Charts: UK #6, AUS #3, Austria #12, NZ #9, Spain #7, SWE #5, CAN #2, GER #16, ITA #10, JPN #7, NLD #11, NOR #5, US #8. US: Platinum, UK: Gold, CAN: 2? Platinum.
After ten Capitol albums with wife Linda, stalwart Denny Laine and various incarnations of Wings, McCartney jumped to Columbia last year in a multimillion-dollar deal that many thought would represent a new era for him musically. Despite the addition of Steve Holly on drums and Laurence Juber on guitar, Back to the Egg is just about the sorriest grab bag of dreck in recent memory.
Herewith, a sample of the words from the single, “Getting Closer”: “I’m getting closer, my Salamander/When will we be there? Oh no, don’t answer.” Mercifully, no lyric sheet is provided, but a throwaway scrap (what other kind of McCartney lyric is there?) from the above tune about a “radio playing a song with a point” sets an ironic tone for the entire LP. A veritable slide show of dead-end flights of fancy and yesterday’s dross, Back to the Egg doesn’t contain one cut that’s the least bit fleshed out or brought to any logical conclusion. In place of well-framed songs, we get an irritating display of disjointed images and unfocused musical snapshots. Titles are abundant (fourteen in all), but the content is largely regurgitant. “We’re Open Tonight” bears a strong resemblance to London Town‘s “I’m Carrying,” while “Winter Rose/Love Awake” recalls “Power Cut” on Red Rose Speedway. “After the Ball/Million Miles” is the obligatory tip of the McCartney hat to English music-hall tradition, but it’s vastly inferior to even such half-baked fluff as Venus and Mars‘ “You Gave Me the Answer.”
(rollingstone.com/music/music-album-reviews/back-to-the-egg-206167/)