So this guy Paul McCartney is in a band, right? It’s, like, widely considered to be the greatest pop group in musical history. And he is fifty percent of what is regarded as the world’s finest songwriting team. Ever. Now here’s the kicker: the band breaks up. Boom. All gone. So then what?
Well, first this guy might hole up on a farm in the Scottish highlands with his family and a bunch of sheep, and record a couple of albums on which he plays all the instruments, but when that only elicits a lukewarm response, then what?
Perhaps round up the family and the sheep and head back to England, where… hmm, scratch the sheep. Just go back to England, teach the lovely wife a few keyboard tricks, round up ex-Yardbirds/Moody Blues singer/picker Denny Laine and drummer Denny Seiwell, and get back to where he once belonged: in a rock & roll band.
Wings did not catch on immediately, and when they did, they came nowhere near the popularity or creativity of The Beatles. For that which they had to offer, however, they found a large and very avid audience. This was in fact a band peculiarly suited for the 1970’s, producing tooth-achingly sweet love songs and foot-stomping stadium rockers in equal measure. Despite critical detractors, Macca and company carried on, through fire, rain, world tours, and personnel changes (later Wing-bearers included Henry McCullough, Joe English, Geoff Britton, and Jimmy McCulloch), and when all was sung and done, they managed to typify 70’s Pop Rock as much as or more than any other band save perhaps Fleetwood Mac.
Decades come to an end, however, and so do dreams… and in the end, the bullet that ended John Lennon’s dream also brought Wings down in a tragic flurry of feathers. In time, McCartney emerged from mourning and went on to other exciting and challenging endeavors. But the band on the run, sadly, ran no more.