EXCLUSIVE: Macca's Secret Bass Shame - Beatles Legend Admits He Never Wanted The Job!
As McCartney readies Venus and Mars 50th anniversary release, startling revelations about his reluctant path to becoming rock's greatest bassist emerge alongside AI warnings
Paul McCartney reveals he was initially reluctant to take over bass duties in The Beatles due to stigma around the instrument
McCartney warns AI could rip off young artists as UK government considers copyright reforms
Wings' Venus and Mars album gets 50th anniversary vinyl reissue with new Dolby Atmos mix
Well, well, well... who'd have thought it? The man whose melodic bass lines helped shape popular music was actually a rather reluctant four-stringer. Yes, dear readers, as Sir Paul readies yet another anniversary reissue (this time it's Wings' Venus and Mars getting the half-speed master treatment), it emerges that our favourite left-handed legend was initially about as keen on playing bass as Ringo is on signing autographs.
According to Macca's recent confessions in his 2021 tome 'The Lyrics', he only picked up the instrument because "somebody had to do it" after Stuart Sutcliffe's departure. "Nobody wanted to be the bass player in those days," he reveals, "because it was always the fat guy playing bass." One can only imagine the young McCartney, standing there in his Cuban heels and drainpipe trousers, looking forlornly at Stu's Höfner President bass, wondering if this was going to be his Hamburg destiny.
The revelation comes at an interesting time, as we learn more about the fateful day that changed popular music forever - July 6th, 1957, when a 15-year-old Paul first met John Lennon at St Peter's Church Hall in Woolton. It seems our reluctant bassist had already spotted his future songwriting partner around Liverpool, describing him as "a cool looking guy" whom he'd even seen queuing for fish and chips. One imagines young Paul, probably nursing dreams of being the next Elvis, had no idea he'd end up being the "fat guy with the bass" (although, let's be honest, he never quite fulfilled that particular stereotype).
Speaking of modern times, it seems our Paul is getting rather tetchy about artificial intelligence these days. In a recent BBC interview, he warned that AI shouldn't "rip creative people off" - rather rich coming from someone who just used the technology to bring back John's voice for "Now and Then", one might suggest. Still, he has a point when he warns about young artists potentially losing control of their work. "You get young guys, girls, coming up, and they write a beautiful song, and they don't own it," he laments. One assumes the irony of Northern Songs ownership isn't lost on him.
The timing of McCartney's AI concerns coincides rather nicely with the British government's December proposal regarding AI and creative works. The suggestion of allowing AI developers to use copyrighted material "where rights have not been reserved" has clearly got Macca's knickers in a twist. And who can blame him? After all, this is the man who had to fight tooth and nail to buy back the rights to his own songs - and now the government wants to let computers have a free-for-all with artists' work?
Meanwhile, as Venus and Mars prepares for its golden anniversary next year (feeling old yet?), we're promised a "meticulous reproduction" of the original UK pressing, complete with that most Japanese of accessories - an OBI strip. For those wondering, that's the paper band that wraps around Japanese albums, not a Star Wars reference. The album will also receive the now-obligatory Dolby Atmos treatment, with George Martin's son Giles continuing his role as keeper of the Beatles (and Wings) flame.
The album itself, Wings' fourth studio effort and follow-up to the masterpiece that was Band on the Run, marked a significant change in the band's lineup. Out went drummer Geoff Britton (barely warming his seat), in came the more Macca-friendly Joe English. Jimmy McCullough joined on guitar, proving that Paul had finally overcome his apparent reluctance to let proper guitarists into the band (let's face it, Denny Laine was always more of a McCartney sideman than a rival six-stringer).
Venus and Mars would go on to sell over four million copies worldwide, topping the charts on both sides of the Atlantic. Not bad for a band that was essentially Paul's post-Beatles vehicle for avoiding having to admit he missed his old mate John. The album's crowning glory, "Listen to What the Man Said", even managed to hit number one in the US singles chart - though one suspects the "man" in question wasn't Allen Klein.
Looking back at McCartney's journey from reluctant bassist to revolutionary musician, it's rather remarkable how fate has a way of pushing us down unexpected paths. From being forced to play Sutcliffe's backwards-strung Höfner (imagine trying to play "Something" like that) to becoming what John Lennon called "one of the most innovative bass players" - though in typical Lennon fashion, he couldn't resist adding that Paul was "an egomaniac about everything else."
Speaking of Lennon's backhanded compliments, his 1980 observation that "Half the stuff that's going on now is directly ripped off from his Beatles period" seems particularly pertinent in light of McCartney's current AI concerns. One wonders what John would have made of computers potentially ripping off their catalogue. Actually, scratch that - we all know exactly what he'd have said, and it probably wouldn't have made it past the BBC censors.
The whole affair rather brings to mind recent poll results showing that "Hey Jude" remains the nation's favourite Beatles song (9% of respondents), followed by "Here Comes the Sun" and "Yesterday" (both 6%). Interesting that two of those three feature McCartney's distinctive bass work - not bad for someone who took up the instrument reluctantly. Even more interesting is that 14% of respondents claimed not to know or like any Beatles songs at all - one assumes they're the same people who think AI-generated music is the future.
And speaking of the future, one must wonder if today's young artists, facing the brave new world of AI, will have the luxury of such serendipitous career decisions. As Sir Paul warns about tech giants potentially profiting from artists' work, one can't help but think of that prescient Beatles lyric: "You never give me your money, you only give me your funny paper." Some things, it seems, never change - even if the technology does.
The current controversy around AI and music rights feels somewhat reminiscent of the early days of music piracy - another technological advancement that had the industry clutching its pearls. But while home taping didn't kill music (despite what those cassette warnings claimed), AI poses a rather more existential threat. After all, it's one thing to copy an artist's work, quite another to create a simulation of their creative process.
Looking at the underappreciated gems in the Beatles catalogue (and yes, there are some - even the Fab Four had their B-sides), songs like "Hey Bulldog" with its thumping McCartney bass line, or "I'm Looking Through You" with its messy yet endearing arrangement, one wonders how an AI would handle such beautiful imperfections. Would it smooth out the rough edges? Would it correct the "mistakes" that often make music human?
This brings us back to young Paul McCartney, reluctantly picking up that bass guitar in Hamburg. Would an AI have made that choice? Would it have understood that sometimes the best musical decisions come not from careful calculation but from necessity? As we stand on the brink of this brave new world of artificial creativity, these questions become increasingly relevant.
The recent half-speed mastering of Venus and Mars seems almost quaint in comparison - a physical artifact from an age when music was something you could hold in your hands, when creative decisions were made by humans, for better or worse. The inclusion of an OBI strip feels like a deliberate nod to the collectors, the traditionalists, those who still believe in the tangible nature of music.
As McCartney prepares to unleash this latest reissue upon the world (and yes, we're all pretending we need another version of "Listen to What the Man Said"), one can't help but appreciate the irony. Here's a man who reluctantly picked up the bass guitar because nobody else would, warning us about the dangers of letting machines make our creative decisions. Perhaps there's a lesson in there somewhere.
One thing's for certain - whether it's 1961 Liverpool or 2025's digital frontier, the struggle between art and commerce continues. Although these days, instead of worrying about being the "fat guy with the bass," musicians have to worry about algorithms stealing their thunder. Progress, eh? At least Paul McCartney can rest easy knowing that his reluctant decision to pick up the bass guitar led to some of the most innovative and influential bass playing in popular music. Though one suspects he's still slightly miffed about having to do it in the first place.