To those who seem to be angered, affronted even, by Paul McCartney’s continued postBeatles activity as a musician, the advent of his 21st album will be cause not for celebration but derision – no matter that it contains some of his best and most experimental work in years. Memory Almost Full will be sifted for clues to McCartney’s state of mind as his second marriage came to grief (both Mr Bellamy and the pretty vicious closer, Nod Your Head, teem with potential pointers). But forensic analysis of the lyrics is nowhere near as rewarding as following trails in the music, which makes full use of the map McCartney has been drawing since his first days in the Beatles, through Wings and on towards his solo work. Massed harmonies, brass explosions, subverting instrumental codas, perfect chord progressions ambushed by brutal digressions: all are utilised in a set of songs that looks, unblinkingly, at his past, present, and inevitable mortality, and thrums with vitality.

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