In his review of Paul's new album/passion project, Kisses on the Bottom, The New York Times' Stephen Holden dreamily analogized that it "floats over you like a light mist on a cool spring morning in an English garden as the sun glints through the haze. You want to inhale the fresh air, taste the fragrance of buds blooming, as the sky clears to a serene deep blue. Mr. McCartney exudes the unassuming charm of a country gentleman in a good mood, sitting on the grass and whistling to himself."
That's one opinion.
For me, Kisses on the Bottom evokes a luxuriant afternoon stroll in early summer that takes you passed a picturesque park - one complete with a dew-friendly community garden, a gazebo marked by an old-fashioned, distressed aesthetic, and a gleaming sun dial of intriguingly unknown origins - where funny bunnies hop along gaily, as if they knew no other way to live, paying little mind to nearby moon-faced youngsters who laugh and shout and run like they're first discovering how, and whose preoccupied nanny - a falsely modest looker who denies her beauty so that she might have it reaffirmed, whose lemon locks seem to flutter even on windless days - contemplates the following Sunday's can't-miss jazz brunch where she will, peradventure, encounter her crush of nigh eleven fortnights who has spurned her before and made her play the filly fool and currently has his keen, velvety eye on a fickle, flighty but sincere ginger dame who, much to her anxious parents' dismay, fantasizes far too often about a stress-free life of late-morning petite syrah sips, late-evening Charleston-ing and all-day butterfly kisses with a syrupy lounge singer who knows each and every standard from Kisses on the Bottom.
Just another opinion.
(P.S. Very little about my music consumption of the past and present would prepare me to write an informed review of Kisses on the Bottom, which consists mainly of Paul doing covers of pre-rock 'n' roll standards. It's not exactly in my wheelhouse; hence the mock assessment. If pressed, I would describe the album as a pleasant trifle, not unlike reigning Best Picture winner, The Artist. "Ac-Cent-Tchu-Ate the Positive" is probably my favorite track.)