This week saw in the 50th anniversary of RAM, a record put out in 1971 by Paul & Linda McCartney. There are many great pieces online this week espousing how great or influential this often overlooked gem is – and they’ll be better written than anything I can add to the conversation – but as this is a record I love deeply there’s no better time than now to perhaps share why.

How we feel about a piece of music will often depend on the circumstances in which we came upon it for the first time. Some things you find at the right time and the right place, whether that’s physically, emotionally or a bit of both. For me, RAM was a hidden gem that had waited many years for me to pick it up.

I was in my mid twenties and had just bought a place of my own. (Yes, very fortunate in that regard). It was a time of big change for me, a lot of unknowns to be faced and a time to take on a lot of things by myself. And this is where RAM came into my life.

I now had an empty townhouse to paint, and having not yet bought a new stereo I was relying on the old one that had seen me through my adolescence and early adulthood. It was a trusty companion through many musical discoveries, but age had wearied it somewhat and the CD player now no longer functioned. In a time before Spotify and streaming, this meant I would have to rely on the radio and old cassette tapes to help pass the time painting my new home.

Looking to add some more options to the musical repertoire, I dug through all the old cassette tapes my parents had sitting around. One that jumped out at me was RAM. I was vaguely aware of having seen this tape in the pile before, but had never actually played it. This seemed very strange to me, as Paul was always my favourite Beatle. So I borrowed it along with some others, and got to work decorating.

I hadn’t heard of any of these songs before. There are no big hit singles here, and they rarely make any ‘best of’ compilations. But that feels right. Taken out of the context of the album as whole, they seem lightweight and almost jokey, but heard together they just make sense and fit. Even the cover art is fitting in its own dorkishly endearing way.

For me, it was love at first listen.

I think a lot of that love comes from the symmetry in circumstance. For Paul, the Beatles had just imploded and to get away from all the drama he’d headed off to his farm in Scotland with Linda and their young family. He didn’t know what the future would hold, how he would write music without his bandmates to drive him on, or even if he could continue making music at all.

Likewise, I was moving away from my old life and starting something new, something big and intimidating and outside what I’d known to that point – but just like Paul and Linda, I had my family with me. Supporting me. Helping me make a go of things. Being right there with me as I took each new step.

What could have been the feeling of being alone had become the joy of the freedom to start something new. Try new ways of doing things for the sake of seeing what might happen.

And that’s what RAM is to me, the sound of two people who had each other making something fun and new and interesting. It’s a little rough, a little messy, but infectiously fun to experience. Much like life, really.

Years later, I’ve now had RAM with me on tape, on CD and on Digital. I’d no doubt have it on vinyl by now if I had a record player. It’s a great companion on road trips, and great to write to. It can pick me up when I’m feeling low – and that’s exactly what it was created to do. RAM is Paul and Linda cheering themselves up, being a little silly and having some fun.

I think we could all use a bit of that in our lives.