Graham Reid | | <1 min read
No one, surely, has seriously followed Ringo's career since some time in the late 70s when the hits stopped coming (but he did have quite a few solo hits).
But one thing he used to do was sing a convincingly autobiographical song (the terrific Early 1970 when he seemingly tried to reconcile his sparring former bandmates) and this title track from his latest album is one of those: he starts with his preFab Four life, mentions the Hamburg Years and then Beatlemania at Shea Stadium -- and he does it all with cheerful wistfulness
Elsewhere on this album he namechecks his former hit It Don't Come Easy, delivers Harry's Song (to Harry Nilsson presumably), employs that charmingly wobbly voice on some pretty nice lyrics and . . .
And no, you probably won't be rushing to stores to buy it, but it is -- for what it's worth -- his best album since . . .
Presumably it was Dave (Eurythmic) Stewart who has added the Beatlesque musical flourishes, and while there are clunkers here you feel Ringo's heart is a good one, and in the right place.
He even lets himself be steered into a Spanish-styled song although he is better on the sentimental ballads.
As was McCartney on his last album Memory Almost Full, Ringo is in a reflective mood.
He's 67, folks.