![]() Yet the theory that McCartney was no longer sweating over his output, with that being the essential problem, doesn't hold up to scrutiny. McCartney contained "no substance", wrote The Guardian's Geoffrey Cannon, who wasn't alone in finding the solo work "boastfully casual". Paul's solo albums were disappointing, the drummer confessed to Melody Maker: "It's like he's not admitting that he can write great tunes." Print critics concurred. Even Ringo Starr expressed concern that his ex-bandmate was "going a bit strange". Many were perplexed by the lo-fi approach of McCartney (1970) and Ram (1971), especially after the sparkling grandeur of The Beatles' signoff, Abbey Road. So let's contemplate the more realistic assertion that effort had been abandoned, for some reason, a curious accusation where both Thompson and McCartney are concerned. There remains scant concrete evidence of human contact with little grey beings, notwithstanding the admirable efforts of the pranksters at NASA and scientists from Blink-182. An imposter, with the moniker Frank Black, took his place on Earth. Either that or they were bringing him back home now that his work was done, a bit like a shoutier E.T. His alien captors had been flattered by Thompson's songs about Roswell and the allure of distant planets, presumably, and rewarded him with adoption. (Happy 80th, "Paul".) Likewise, flying saucers abducted the "real" Black Francis, as Thompson was known from 1986 to 1992 when he led the Pixies. In 1966 Paul McCartney died, accidentally, and was replaced by talented doppelgänger. In later life, he found himself accused of "not trying hard enough" and was even subject to a Beatles-esque conspiracy theory. ![]() Charles Thompson's career has been endlessly and unfavourably evaluated in comparison to a few great records he made in his twenties.
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