Considering he is still keen to perform songs from this album, it’s worth revisiting. Roger Daltrey seems to have a soft spot for his work on McVicar. He followed in the footsteps of David Bowie and Mick Jagger, chancing it not just as a musical visionary but as a starring actor capable of bringing a weightiness to biopic work. That’s what he did with the John McVicar biopic, which was released almost a decade after Jagger had presented himself as a formidable on-screen performer. Daltrey presents not just that in the film, but he has a suspense necessary in his music, which brings out the best in the film. You can hear as much on the McVicar soundtrack, an effort-filled experience where the strengths of Daltrey’s writing are on display. Most would use a soundtrack album as a chance to throw out songs of lesser interest, but not Daltrey. His efforts here are as committed and cool as the best of The Who.
This is, essentially, a project from The Who. John Entwistle and Pete Townshend are on hand for bass and guitar work. But it doesn’t quite fit the momentum of the band at the time, hence why Daltrey takes the credit for this one. It’s his chance to break free from a band he has tried to retire several times over the last few decades. You can hear why he tried to do so on McVicar, a mixed bag of tracks where the one constant is Daltrey’s writing quality. Opener Bitter and Twisted is a catchy and cool piece fitting of his bank robber role in the movie. Ripped from the context of the film though, it’s a strong showcase of Daltrey as a writer who can twist the truth, hurt the past, and provide some satisfying moments. Gruff vocal work from this opening track is a delight and sets the scene brilliantly. Floatier treats like Just a Dream Away fit the purpose of the title well, but also bring on a new side to Daltrey as a singer.
Lighter instrumentals from Townshend and Entwistle make a real difference here. McVicar walks a fine line of dated instrumentals and revolutionary mood-setting moments. Take a song like Escape (Part 1), as essential to the soundtrack as it is to a daring scene where the drama is somewhat heightened. It makes a poor translation to audio, though the acoustic twangs act as a neat replacement to what would have, inevitably, been a heartbeat had this instrumental display not been added. White City Lights carries on with that hope and potential, squandered by an unrefined and relatively tame meaning. A love song here, a bit of suspense there, it’s not an album entirely brimming with creativity. A few special moments of guitar work from Townshend, who moulds a quality moment on Free Me, is what McVicar depends on.
Songs like Waiting for a Friend still define McVicar. It’s a harsher vocal style heard on the studio version which makes it a winner. Gruff work from Daltrey and a gliding guitar style give it that definitive tone. It’s a song which would fit in shows from The Who, and yet it’s a deep cut because of the album it features on. One of Daltrey’s very best songs, adapting and running with the loved-up sounds. What awaits a prisoner on the outside is what Daltrey and the stacked studio musicians wish to capture, and they do just that. A little placid at times, but such is the case for most soundtrack albums. Still, you can hardly imagine The Who collective putting out a tearjerker like Without Your Love. A delightful song to close out the album, and paired with a title track ending, McVicar stands as a formidable, light listen. Considering the heavier context, it should perhaps have more to it, but it remains a sweet listen.
