“My favourite albums by other people tend to be: ‘Music from Big Pink’ by The Band, ‘Pet Sounds’ by the Beach Boys, and ‘Harvest’ by Neil Young” – Paul

“My favourite albums by other people tend to be: ‘Music from Big Pink’ by The Band, ‘Pet Sounds’ by the Beach Boys, and ‘Harvest’ by Neil Young” – Paul

For this month’s website Q&A, Paul talks about the music that has ‘soundtracked’ his life:

by Mary McCartney

 

Sonic Portraits of Influence: Unpacking the Albums That Shaped Paul

In the expansive world of music, the albums we hold close often reveal more about us than we might readily admit. They are windows into our aesthetic preferences, emotional memories, and the kind of artistry we seek to emulate or surround ourselves with. When Paul—presumably an artist or a music lover—says, “My favourite albums by other people tend to be: ‘Music from Big Pink’ by The Band, ‘Pet Sounds’ by the Beach Boys, and ‘Harvest’ by Neil Young,” he’s not just listing a few records. He’s pulling back the curtain on a sonic identity carved from rich harmonies, rustic roots, and textured human vulnerability. Each album is a milestone in rock history, but when clustered together under the umbrella of a single person’s favorites, they tell a unique story about mood, philosophy, and creative kinship.

The Band – “Music from Big Pink” (1968): Folk-Rock in Its Finest Flannel

Released during an era exploding with electric innovation, “Music from Big Pink” was a return to humility. The Band, formed from Dylan’s former backing group, stepped out of the psychedelic kaleidoscope of the late ’60s and grounded themselves in earthy textures and honest songwriting. This album was built not in glossy studio isolation, but in a rented house in upstate New York—a setting that lent its name to the project and infused it with rural intimacy.

What’s striking about this record is its restraint. There’s no need to overreach when the songwriting, musicianship, and camaraderie speak for themselves. “Tears of Rage,” co-written with Bob Dylan, opens the album with aching ambiguity. “The Weight” would go on to become one of the most iconic songs in American music, effortlessly blending biblical allusion, surreal humor, and soulful weariness. When Paul cites this as a favorite, one senses a deep respect for music as a communal act—a blend of voices, influences, and traditions that prioritize heart over flash.

The Beach Boys – “Pet Sounds” (1966): A Symphony for the Soul

Widely regarded as one of the most influential albums in popular music, “Pet Sounds” was Brian Wilson’s aching, delicate response to both the rapid evolution of the Beatles and his own inner turmoil. It traded surfboards and fast cars for fragile introspection, orchestrated textures, and some of the most vulnerable lyrics ever penned in pop.

It’s not just the lush, almost baroque arrangements that make this album monumental. It’s the emotional candor. Songs like “God Only Knows” and “I Just Wasn’t Made for These Times” hint at spiritual longing and existential alienation wrapped in harmonies so pure they practically glow. To list this as a favorite is to admit a fondness for subtle grandeur—for the power of music not only to delight but to heal, to whisper truths that are otherwise unspeakable.

If “Music from Big Pink” was an expression of musical brotherhood, then “Pet Sounds” is the tender sound of solitude. It’s an album built on contrasts: sunshine wrapped around sadness, genius filtered through doubt. For Paul, this suggests a deep emotional intelligence and an appreciation for craft—not just lyrics or melody, but the architecture of song.

Neil Young – “Harvest” (1972): A Portrait of the Wandering Poet

“Harvest” is Neil Young at his most accessible, but that doesn’t mean it’s simple. What makes this album endure isn’t its polish but its ache. There’s something weary in its bones, a wanderer’s melancholy tempered by a longing for home, for connection, for peace.

Songs like “Heart of Gold” became hits, but deeper cuts like “The Needle and the Damage Done” and “Old Man” peeled back the curtain on a bruised worldview. Young doesn’t declaim his thoughts; he lets them unfold slowly, allowing space for ambiguity and reflection. His voice wavers, cracks, and quivers—not in weakness, but in emotional truth.

That Paul cherishes this album says a great deal about his values. He isn’t chasing the anthemic or the immaculate; he’s drawn to the raw and the human. Where “Pet Sounds” serenades the spirit, and “Music from Big Pink” celebrates collective roots, “Harvest” speaks to the solitary traveler—those who strum their way through life, chasing meaning in brief moments of stillness.

The Thread That Binds

Taken separately, these three albums stand as towering achievements in rock history. But together, they form a kind of triangulated map to Paul’s musical heart. What links them is not genre, not tempo, not even era—it’s an emotional and artistic honesty.

• All three albums were born out of a desire to pivot from the prevailing trends of their time. They resisted the temptation of overproduction or commercial conformity.
• Each one is steeped in introspection and authenticity, often delivered with voices that aren’t classically “perfect,” but unmistakably real.
• They prioritize musicianship and songwriting over spectacle. This suggests Paul admires craft, not just charisma.

There’s also a recurring theme of vulnerability. These aren’t records that brag; they confide. They allow space for silence, for sadness, for unresolved questions. That says something profound about Paul—not only about the music he admires, but perhaps the art he creates, the way he moves through the world, and how he listens. Perhaps he looks for beauty not in polished surfaces, but in honest contours. Perhaps, like these albums, he values depth over volume.

Conclusion: Echoes of Influence

In naming these three albums—“Music from Big Pink,” “Pet Sounds,” and “Harvest”—Paul aligns himself with a tradition of thoughtful, emotionally resonant music. It’s not merely a matter of taste; it’s a declaration of affinity. These records weren’t just influential—they were intimate. They provided a blueprint for how music can sound when it comes not from a desire to impress, but a need to express.

And maybe that’s what makes a favorite album, in the end. Not just something we listen to, but something that listens back.