In the notoriously impenetrable work of Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari, the assemblage (agencement in French) emphasizes the importance of relational networks in shaping any given aspect of social life. The pieces of what we are and what we make have meaning because of how they are connected, how they affect one another, and the dynamics between them all.

The 1975 Wings album Venus and Mars lends itself well to this framework. It’s an exercise in eclecticism, an assemblage with an impressive range of contrasting styles. The psych folk of “Venus and Mars” fades into the energetic arena kitsch of “Rock Show.” “Love in Song” follows, a gorgeous and bittersweet ballad with impeccably elevated pop sensibilities and a few classic Macca lyrical quirks. “You Gave Me the Answer” is a period piece and “Magneto and Titanium Man” emulates the colorful splash of a 60s comic page in lusciously synth-heavy form. You’d be hard-pressed to find a hoedown with a more outrageous rock guitar breakdown at the end than “Junior’s Farm.”

Assemblage theory tells us that everything is an assemblage, and thus everything is made up of assemblages. In music, this might suggest some kind of dreadful label like fusion or some genre full of hyphens. As performance scholar Alexandra T. Vazquez has written, though, every performance is made up of details. These might, she notes, be “interruptions that catch your ear, musical tics that stubbornly refuse to go away… specific choices made by musicians and performers [that] come in an infinite number of forms” (2013, 19). It’s in that spirit that I approach “Spirits of Ancient Egypt,” a track on the B side of the original release in which the Wings do nothing if not make some distinct choices.

“Spirits of Ancient Egypt” begins with underrated rock vocalist Denny Laine giving us the start of a ditty: “You’re my baby / And I love you / You could take a pound of love / And cook it in the stew.” Honest work, lyrically speaking, soon backed by a weird, groovy little line of bass and synths. It seems like it’s going to be a pleasant little earworm with hints of rockabilly (in a good way)—but then, after two verses of this, there he is: the unmistakable Paul McCartney, sliding into the spotlight like it’s home plate with a chorus so grandiose I learned how to work with CSS just so I could type it in small caps:

“Spirits of ancient Egypt / Shadows of ancient Rome / Spirits of ancient Egypt…”

What? What happened to my stew? Why is this man mystically incanting on the dancefloor, and why has Denny been relegated to wordless calls in the background? Just as quickly as he arrives, though, Macca steps back, and Denny seamlessly glides forward to finish the chorus: “Hung on the telly / Hung on the telly / Hung on the telephone!”

It feels a lot like we just went through a very brief fever dream or whiplash or something. But the song’s getting fun again, so we’ll let it go for now. “You’re my baby,” sings Denny, “I know you know / You could sell an elevator to Geronimo…” Weird, but probably harmless. “And when you’ve finished doing that / I know where you’ll wanna go / ‘Cause you’re my baby / I know you know…” Meaningless, but fun. But then, before anyone can stop him, he returns:

“Spirits of ancient Egypt / Echoes of sunken Spain / Spirits of ancient Egypt…”

Buddy, I’m just trying to dance. I’m trying to romp. My friend Denny was actually in the middle of saying something. Fortunately, he sneaks in once more, just under the wire: “Hung on the phone a-/ Hung on the phone a-/ Hung on the phone again!”

And that’s it. Denny returns to the supporting cast, his one chance to take lead on a Venus and Mars track fully disrupted by a former Beatle, which essentially leaves him with no recourse. The next track is Jimmy McCulloch-led “Medicine Jar,” the only other song on the album on which McCartney does not provide lead vocals. Miracle of miracles, he stays in the background and lets Jimmy take the (tonally cohesive) reins.

Could he not have let Denny have his moment? Did he have to not only step in but do so with a completely unrelated and mismatched chorus? Was it too much to have TWO songs on the album that weren’t all Pauled up?

In The Lyrics: 1956 to the Present, a book my sister insisted I read, Paul gives commentary on lyrics for 154 of his songs. Of “Spirits of Ancient Egypt,” he says: “I had this belief that you could throw words together and they would attain some meaning, that you didn’t need to think it out too much.” Fine, but don’t think it out too much on your own time. This is a song about stew and phone calls. We were already not thinking it out too much fine without you.

References
Deleuze, Gilles, and Félix Guattari. 1987. A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press.
Vazquez, Alexandra T. 2013. Listening in Detail: Performances of Cuban Music. Durham, NC: Duke University Press.

About the Author’s Biases:
Adriane is a PhD student studying ethnomusicology and cultural studies, and has definitely read Deleuze. A middle child, she refuses to let her siblings like the things they like (Paul McCartney) without giving her unsolicited take on them.