of the trees branches shred through the car's windshield at a violent angle and decapitated its driver. Paul McCartney died instantly. Instantly, He was dead, but not unrecognizable. And the small town constable played it smart and rang up a school chum from MI5, the United Kingdom's equivalent to the US's FBI. And the MI5 man made quick work of the situation. He secured the crime scene, which to that point had consisted only of himself, the constable and a dim witted ambulance driver. And he got hold of the Beatles manager, Brian Epstein. The news shook Brian to his core. But panicking wasn't an option, the MI5 man assured him. Brian knew he was right. He also knew that Paul's death could not be revealed to the public. His first instinct towards secrecy was to ensure the news was distributed to Paul's loved ones and bandmates privately, before they heard it in the public press. But the MI5 man had other plans. No. No one can know, he informed Bryant. Maybe Paul's family and bandmates, but not the press. Not now. Public morale in the UK was at a shocking low at the moment. By the mid-60s, the sun had set on the British Empire. The Royal Navy was shrinking, canceling fighter planes and aircraft carrier programs. The Minister of Defense resigned over it in great public dismay. And the tabloids had Princess Margaret cheating on her Husband and celebrity mobsters, the Kray Brothers in the news, rubbing elbows with Sinatra one minute and under investigation for a nightclub shooting the next. Cynicism reigned. The news of Paul's death. The grief would be unbearable for the British people, and the Beatles were all they had. Brian thought about the upside. Paul may be dead, but he could keep the Beatles alive and keep the cash pouring in. Brian Epstein delivered the news first to John, George and Ringo, and they took it in stride, similar to how they would take the news of Brian's own death. A year later, the plan was laid out. There would be no more live performances by the Beatles. They'd retire to the recording studio and the public would view them intermittently through album covers and impromptu public appearances. But those recordings would still require Paul's voice. And those impromptu public appearances would require someone vaguely resembling Paul. Paul himself was a great impersonator during the height of Beatlemania. While ensconced away with the rest of the band in hotel suites to keep clear of their ravaging fans, Paul would often don a disguise and hit the streets to take in the sights, most always going unnoticed a la the opening scene in A Hard Day's Night. So the Beatles made like Paul and dressed up his impersonator, the winner of a recent Paul McCartney lookalike contest, an adult orphan from Edinburgh named William Shears Campbell, who would later introduce himself on the Beatles next album as the one and only Billy Shears. In a Fu Manchu mustache and dark sunglasses and dayglo Edwardian military garb. To distract the unsuspecting public, Paul's impersonator appeared on the COVID of their next album, sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, alongside the rest of the band, but obscured amidst a backdrop of a sea of famous faces. To further throw off the fans, John Lennon, in designing the COVID couldn't put his cheeky wit in a box. As such, the COVID of the album is riddled with hints of the real Paul's death. An open palm appears above the Paul impersonator's head, blessing him before burial. John, George and Ringo are all holding brass instruments. The Paul is holding a black woodwind instrument, Black Death. A prone doll lays in the corner. On his left hand, a bloody driving glove to signify Paul's deadly accident. At the bottom of the album cover is a bass guitar made of white flowers. You've seen one of these before in news footage of famous musicians, funerals and wakes, except this one only has three strings instead of four. Bass guitar, Paul's instrument, three strings, three remaining Beatles. Inside the album, the Paul sits amidst his bandmates. On his shoulder sleeve a patch with the initials O.P.D. the British authorities abbreviated designation 4 officially pronounced dead. And on the vinyl sleeve a final image of the band. George, John and Ringo stand in a line facing the camera. The Paul does not. His back is to the camera, setting him apart from the band completely. The listed title of the lead off track of side two is superimposed over the back of the Paul's head within you, without you. On the lead up single to sergeant Pepper's Strawberry Fields Forever, you can hear John mouth the lyrics I buried Paul obscured in the mix. And later on the Beatles so called White album, John snuck in another clue on his and Yoko's song Revolution 9 when played backward, the words turn me on dead man are clear as day. And the coup de grace of hints rests on the COVID of the Beatles final recorded long player Abbey Road. It's so obvious, it's brazen. But the band were by then breaking up and John Lennon was was fresh out of fucks to give about the Beatles. On the COVID of the Abbey Road album, John cast himself as the band's leader, their angel, dressed in all white, walking across the actual Abbey Road leading the dead man's procession. Behind him, wearing all black, the undertaker, Ringo Starr. Behind him, the dead man, the Paul, barefoot as most corpses were buried at the time and walking out of step with with the rest of the band. Behind him, clad head to toe in working class denim, is George Harrison, the gravedigger bringing up the rear. A license plate in the background reads LMW28. If, as in if Paul were still alive, he would be 28 years old. The rumors, the clues, they were there from the start at the time of the car accident in 66. But by the time Abbey Road was released in 1980, 1969, news that Paul is dead had taken on international proportions. The album cover was too much. Apple core phones were inundated with calls from the press demanding to know of Paul McCartney's death. A radio station in Detroit, Michigan, over in the States gave callers a full hour to work through their grief. More clues were explored. The Michigan Daily, an actual American newspaper, laid the clues out in its pages. Soon radio stations on both sides of the pond were flooded with calls from listeners pressing insider DJs on news of Paul's death. WKNR in Detroit gave the subject of Paul's death its own two hour special. New York's mainstream WABC and WMCA discussed the issue at length until their DJs were fired for breaking the respective station's format with talk. WABC was syndicated and reached more than 38American states. America convinced itself Paul Is Dead Reporters descended onto Apple headquarters in London. Neither Paul McCartney nor his impersonator could be found. Ringo Starr was forced to give a statement. If people are going to believe it, they're going to believe it. I can only say that it's not true. New singles sprung up overnight by group groups eager to capitalize on the Paul is Dead sensation. Zacharias and his Tree People found minor success with their song Where All Pallbearers Parts One and two, and Jose Feliciano released the song so Long Paul under the pseudonym Worbly Finster. The calls to Applecore never let up. That fall in 1969, word spread that Paul, the real Paul, not the Paul impersonator, was at his farm in Scotland. To confirm, the BBC sent a pack of reporters, CBS sent a news crew, and Life magazine sent a reporter and photographer to put Paul McCartney dead or alive on its November 1969 cover. And there Paul McCartney was found. The real Paul McCartney, who was very much alive. Paul McCartney wasn't dead. He was in prison.
- [16:25]
Reese Witherspoon
Picture this Me, Reese Witherspoon in London, ordering fish and chips so often they might start wrapping me in paper. I'm traveling with my Wells Fargo Autograph Journey card, so I earn rewards wherever I book travel five times points with hotels, four times with airlines, three times on restaurants and other travel, and one point on other purchases. Imagine getting rewarded for eating a toad in the hole. Wait, what is a toad in the hole?
- [16:49]
Julian Edelman
Visit Wells Fargo.com autographjourney Terms apply.
- [16:54]
Terz
Hey guys, have you ever found yourself craving a cold snack?
- [16:58]
Jake Brennan
Yep.
- [16:59]
Terz
Do you even know what a cold snack is?
- [17:01]
Montucky Beer Representative
I do.
- [17:01]
Jake Brennan
Well, some.
- [17:02]
Terz
Some of you may have noticed I've been wearing a Montucky shirt on the video version of the podcast. And that's because Montucky makes my favorite cold snack. That's right. It's a cold, snackable beer, and summer is the best time to enjoy it.
- [17:15]
Montucky Beer Representative
You're right, Terz. Montucky is a light American lager from Bozeman, Montana. It's snackable, shareable, and perfect for all occasions. Hey, that sounds like the dream beer to me. Go to montuckycoldsnacks.com snacks-finder to find Montucky cold snacks and a retailer near you. And if you're looking for some Montucky merch, use important snacks all one word for 20 off their merch store.
- [17:48]
Terz
They got some cold horses on those cans.
- [17:51]
Montucky Beer Representative
Cold snacks.
- [17:53]
Rob Gronkowski
This is Rob Gronkowski from Dudes on Dudes with Gronk and Jules. And talk about a perfect partnership. I'm here to tell you about protecting your end zone or with Dude Wipes. If you're still wiping with toilet paper, you need to listen up. Dude wipes are a wet, extra large flushable wipe that leave nothing behind in your behind because they are wet and we all know wetter cleans better. Unlike dry wiping with toilet paper, dude wipes clear instead of smear. Goodbye dingleberries. Goodbye itch and irritation. Plus if you take Gronk sized grumpies or or as I like to call them, Gronkies baby wipes won't do. You need extra big dude wipes to handle the job and they come in different scents and pack sizes, including a single use on the go pack that you can take wherever you go for that home field advantage. So don't fumble the ball with toilet paper, stop being an A hole to your B hole and start using Dude Wipes. Available on Amazon and major retailers nationwide. Dude Wipes Best Clean Pants down At
- [19:02]
Jake Brennan
the end of 1969, Paul McCartney was in a virtual prison of his own making. Practical minded, easy on the eyes, prone to nowhere man speak to the press. Paul played into the public's perception of him as the Safe Beetle. Particularly in contrast to his bandmate John Lennon, whose sharp witted tongue was legend and whose growing heroin habit, recent drug busts and stupendously unlistenable avant garde singles with his new wife Yoko Ono, including one in which he and his new bride posed fully nude on its cover, had John rightfully cast opposite Paul as the Dangerous Beetle. Paul himself was no stranger to hard drugs. He snorted cocaine regularly during the Sergeant Pepper sessions. He just didn't feel the need to tell the press about it. He learned that lesson with his comments about LSD a few years earlier. But because Paul was so, quote unquote safe, nobody even dreamed to think that he was singing a song like got to get you into my life about having to get drugs into his life. Being known as the safe Beetle had its perks because nobody would suspect you of anything. But it also frustrated him and led him to test the limits of that perception and take more more risk. And by the decade's end, at the beginning of 1980, those risks would land Paul McCartney in actual prison. The Yakuza gangster in the cell four doors down from him knew who he was. In fact, all of his fellow prisoners in Japan's notorious Kosuge Prison knew who he was. The conditions could only be described as barbaric. A 10 by 14 foot cell, a thin mattress on the floor and little else but the taunting broken English from the Yakuza down the hall. Yesterday you sing. Yesterday Paul had seen the Yakuza in the showers. His expansive back tattoo, his broad shoulders that seemingly grew straight out of his ears, and the rumors of his loose attitudes on sexuality were enough to make the long haired musician once known as the cute one sleep upright with his back against the wall on that first night for fear of being raped. At length it all added up to Paul. Obliging his intimidating prison mate's request, Paul worked out an acapella version of his most famous song and let the prison's natural acoustics carry his melody. He, like the Yakuza and the rest of the world, loved the sound of his voice. But this song, it started it all for him. Gave him the sand to really believe he had it in him. The gift of song, of composition. He couldn't read or write music, but still, it wasn't all visceral. There was something innate in him. He could feel it. Yesterday proved it. He had a true gift for melody. This was more than she loves you, more than can't buy me love. And Paul, though he'd never say it aloud at the time to anyone, he knew that it was more than anything John was capable of. But where it came from, he didn't know. It just appeared at first. Just the melody, no words. In fact, while composing the music, the only lyrics Paul had were scrambled eggs. Didn't matter. The melody was that good. When finally composed, the song was an undeniable sensation. An instant hit. So much so that it is to this day widely recognized as the world's most covered song. But again, Paul had no idea how he did it. So naturally he set out to do it again. Except this time he was looking for more than a hit. He was looking to prove to himself, and not only to the record buying public, but more important, to the stodgy old guard of London academia in society and culture. And he wasn't trying to prove he could write a pop hit, he already did that he was trying to prove he could compose a song, a truly great song, and thus that he could teach others how to compose a goal worthy of his time. For he knew it then that his time with the Beatles would soon come to an end. And when it did, he'd need a job. Teaching the art of songwriting in one of Britain's prestigious academic institutions seemed Like a good way to pass through middle age into retirement. At least the Ashers would think so. He would need an audition tape. So Eleanor Rigby was born. When Paul felt the melody summon him, he pounced on the lyrics, writing what he knew well and loved. Liverpudian characters half imagined, half based on real life, people from his childhood, glimpses of the brokenhearted picked up in passing as a boy, previously inarticulate in his mind until his melody gave wings to his memories. When he was done, he dispatched Beatles producer George Martin to draft a score for the recorded accompaniment of a double string quartet, and the effect was nothing short of epic. Paul was pleased with the composition and recording of Eleanor Rigby. He knew he was on to something. But was it better than yesterday? He didn't know. Armed with an acetate recording of the track under his arm, he sought validation and headed to Ringo's old flat in Monahue Square that Paul sometimes used as a demo studio. He also let Barry Miles and John Dunbar, friends he'd met at Better Books, London's hippest bookstore and hangout for the American beats whenever they came through town, use the studio to record their experimental music. Paul expected Barry and John to be there when he turned up with his acetate, but he didn't expect to find none other then the dean of the American beats, William S. Burroughs, hanging out as well. Burrows was of course shooting heroin high, but eventually lucid Paul played him Eleanor Rigby. Burrows loved it, but despite his fondness for Paul's new song, felt obliged to offer what he saw as the track's quote unquote 14 flaws as constructive criticism. Paul took it in stride. This type of critical thinking was expected to from the Better Books crowd. It's why Paul loved the place. It's why he couldn't shut up about it every time he saw John. It was the same with the art that Barry and John ended up featuring in their gallery adjacent Better Books, the Indica Gallery. Paul was so taken by the creative potential of this new avant garde endeavor that he literally helped build the space, demonstrating heretofore unknown DIY carpentry skills and offering up his Aston Martin to transfer supplies to to help with the buildout. When the Indica buildout was complete, the gallery quickly became the vanguard for London's counterculture, as would be expected of a 1960s art gallery named after a strain of the illegal cannabis plant. Quickly, the walls of the Indica were filled with far out exhibitions by UK underground star Mark Boyle and kinetic artist Lillian Lynn, drawing buyers like hotshot Young film director Roman Polanski, a regular customer of Indica vendors. The gallery's new find, Alex Martis, AKA Magic Alex, produced a psychedelic light box that the Rolling Stones bought and incorporated into their stage show. And in 1966, the Indica featured an experimental Japanese artist exhibition called Unfinished Paintings and Objects that included an apple on a table with a price tag of 2,200 pounds and a live exhibit where a circle of longhairs sat around and sewed up holes in a giant canvas bag. The artist's name was Yoko Ono, and it was at the Indica where she would meet John Lennon. And John, of course, had been made aware of the indica by Paul McCartney, without whom John would never have met his future wife, an occasion that would eventually speed John toward quitting the Beatles. That was another thing that the press got wrong. Paul breaking up the band. Not true. As untrue as the other press misconception that Paul was the safe one and Jon was the renegade. The press had it all wrong. Paul's tastes were far the out. Paul's the one who ushered Jon into London's counterculture. Paul's the one who hung out with Burrows long before Jon allowed that other beat icon, Timothy Leary, to cozy up to the foot of his bed. And sure, Paul wrote Yesterday in Eleanor Rigby, but he also wrote why don't we do it in the road in Helter Skelter. Yet the safe Beatle moniker wasn't going anywhere. And neither was the rap that Paul broke up the band. John quit the band first, privately, and had set about recording and releasing solo singles with Yoko long before Paul ever set foot in the studio to make anything without the Beatles. And by the time Paul did so to record his first solo album, McCartney, his quitting of the band was a mere formality. For all intents and purposes, by the time the Beatles completed Abbey Road in 1969, they were over. When Paul informed John he was leaving the group officially to do what he and Yoko were doing, to make records on his own with his new wife, Linda McCartney. John responded, Good, that makes two of us who have accepted it mentally. Yet the press would make Paul pay. It was as if it was just all too much much for the press to handle the safe Beatle by leaving the Beatles being so decidedly unsafe. His first three records without the Beatles, his solo effort, McCartney, his next album credited to himself and Linda McCartney simply entitled Ram and Wild Life by his new group, Wings. Despite their DIY charm, pointed brilliance and ragged moments of glory, respectively, they were each unfairly savaged by critics. Sure, there isn't an Eleanor Rigby or a Penny Lane among any of these releases, but that doesn't take away from the genius of Ram. But with all the bad reviews, Paul McCartney couldn't be sure. Paul McCartney was 30 years old, one of the biggest pop stars on the planet, one quarter of the world's most commercially and critically successful groups of all time, the Beatles. And here he was in 1972, ravaged with insecurity. How had this happened? Was he really any good? Was it all John's brilliance? After all, was positive critical consensus, completely out of reach for him? Without the Beatles, it certainly wasn't out of reach for John. The critics loved John Lennon's first two solo albums, John Lennon the Plastic Ono Band and Imagine. And for good reason. They were both truly great. And John was a vicious assessor of Paul's recorded efforts in the press and in song. With his scathing take on Paul and his track how do youo Sleep, he told Paul in the lyrics that the only thing he'd done was yesterday and claimed that the conspiracy theorists had it right when they said Paul is dead. Ouch. Paul responded on Rams, Too many people. But his counter didn't pack the requisite punch. Neither did the image on Rams artwork of two actual Beatles. Get it a bit too on the nose for the critics, they responded for their beloved Beatle, John, the authentic one, the artist. Making matters worse for Paul, George Harrison, the Beatle, whose songs historically barely made it onto the band's album. Such was their perceived inferiority to Lennon McCartney compositions, was enjoying more success than both he and John. With the release of his triple album All Things must pass in 1972, Paul McCartney, as far as the critics were concerned, couldn't get arrested. An actual experience, however, that was proving to be all too familiar. For the so called safe beetle, there was the bust in Scotland in 73 for growing dope on his farm. Another bust in Sweden for possession a year earlier, and then his dope bust in LA in 75. Linda took the rap for that one so her husband could skate. And of course, first there was the recent arrest in Japan that put Paul McCartney in prison, singing for his security, lulling the Yakuza toward golden slumbers with yesterday.
- [31:00]
Sheba Cat Treats Advertiser
We'll be right back after this word.
- [31:02]
Jake Brennan
Word, Word.
- [31:07]
Reese Witherspoon
Me, Reese Witherspoon in London, ordering fish and chips so often they might start wrapping me in paper. I'm traveling with my Wells Fargo autograph Journey card, so I earn rewards wherever I book. Travel five times points with hotels four times with airlines, three times on restaurants and other travel, and one point on other purchases. Imagine getting rewarded for eating a toad in the hole. Wait, what is a toad in a hole?
- [31:30]
Julian Edelman
Visit Wells Fargo.com autographjourney Terms apply.
- [31:36]
Terz
Hey guys, have you ever found yourself craving a cold snack?
- [31:40]
Sheba Cat Treats Advertiser
Yep.
- [31:40]
Terz
Do you even know what a cold snack is?
- [31:42]
Montucky Beer Representative
I do.
- [31:42]
Terz
Well, some of you may have noticed I've been wearing a Montucky shirt on the video version of the podcast. And that's because Montucky makes my favorite cold snack. That's right. It's a cold, snackable beer and summer is the best time to enjoy it.
- [31:56]
Montucky Beer Representative
You're right. There's Montucky is a light American lager from Bozeman, Montana. It's snackable, shareable, and perfect for all occasions. Hey, that sounds like the dream beer to me. Go to montuckycoldsnacks.com snack finder to find Montucky cold snacks and a retailer near you. And if you're looking for some Montucky merch, use important snacks all one word for 20% off their merch store.
- [32:30]
Terz
They got some cold horses on those cans.
- [32:32]
Montucky Beer Representative
Cold snacks.
- [32:34]
Julian Edelman
This is Julian Edelman from Games with Names. As a fellow dude, do you ever get that not so fresh feeling in your butt? That's because you're probably using the dry stuff to wipe wet. Extra large flushable Dude Wipes get what toilet paper leaves behind in your behind. You wouldn't clean the tail end of your truck with dry paper towels, so why would you wipe with dry toilet paper? Wetter just cleans better. With Dude Wipes there are no more dingleberries, no more itch and irritation, just a deep down the seam, confident, clean. Plus, unlike baby wipes, dude wipes are extra big for adult hands. You're not a baby, so keep them on hand so you get nothing on your hands. And speaking of on hand, dude wipes come in different scents and pack sizes, including a single use on the go pack that you can take anywhere. For that home field advantage, stop being an A hole to your B hole. Drop the toilet paper. Available on Amazon and major retailers nationwide. Dude Wipes Best Clean Pants Down There
- [33:51]
Jake Brennan
are lots of places around the world to do time. Japan isn't one of them. Their prison system to this day is repeatedly described by human rights organizations with words like horrific and brutal. It is alleged that the Japanese prison system is designed to break prisoners down to elicit confessions for their crimes, either while they're being held on trial or even after they've been convicted. Japanese prisons are barbarically strict. Living conditions are spartan and bleak, even by prison standards. It was in this environment that Paul McCartney thrived. Blessed with the day trader's optimism, Paul McCartney took his cues from Steve McQueen in the Great Escape. Just as McQueen's character, Captain Virgil Hilt, aka the Cooler King, knew he'd taste freedom again one day, so too did Paul. Though escaping Kosugate prison wasn't on the docket to free himself, Paul wouldn't rely on his wily will. Like McQueen, he'd rely on his irrepressible enthusiasm and charm. Roll call was at 6am every morning. Paul McCartney made damn sure he was the first prisoner off his mattress and sitting at attention cross legged in the middle of his cell. As was expected of him, he'd hear his prison number shouted out. Did you? Japanese for 22 years of slinging it on stage in Hamburg, in Liverpool, taught Paul McCartney how to engage in an old fashioned call and response with a proper shout. Hi. Japanese for yes. Paul then set about cleaning his cell with his miniature broom and dustpan. There were no blankets and no sheets on his mattress, so he'd just fold his mattress and neatly place it in the corner of the cell. Cell. Breakfast was served in the cell, not in a mess hall. It was virtually solitary confinement. Yet Paul made the best of it, devouring his nearly inedible food to show his gratitude, privately thankful that his meals were at least vegetarian. Seaweed and onion soup for breakfast, bread and soybean soup for lunch. Rice in a bowl for dinner, with a piece of fruit for dessert. If the guards were feeling charitable, there were no books, no writing tablets, no pens, no pencils and no guitars. He sang. None of the guards, nor the other prisoners, least of all the caged yakuza down the hall, minded. They came to expect it, just as they came to expect Paul's humor. Nobody spoke English and Paul spoke no Japanese. When he felt he was being shouted at by prisoners from adjoining cells, rather than ignoring them, Paul shouted back the only Japanese words he knew. Kawasaki, Toyota, Datsun. His prison mates ate it up. They thought it was hysterical. Paul endeared himself to the gangsters and thieves on the inside, just as he endeared himself to the world over on the outside. And the guards soon became enamored of him as well. Moved by his efforts as a model prisoner, they offered the international celebrity a loan concession. He could shower power in private, thus avoiding the possibility of prison violence, sexual or otherwise. While physically exposed to other inmates and thus vulnerable, Paul declined with gratitude. There would be no Special treatment. He showered with the rest of the inmates to show that he was no different. A multimillionaire man of the people. The showers became mini events, with Paul leading his fellow prisoners in song, shouting at the top of his lungs the simple old standards that his father taught him as a child. Melodies that those who spoke another language could easily latch onto. When the red, red robin comes Bop bop, bopping along Till there was you and a bird in a gilded cage. Paul was making a go of it. In prison, he'd have to write Steve McQueen a thank you letter when he got out. Steve wasn't doing well. Cancer, they said. It had been almost a decade since he last saw Steve. It was in Jamaica. Paul and Linda were on holiday. Paul was worried. Worried he was washed up, worried he'd never make another great album, worried the critics were riding him out of the business, worried he'd lost it. That worry that all writers have, even songwriters. The worry that you're gonna wake up one morning and sit down to write and nothing and no explanation as to where it went. When you don't know where it comes from, you don't know if it'll ever stop coming. You pray it won't. You develop your own habits to stave off any creative disruption. And for Paul, he wrote constantly, played constantly, always kept a guitar or piano nearby, summoned melodies out of thin air and plopped them down over chords. Most he let slip away. The good ones he committed to tape. The very best made it onto wax, where they were decimated by the critics as of late. But what was the point of worrying about hanging on to something if that something wasn't valued? But Paul needed it. Songwriting wasn't only his trade, but his life's blood. Losing it wasn't an option. Steve McQueen was oblivious to Paul McCartney's occupational insecurities. He had his own professional worries, like how the hell he was going to perform his own stunts. In Papillon, cliff jumping seemed a little more daunting than deciding whether or not to augment the C chord by sharpening the fifth. Steve gave Paul and Linda an audience in Jamaica on the set of Papillon, but uncharacteristically retired early after dinner, leaving the McCartneys to his co star, Dustin Hoffman. Hoffman was infatuated with McCartney, the beetle there in the flesh and all of his powers, unknown to himself at the time, to be racked by professional and creative insecurity. Over late night drinks, Hoffman challenged his hero to show him how he did it, right there, right then, write a song out of Thin air. Come on. You're Paul McCartney, the greatest living composer on the planet. Show me how you do it. Go ahead. I'll jump into character for you right now. Paul couldn't help but laugh and take Hoffman up on the challenge. Pablo Picasso had just died. It was all over the news. Paul picked up his guitar and out of nowhere wrote and sang and played on the spot, a tribute to the famed artist. Picasso's last words, Drink to me was born out of a drunken challenge. It seemed like nothing at the time, but it was a confidence builder for Paul. He was off writing again in no time after that and putting together his next album, Band on the Run, with his group wings. Released in 1973, the album reignited Paul McCartney's career. Not only was it well received commercially, as all his albums were, it was also well received critically. Paul had delivered on the promise of. Well, Paul. Band on the Run was no modest DIY effort like McCartney. Nor was it a piss and vinegar flex like Ram. It wasn't a bandesque ramble like Wildlife. And it wasn't an uncharacteristic swing and a miss like Red Rose Speedway. Band on the Run was bold, big and befitting of the 70s, perfectly stuck, suited for rock and roll's expansion into stadiums with its anthemic singles Jet as well as its title track. And the album led from its front foot. There was hope in McCartney's signature melodic grandeur. Paul left the Piss and Vinegar for his old songwriting partner John Lennon. It better suited John anyway. But the soulful incantation of Let Me Roll, it was all Paul. Little Richard was always a better model for Paul than Robbie Robertson. There are no swings and no misses on Band on the Run. Nor are there on Wings at the Speed of sound. Wings, 1976 release, which is in fact an even better album.
- [41:20]
Paramount Series Narrator
What?
- [41:20]
Jake Brennan
You don't like silly love songs? Fuck off then. It's great. Like the rest of the record. And those two albums, along with the triple live album Wings Over America are just that, truly great. The critics agreed. So too of course, did the record buying public. Band on the Run went on platinum and peaked at number one in the uk, the US and Australia. Wings at the Speed of Sound and Wings Over America both repeated the feat in the us. It was redemption. Enemy, the British music newspaper declared of Band on the Run the ex Beatle least likely to re establish his credibility and lead the field, has pulled it off with a positive masterstroke of an album. Paul McCartney, despite whatever natural insecurities he felt felt remained undaunted in the face of his critics. That enthusiasm pulled him through the rough years in the early 70s until it finally paid off with the release of Band on the Run. And it would pull him through this stint in this Japanese jail cell, however long it was. Despite the conditions, Paul was beginning to not care. Prison offered a new kind of structure that he easily caught into. Paradoxically, it offered him freedom as well. Freedom from being Paul. He was caged, sure, but he wasn't expected to be anything but prisoner number 22. And that, for the moment anyway, was enough. Getting released from prison, he thought, would be a real drag. Arrangements for Paul McCartney, his wife Linda, their children in their band to arrive in Japan for 11 shows were painstakingly negotiated over the previous months due to Paul's criminal record for his prior marijuana arrests. Paul McCartney's entourage landed at Narita International Airport on January 16, 1980 to great fanfare. Japan was ecstatic to witness their first performance from a real life Beatles since the Band's concert under guard and kamikaze threat at Budokan hall almost 15 years before. Paul made it through the VIP welcome awaiting his rockstar arrival at the gate point, posing for photographers and television cameras. He was happy. You could see it on his face. Japanese authorities were not happy. They weren't going to be made out to be fools. Their drug laws were strict for a reason. And despite whatever diplomatic negotiating had gone on behind the scenes to clear the way for Paul McCartney to enter and perform in their country, there would most definitely still be a search. Paul was escorted with his luggage to a room for what he expected to be a cursory peek into his belongings. They opened one of his suitcases, pulled up a jacket. Under it, a plastic bag enclosed around a large chunk of marijuana. Immediately, alarms in the airport started going off. The surgical gloved customs agent began speaking in frantic Japanese cops started flooding into the search room. Officious looking gentleman in sharp suits running every everywhere. Newspapermen jetting for phone booths, TV journalists jockeying their cameras for positioning. Traveling musicians mentally inventorying their own possessions, fear covering their faces. Paul McCartney was jettisoned off to another room for further searching and morpot was found. He was then taken downtown to Tokyo's Metropolitan Police Headquarters and grilled for five plus hours by an angry pair of drug squad detectives eager to learn about whatever other dangerous drugs Paul McCartney was was attempting to smuggle into their country. They clearly didn't get the memo that Paul was the safe beetle. Seven ounces of dope, almost a quarter pound. Enough to keep Paul high for A long time. He swore it was for him and him alone. He wasn't a drug smuggler. There was no intent to distribute. Didn't matter. Off to prison he went. Not jail, prison. Kosuke prison. No bail. Japan's criminal system didn't account for bail. Japanese authorities were interested in confessions. An extended stay in Kosuge would. Garner said confessions break the weak willed Paul McCartney was a lot of things, but weak willed was not one of them. He was strong, as his stint in Kosuge proved. And now the safe one was doing a brief stint in one of the world's most dangerous prisons, shacking up with yakuza and sharing stories about getting Mick Jagger stoned on grass for the first time at the request of his fellow prisoners who were demanding to know about his famous friends. He was staring down a 10 year sentence, smiling away, recounting the details to his inmates of his previous dope bust of the time he and Pete Best were busted in Hamburg for arson of inadvertently inspiring Charles Manson out drinking Steve McQueen, shutting up Dustin Hoffman. He was behind bars while John Lennon, the so called dangerous one, was in a domestic prison of his own making, inside his luxury apartment on New York's Upper west side, baking bread for his toddler. The irony of it all could at least pass for entertainment while in prison. Paul didn't care. He'd proven he could make it without the Beatles. The world now knew that he'd resurrected himself from the critical slang of the Earth, the early 70s, with a series of successes that led him here to Japan. And he'd be released soon, free, but of course still imprisoned by the world's impression of him as the safe one and the expectations that went along with that. But again, what did it matter? Paul McCartney knew who he was and he was optimistic. And who could tell what lay ahead? 1980 was shaping up to be a hell of a year. A second second solo album, McCartney 2. And then maybe a creative reconciliation with John and possibly even with George and Ringo at the same time. Minus George. The three of them jammed in LA a few years earlier with Stevie Wonder. The cocaine prevented anything from coming of it, but John was healthier now. Domesticity will do that to you. Paul, of course, knew that family man that he was. And though John had refused Paul the last time he showed up at his door in New York, Paul suspected that the creative frost between the two was about to melt. And if there was ever a time for the Beatles to reunite, 1980 could be the year. John was working on new material, and word was that he was inspired, even optimistic, about the decade that lay ahead. With a headwind of his own solo success, John Lennon might be warm to the idea of a reunion with Paul McCartney, if not a performance, then maybe a stint in the studio and the Beatles would play again. Yeah, it seemed inevitable. And then the unthinkable happened. Such a disgrace. I'm Jake Brennan and this is Disgraceland. Disgraceland was created by yours truly and is produced in partnership with Double Elvis. Credits for this episode can be found on the show notes page@gracelandpod.com if you're listening as a Disgraceland All Else Access member, thank you for supporting the show. We really appreciate it. And if not, you can become a member right now by going to Disgracelandpod.com Membership members can listen to every episode of Disgraceland ad free. Plus you'll get one brand new exclusive episode every month, Weekly unscripted bonus episodes, special audio collections, and early access to merchandise and events. Visit Disgraceland pod balance.com membership for details. Rate and review the show and follow us on Instagram, TikTok, Twitter and Facebook Disgracelandpod and on YouTube@YouTube.com Disgracelandpod Rocka Rolla He's a bad, bad man. All right, Discos, what did you think of this Paul McCartney episode? Give us a call, let us know. 617-906-6638 voicemail and text his GraceLandPod on the socials. Coming up next in Disgraceland, we got another archive episode for you. Our episode on and solo time in New York.
- [49:56]
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Jake Brennan
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Sheba Cat Treats Advertiser
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Jake Brennan
Yellow. Have you been eating them this whole time? Mmm. So tasty. Hands off us. M&M's popped caramel. It's more fun together.
- [51:00]
Paramount Series Narrator
Now streaming on Paramount, the acclaimed series from executive producer Lena Waithe reaches its final chapter. The Shy. For seven seasons, these stories, these streets, this community have stayed with us. Now it all leads to this. As friendships are tested, families evolve. And secrets refuse to stay buried, One thing is certain. The Shy is more than just a series. It's a legacy. Don't miss the final season of the Shy. Now streaming on the Paramount Premium plan.