Paul McCartney's personal photos, on display at the AGO, show us the many faces of the Beatles

There’s McCartney the bassist with his signature mop-top hairdo. McCartney the songwriter and lyricist extraordinaire. McCartney the solo artist. McCartney the crusading activist. 

Now, add one more entry to that list: Paul McCartney the photographer. The genius photographer. 

I write that with a dash of envy. What right does one man have to be so talented? I found myself asking that question as I explored McCartney’s “Eyes of the Storm,” his new exhibition at the Art Gallery of Ontario, on tour from London’s National Portrait Gallery.

It’s not only an astounding showcase of McCartney’s skill as a photographer but it also serves as an intimate dive into life behind the scenes at the height of Beatlemania. 

While other artist retrospectives often aim for breadth instead of depth, “Eyes of the Storm” succeeds in its extraordinary specificity. The 250 or so photos in the collection, pulled from McCartney’s personal archives, are all concentrated over a period of three months, from the tail end of 1963 through to mid-February of 1964, when the band made its first tour across the pond to the U.S.

The photos are a mix of posed portraits and documentary-style shots, almost all black and white. In one, we see George Harrison asleep in a car. In another, McCartney captures Ringo Starr daydreaming backstage, with his elbow propped on a table and the temple of his head resting on his fist. 

There’s a touch of cheekiness in many of the photos, including one featuring Harrison wearing two top hats stacked one atop the other, his stoic glance betraying the absurdity of his pose. Despite this silliness, McCartney’s photos never draw attention to themselves.

Instead, through this series, McCartney offers a truly honest and refreshingly candid look at the band during that period. It humanizes the quartet — and the people surrounding them — in a way paparazzi photos could never do. 

What we get to see are four young men — still boys, really — swept up in a whirlwind journey from Liverpool to London, Paris and New York, to their breakthrough performances on “The Ed Sullivan Show” and onward across the continent.

McCartney perfectly captures their joy and wonder, but also the sheer exhaustion and confusion that accompany it.

Some of his most illuminating shots flip the camera around, giving us a view of the world from his perspective. In one shot taken in Central Park, McCartney captures a pair of photographers with their cameras turned at him. Another, also from New York City, shows a horde of fans chasing his vehicle. 

“Eyes of the Storm” is complemented by an audio guide narrated by McCartney himself, adding further intimacy to the show. His anecdotes are humorous and insightful, sharing in one audio stop how the Beatles’ driver in Paris was not a Frenchman, but a Cockney bloke who did not speak a lick of French, except “Can I park ici?”

McCartney is self-effacing throughout. “I think they’re pretty good,” he says of his photos in the audio guide. “I’m happy to just be thought of as an occasional photographer who happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

He’s terribly modest. Sure, maybe a handful of his photos may suggest he’s an “occasional photographer.” (A few lack clear focus, or feel several moments off the perfect shot.) But a careful study of McCartney’s contact sheets, with thumbnails of every frame from his rolls of films, proves that his talent as a photographer is undeniable. 

Perhaps McCartney’s best photos, however, have nothing to do with the Beatles. As the band made its way down the East Coast, from New York City to Washington D.C. and then south to Miami, McCartney shot a series of photos documenting how he saw life in America.

A tense photo of a cop on a motorcycle with a gun in his holster. A wistful image of a seemingly never-ending string of power lines. A striking portrait of a young girl in Washington D.C., framed by the window of McCartney’s car door. 

McCartney has an eye for pulling remarkable moments out of the mundane. His raw, gritty style somewhat recalls that of Robert Frank, whose seminal photography book “The Americans” offered a quiet yet unfiltered critique of a nation that often basked in its self-venerated image. 

“Eyes of the Storm” concludes sometime in February 1964. The Beatles are in Miami. Beatlemania has hit its apex. And McCartney’s photos transform from black-and-white into explosive technicolour. Whether intentional or not, that change is almost the perfect metaphor for the Beatles’ explosion onto the scene. It was remarkable, even improbable. But McCartney brings us along, every step of the way.