HELP! HE'S NOT DOING FINE

By TERRY TEACHOUT

How legit can an aging rocker get? At 55, Sir Paul McCartney seems determined to find out. Standing Stone, his second voyage into the deep waters of classical music, is a four-movement symphonic poem in which McCartney endeavors to suggest "the way Celtic man might have wondered about the origins of life and the mystery of human existence." The CD version, recorded by the London Symphony Orchestra and Chorus, shot right to the top of Billboard's classical chart.

The former Beatle isn't the only rock musician currently trying his hand at classical composition--Billy Joel announced in September that his plans include not only working on Broadway but also composing Rachmaninoff-like solo piano pieces--but Sir Paul sweeps the table when it comes to sheer audaciousness. McCartney, who cannot read music and readily confesses to having attended only a handful of classical concerts, has been no less forthright in acknowledging the extensive role played by four "musical associates." Jazz musician Steve Lodder and classical composer David Matthews transcribed and edited his original computerized keyboard noodlings; classical saxophonist John Harle "advised me on the structure of the piece"; film composer Richard Rodney Bennett (Murder on the Orient Express) served as "overall supervisor of orchestration."

The results may well go down in musical history as the first as-told-to symphony, though McCartney's associates loyally insist that the final product is all Paul. If so, it's a vanity production. Standing Stone's themes are nondescript, its harmonies blandly predictable, its structure maddeningly repetitious, and its scoring bloated and slick, with bits and pieces of popular classical works occasionally bobbing to the surface (Ravel's Daphnis et Chloe and Orff's Carmina Burana both make cameo appearances).

Alas, the 75-minute work contains no trace whatsoever of the indelible tunes and crisp discipline that marked McCartney's collaborations with John Lennon. But then McCartney's post-Abbey Road pop output has also been notable mainly for its vacuity. The cash flow produced by such perennials as Yesterday (recorded to date by more than 2,200 artists) ensures that Sir Paul's great-grandchildren will never wonder where their next BMW is coming from, but it has also relieved him of the need to make new music vital enough to seize and hold the attention of contemporary listeners. Perhaps that is why, 30 years after Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band changed the face of rock, the wild rumor that once rippled throughout the world appears at last to have come true: creatively speaking, Paul is dead.

--By Terry Teachout