In our more sober reality, this collaboration still looks mighty peculiar. After all, our Paul is a perky-thumbed songwriting colossus who knocked out Yesterday before his 23rd birthday. The Wombats are deeply average indie-rock unit-shifters who sing about school uniforms and backfiring at discos. Still, give Macca his due - there's nothing like an elderly local statesman rolling up his sleeves to help out a few youngsters.
It's obvious what's in this for the Wombats: a big spike in record sales, a new audience, and a bigger, better profile. But what's in it for McCartney? Now in his 65th year, he could be kicking back and enjoying his copious royalties. On recent form, he's doing quite the contrary: releasing an album every other year, and playing gigs like a mop-top possessed. (Which is to say that his recent divorce seems to have fuelled his activity, rather than quelled it.) To link up with a young band can only add to the impression of an artist still glimmering with spark, health and virility. It also helps that the group he covets, of course, are Liverpudlian.
The Wombats' youth, in some ways, is even more important than their Merseyside connections. Much of McCartney's music, after all, has been driven by the experiences of his early years. His last two albums, in particular, have bubbled over with such references. 2005's Chaos and Creation in the Backyard bubbled with nostalgic songs about English Tea and Too Much Rain, and even featured a picture of himself on the cover - a teenager, in his family's back garden, strumming on a guitar. And many of the lyrics on last year's Memory Almost Full hinted at his fear of forgetting - a fear made more poignant by what was happening in his personal life. Its second track almost said too much: "I hope it isn't too late/ Searching for the time that has gone so fast/ The time that I thought would last/ My ever-present past."
In that ever-present past, we also remember the altruism of the younger McCartney. With John Lennon beside him, some of their great early songs were given to other artists - I Wanna Be Your Man to the Rolling Stones, or I'll Keep You Satisfied to Billy J Kramer and the Dakotas. Not only did this reflect the practices of the time, but it also underlined the prolific talents of the twosome, and their happiness to perform for other people. So, by offering his services to a new generation, McCartney is both continuing his legacy, and remembering the machinations of his youth.
Saying that, there's also a cynical explanation for McCartney's admiration of the Wombats. The band met at the Liverpool Institute for Performing Arts (Lipa), the school founded in 1996 by Mark Featherstone-Witty and - oh hello, Paul McCartney. Is our boy simply patting himself on the back? Call me a soft touch, but I don't think it's that simple. And even if it were, I don't really begrudge him. After all, the meat-machine whiff of the Brit School may surround Lipa's alumni, but at least Sir Paul has done what a thousand megastars haven't - put his money where his mouth is and practically encouraged the next generation.
McCartney shouldn't stop here. If he's so keen on his Liverpudlian legacy, he should think about what he could do for the city's more interesting musicians: the Zutons, Ladytron or Candie Payne. But for now, by all means, embrace the Wombats, Sir Paul. Perhaps bend their ears towards the episodic madness of Band On the Run, though, or the mad electronic pop of Temporary Secretary off McCartney II. You've given us your legacy; time to help Liverpool's new breed give us their own.
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