There’s something primal and untamed about “Long Tailed Winter Bird.” It doesn’t ask to be understood—it simply moves, like a wild creature darting through fog and frost, unbothered by destination. With this opening track to McCartney III, Paul McCartney doesn’t give us lyrics to hold onto. Instead, he gives us instinct, rhythm, and flight.
The song begins with a hypnotic guitar riff—raw, looping, relentless. It circles like a bird tracing the same path through a winter sky, searching for something unseen. The pattern feels both urgent and patient, like the persistence of life in the coldest months. And through it all, Paul’s voice echoes—not with full lyrics, but with fragments, calls, and barely-formed thoughts. “Do you miss me?” he asks again and again, like a question thrown into the wind, never expecting an answer.
This isn’t a conventional song—it’s an experience. It’s what happens when a legend like McCartney returns to his most stripped-down form: one man, his instruments, and the quiet space of solitude. The track pulses with raw creativity, recorded during lockdown, yet it doesn’t sound trapped. It sounds alive. Untethered. A little wild.
There’s freedom here, but not without mystery. “Long Tailed Winter Bird” feels like it belongs in the middle of a misty forest, echoing through trees, wings brushing against branches. It doesn’t chase meaning—it lets feeling guide the way. The music builds, not toward a chorus, but toward motion itself—layer upon layer, riff upon riff, until you’re no longer sure where the beginning was.
And that’s the brilliance of it. Paul McCartney, now in his eighth decade of life and music, proves he’s still chasing the unknown. Still experimenting. Still wondering. He doesn’t need lyrics to make a statement—he lets sound speak. And what it says is this: I’m still here. I’m still creating. I’m still flying.
“Long Tailed Winter Bird” isn’t about understanding—it’s about feeling your way forward, even through the cold. It’s the sound of staying in motion when the world slows down. The sound of an artist who still finds wonder in the simplest riffs. And it leaves you with one haunting question, echoed over and over again: Do you miss me?