Dear Paul, You're Not Half The Man You Used To Be

Thursday night at the White House, we Yanks gave Sir Paul McCartney the Gershwin Prize–the equivalent of the Purple Heart for songwriting–and in a brief info-mercial for British deference and class, Sir Paul gave this short, gracious speech in return:

Just before we leave, I wanna just say one more time that it’s a fantastic honor for the Gershwin family to give me this incredible award and for me to be awarded it by the Library of Congress. And in fact after the last eight years, it’s great to have a president who knows what a library is.

So who better to refute Sir Paul than Sir Paul? Therefore here’s my little act of amateur music criticism to McCartney, written in words he can easily understand. Here it is, Sir Paul. Come and get it.

Dear Prudence,

Scratch that. That’s definitely not who you are.

Dear Nowhere Man,

Help! I don’t want to spoil the party, but I’ve just seen a face of yours I never expected to see. Baby, you’re a rich man, but bashing George W. Bush is just so yesterday. Libs have been doing it here there and everywhere, eight days a week, for ten years now. All you had to do was act naturally, not foment a whole revolution.

Yes, revenge can be sweet, Sir Paul, but even your mother should know: the urge to get back isn’t very dignified. At least I don’t plan on trying it when I’m sixty-four.

I’m not saying please please me or anything, but don’t you think across the universe of junk that it’s only love that matters and not butting into other countries’ politics? Just because you’ve been invited over by Barack and Michelle doesn’t give you permission to act like some tawdry paperback writer.

So let it be, Sir Paul. I don’t remember you acting this rudely back in the U.S.S.R. I wish you could tell me why it makes you feel glad all over to behave like such a complete and utter ingrate in our country. Come on, don’t let me down.

At least now we know who the fool on the hill really is. You’ll have to carry that weight for a long time, Sir Paul. And if it’s truly a world without love, we now know who’s partly to blame–boorish, self-absorbed entertainers who believe a pedigree of hit records gives them some sort of special political perspicacity and a unique right to interject themselves into other countries’ political business, helter skelter. Just when I thought things were getting better, you had to give all decency a twist, and shout out your petty gratuitous jab.

Which only begs the question: Got to get you into my life? Sorry–I don’t think so. Perhaps some Norwegian would, but not this American. This bird has flown. And do you want to know a secret? Without you, Sir Paul, I feel fine.

In closing, all I can say is, if I fell into the trap of admiring you in the past for your truly wonderful songs, I should have known better. And please, no reply is necessary. It would just add to the misery.

With love from me to you.