You know that doorbell? That distinctive eight-note chime that kicks off the track? It’s not a synthesizer. It’s a real V. & E. Friedland "Maestro" doorbell, recorded right there in the studio. Most people think Paul McCartney Let 'Em In is just a fluffy, repetitive 1970s pop tune about a party. Honestly, for years, critics treated it like a piece of musical furniture—nice to look at, but not exactly deep.
But here’s the thing. When you actually sit with it, the song is a weirdly intimate roll call of Paul’s life in 1976. It’s a snapshot of the McCartney inner circle during the height of Wings-mania. It’s also one of the most successful "simple" songs ever written, hitting number 2 in the UK and number 3 on the Billboard Hot 100.
Who Was Actually Knocking?
The lyrics aren't just random names that happened to rhyme. Paul was literally listing the people he wanted to see at his door. If you’ve ever wondered who "Sister Suzie" or "Uncle Ernie" actually were, the answers are way more personal than the jaunty piano suggests.
- Sister Suzie: This was a nickname for Linda McCartney. She’d previously used the pseudonym "Suzie and the Red Stripes" when she recorded the reggae-tinged track "Seaside Woman."
- Brother John: This refers to Linda's brother, John Eastman. Interestingly, some fans originally thought it was a dig or a nod to John Lennon, but Paul has clarified it was his brother-in-law.
- Martin Luther: No, he wasn't inviting the 16th-century theologian or even MLK Jr. to a house party (though Paul later suggested the name might have been a subconscious nod to Dr. King). In the context of the mid-70s, many insiders believe it was a nickname for someone in the touring camp.
- Phil and Don: This one is easy. The Everly Brothers. Paul and Linda were massive fans of their harmonies, and you can hear that influence all over the McCartney catalog.
- Brother Michael: Paul’s actual brother, Mike McCartney (who went by Mike McGear when he was in The Scaffold).
- Auntie Gin: Paul’s paternal aunt, who was a legendary figure in his life and even got a shout-out later in the song "Let Me Roll It."
There is also Uncle Ernie, a name familiar to anyone who knows Tommy by The Who. Ringo Starr played Uncle Ernie in the orchestral version of the rock opera, and Paul was likely tipping his hat to his old bandmate.
The Weird Nancy Shevell Coincidence
In his book The Lyrics, Paul points out something that feels like a glitch in the matrix. Decades after he wrote "Let 'Em In" about his life with Linda, he married Nancy Shevell.
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Get this: Nancy has a sister named Susie and a brother named Jon.
Basically, Paul was singing about his future in-laws thirty years before he even met them. He calls it "the strangest of strange happenings." It’s the kind of cosmic coincidence that only seems to happen to guys who wrote "Yesterday."
Recording at Abbey Road: The Technical Side
The track was recorded in February 1976 at Abbey Road Studios. It was the lead track on the album Wings at the Speed of Sound. At the time, Paul was taking a lot of heat from the press. Critics claimed Wings wasn't a real band—just Paul and some backup players.
To counter this, he made the album a "democracy," giving every member a lead vocal. But Paul McCartney Let 'Em In remained his baby.
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The arrangement is fascinatingly sparse. You’ve got:
- That iconic Friedland doorbell.
- A military-style snare drum played by Joe English.
- A thick, thumping bassline (Paul played a custom Rickenbacker on this one).
- Flutes and horns that give it a weirdly regal, almost "Westminster" vibe.
There’s a mistake in the recording that they decided to keep. At one point, Paul comes in a split second late on the line "Someone's knocking at the door," cutting off the first syllable. It makes the song feel lived-in. Human. It’s not a polished AI-generated loop; it’s a guy in a room with his friends.
Why Critics Hated It (And Why They Were Wrong)
If you read reviews from 1976, they were brutal. Rolling Stone and others called it "banal" and "lightweight." They couldn't understand why a former Beatle was singing about opening a door for five minutes.
But the public didn't care. The song has this hypnotic, "marching" quality. It’s a "vibe" song before that was even a term. Honestly, it’s one of the first successful examples of what we might now call "lo-fi" pop. It doesn't demand your attention; it just invites you in.
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"It's aggressively, almost confrontationally, lightweight." — That was the common sentiment. But try getting that piano riff out of your head once it’s in there.
Actionable Insights for Fans and Musicians
If you’re a songwriter or just a McCartney nerd, there are a few things you can actually take away from the history of this track:
- Sample your world: Don't just use stock sounds. Paul using his actual doorbell gave the song a "sonic fingerprint" that nobody could replicate.
- Simplicity is a choice: It takes a lot of confidence to write a song with basically two chords and a repetitive lyric. It’s harder than it looks.
- The Live Version: If you find the studio version too slow, check out the version on Wings Over America. It’s faster, the horns are punchier, and the energy is way higher.
To truly appreciate the song today, listen to it through the lens of McCartney's philosophy on "Silly Love Songs." He knew people thought he was being "twee." He just didn't think there was anything wrong with being happy.
Check out the 2014 remaster for the cleanest version of that doorbell intro. You can literally hear the mechanical strike of the chime. It’s a small detail, but for a song about the people in your life, those small details are everything.