In 2026, a cascade of new historical and archival projects celebrates the 50th anniversary of Paul McCartney's first US tour with his post-Beatles band, Wings. These include a documentary titled "Man On The Run," a 550-page oral history called "Wings: The Story of a Band On The Run," and a major museum exhibit at the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. The collective effort aims to tie up the loose ends of this era while key participants are still available to share their stories, officially inducting Wings into McCartney's enduring legacy.
The charm of these archival efforts lies in how deeply McCartney wanted Wings to feel like a real band, not just "the cute ex-Beatle and some other guys." He envisioned a proper group where each member contributed ideas to songs and arrangements. This mindset explains his early approach: hopping into a van, driving to UK universities, offering to play for 50 pence at the door, and dividing the coins among the band at night. It was a delightful conceit, but it ignored the immutable fact that the songwriter and recruiter had been a Beatle. No matter how democratic he tried to be, the power imbalance was inevitable.
McCartney was navigating uncharted territory. After the Beatles' breakup, he wasn't sure if he would ever write another note. There was no accepted path for what to do when your massive pop group dissolves. This makes the Wings story relevant beyond die-hard fans: it also charts how the music business evolved from the 1960s into the 1970s, covering writing, recording, touring, promotion, and media relations.
The McCartneys decided to record in exotic locales. They asked their record label for a list of studios in countries other than the UK. That's how Paul, Linda, and Denny Laine—the only band member who didn't chicken out—ended up in Lagos, Nigeria, to record "Band on the Run." They arrived to find a studio lacking basic technical requirements, taught the staff how to build vocal booths, ignored advice not to walk around, and were promptly held at gunpoint. All their demo cassettes and lyrics were stolen, forcing Paul to recreate the album from memory. Later, sessions for 1977's "London Town" were recorded in a studio built on a yacht anchored off the Virgin Islands.
Paul and Linda took their three small children on tour, a radical move in an era when "old ladies" were considered verboten on the road. Now, it's common for families to travel together, but back then it was an aberration. The adorable small McCartneys appear in on-tour footage, and everyone acts like it's normal. Even the music press had to find new ways to cover the band, still evaluating them against the Beatles. Reviews of post-breakup solo albums were terrible. Jon Landau wrote in Rolling Stone that "'RAM' represents the nadir in the decomposition of sixties rock so far," while NME claimed it contained "not one worthwhile or lasting piece of music." It seems everyone was still mad at the Beatles for breaking up.
Critics overlooked the personal struggles behind the music. The man who wrote "Yesterday" would wake up in his remote Scottish farmhouse—where he fled to escape press and fans—feeling like he didn't know how to write songs. He plowed through what sounds like severe depression to write and record an entire album using a studio he built himself. That was a tremendous personal accomplishment, but the industry, suffering its own Beatles withdrawal, was harsh.
Toxic fandom existed long before social media. In the documentary "Man On The Run," you see hysterical fans crying outside the Marylebone Registry Office as Paul and Linda emerge after marrying. Some of those same fans stood outside Paul's London house yelling insults at Linda as she did the shopping. This drove the McCartneys to High Park Farm, a remote 183-acre sheep farm in Scotland that Paul had purchased as an investment. The long-time locals respected their privacy, but that didn't stop Life magazine reporters from showing up during the "Paul is dead" scandal in 1969 to prove he was alive.
The documentary provides a delightful glimpse into High Park Farm through home movies and photographs: ancient buildings, sheep, breathtaking Scottish landscapes, and Paul running with his sheepdog Martha (of "Martha My Dear" fame). There's even footage of Paul throwing a bucket of slop at reporters. Paul bought back the footage from Life in exchange for an interview, preventing publication of a photo showing the cute Beatle being mean. The farm also features in the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame exhibit, with a section configured to look like the inside of the farmhouse, complete with wood paneling, quaint lighting, and a faux kitchen table holding one of Linda McCartney's cameras, which feels like a holy relic.
The Wings exhibit, though small by Rock Hall standards, is packed with details: handwritten lyrics, orchestral scores for "Live and Let Die," guitars, keyboards, stage outfits, Paul's sweater vest, caftans from Morocco, and the actual sign for "Rude Studio"—a barn with recording equipment. Original artwork layouts for McCartney solo albums and Wings albums are also displayed. The exhibit covers the band's entire trajectory, despite its changing lineups and limited discography.
One challenge is that Paul's insistence that Wings was a band means including artifacts like guitarist Laurence Juber's amp and items from the horn section, which may only interest rabid fans. Still, for those planning a trip to Cleveland, the exhibit is worth a detour. A highlight is the Wings Over Europe tour bus—an old double-decker bus with the roof removed and fitted with cushions and mattresses. You see Paul, Linda, and the kids lounging in the sun as the bus drove under motorway overpasses, while the rest of the band sat downstairs. The bus only went about 40 mph, so promoters often sent cars to meet the bus to get the band to shows on time. Without an ex-Beatle in the band, such a routine would likely have lasted only a few dates.
The oral history book compiles hundreds of hours of interviews used in the film, leading to some overlap, but it feels like being in on the secret rather than repetition. However, because quotes aren't always dated, you don't know if you're reading someone's contemporaneous thoughts or a later reflection. The book includes commentary from Mary McCartney (on her mom's photography) and Sean Ono Lennon—fine given their family connections, but they weren't old enough to remember the early '70s tours in detail.
Another revelation from these projects is how much the McCartneys enjoyed cannabis, almost evangelizing for it. In a different era, it might have been a minor detail, but because it was illegal and viewed as evil during the US "war on drugs," it looms large in Wings history. It's striking that Sir Paul McCartney had trouble getting a US visa due to a pot bust in the UK, at a time when Nixon sought to use similar transgressions to deport John Lennon. Paul's later bust for possession in Japan effectively ended Wings as a project.
The book frequently defends the Wings albums and McCartney's early solo work, using the cliché "soundtrack of a generation." But at a minimum, a stretch of three albums—1973's "Band on the Run," 1975's "Venus and Mars," and 1976's "Wings At The Speed of Sound," capped by the triple live LP "Wings Over America"—needs no defense. While the other Beatles released new music, they didn't dominate the airwaves like Wings with hits like "Jet," "Band On The Run," the Bond theme "Live and Let Die," or the live version of "Maybe I'm Amazed." Paul was the one Beatle on the road, ready to perform Beatles songs, giving a new generation their first chance to experience Beatlemania.
The retrospective can't avoid addressing the vitriol Linda McCartney received for being in the band. She faced unprecedented fury for daring to make music and go onstage with her husband, even though it was Paul's idea. The rampant misogyny was wildly out of proportion. People who didn't like Linda in the band could have simply not bought records or attended concerts. The project occasionally tries to portray Linda as a feminist icon, but that's unnecessary given her real accomplishments as a photographer and animal rights activist. Paul didn't need to justify her presence; the fact that a man who wrote timeless songs wanted her in the band should have been enough. That this aspect still dominates the historical project shows how upsetting it must have been for both McCartneys.
While "Man On The Run" includes live footage from Wings' heyday, it's unfortunate that the 1980 documentary "Rockshow" isn't part of this victory lap. "Rockshow" had sound and image issues when released on Blu-ray in 2013, which is likely why it's absent. That's a shame because "Rockshow" truly captures how great Wings were live and how much fun McCartney had on stage. None of us got to see the Beatles mature into a live touring band—and that includes John, Paul, George, and Ringo. They never got to figure out they wanted a horn section, brainstorm visuals and pyrotechnics, or craft a great Beatles setlist. Paul got a second chance with Wings, and through all these efforts, we can finally witness that lost potential.
Source:MSN News