"When I first toured with Wings things that were said about me were true - I did sing out of tune"
About this Quote
Linda McCartney’s line lands because it refuses the two default scripts available to famous spouses: defensive denial or saintly silence. She chooses a third option: blunt, almost mischievous admission. “Things that were said about me were true” is a disarming reset button, a way of taking the sting out of criticism by owning it before anyone can weaponize it. Then she narrows the charge to something plain and physical - “I did sing out of tune” - stripping away the more loaded insinuations that trailed her early years in Wings: nepotism, unearned visibility, the idea that she was “ruining” Paul’s post-Beatles credibility.
The context matters. Wings wasn’t just a band; it was a public referendum on Paul McCartney after the most mythologized breakup in pop history. Every weak note became symbolic. Linda, a photographer thrust into the role of performer, turned into an easy target for critics who wanted a villain, or at least a convenient explanation for why the music wasn’t The Beatles. Her phrasing acknowledges the audible truth while refusing the broader narrative judgment.
The subtext is sturdier than the self-deprecation suggests. By admitting imperfection, she stakes a claim to authenticity: this was a real working band, learning in public, not a polished legacy act. It’s also a quiet feminist maneuver - not pleading for permission to belong, just conceding the learning curve and moving on. The line doesn’t ask for sympathy; it demands a fairer measure of what “worthy” sounds like when the spotlight is inherited.
The context matters. Wings wasn’t just a band; it was a public referendum on Paul McCartney after the most mythologized breakup in pop history. Every weak note became symbolic. Linda, a photographer thrust into the role of performer, turned into an easy target for critics who wanted a villain, or at least a convenient explanation for why the music wasn’t The Beatles. Her phrasing acknowledges the audible truth while refusing the broader narrative judgment.
The subtext is sturdier than the self-deprecation suggests. By admitting imperfection, she stakes a claim to authenticity: this was a real working band, learning in public, not a polished legacy act. It’s also a quiet feminist maneuver - not pleading for permission to belong, just conceding the learning curve and moving on. The line doesn’t ask for sympathy; it demands a fairer measure of what “worthy” sounds like when the spotlight is inherited.
Quote Details
| Topic | Music |
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