particularly in the radiant company of old gospel choristers the Fairfield Four on "A Hundred and Ten in the Shade." There's some Creedence Clearwater Redux here ("Walking in a Hurricane," "Bring It Down to Jelly Roll"), but not enough to spoil the record's earnest spirit and muddy-water fragrance.

"Flaming Pie" leaves no aftertaste at all -- good, bad or otherwise. It is Another McCartney Album, with all of the fine quality, likable sentimentality and spent force that the phrase implies. The 14 songs, sailing by with unruffled decorum and cozy clarity, leave faint imprints of intent and risk: the irritated snap of the guitars and McCartney's voice in "The World Tonight"; the title number's coy invocation of John Lennonesque surrealism. In his introductory liner note to the record, McCartney acknowledges the relaxed standard here: "[To] have some fun and not sweat it . . . You've got to have a laugh, because it's just an album." But as an ex-Beatle, he should