You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy™
Sir Paul McCartney.
Rumors of his demise are greatly exaggerated as he walks across the stage to thunderous applause inside the Bridgestone Arena in Nashville.
I’m in the top row. My eyes are old, and I have to squint to create focus. It’s at this very moment that I realize I don’t have glasses, binoculars or a looking-glass.
I try and focus on the stage so far away, but I get nothing but fuzz.
If I was Columbus I would miss the New World, taking a wrong turn at Cuba. If I was Armstrong I would trip on the last rung of the ladder, proclaiming one great stumble for mankind.
I am so far from the stage, I can see satellites flying by and new stars forming in the heavens above me.
And this is a closed arena!
Thank God for the video board. It’s a visual life-preserver from my observation platform in the clouds.
It allows me to see Sir Paul stroll to the center of the stage. He is ambulatory. He has no wheel chair. He has no use for a rolling IV.
He looks young and vibrant. He walks with a purpose, holding a tiny guitar. It looks like the guitar I have seen on Ed Sullivan and album covers.
This is a unique moment.
Most shows begin like a thunder-clap, a sonic burst that jolt you into the moment.
Comparatively, this show begins like a bag of cotton balls being dropped on the stage.
There is no drum beat, no power cord anthem, no swirling light storm.
Sir Paul simply walks across the sate. He is reserved, measured, almost nostalgic.
He stands on the edge of the stage and stares at us as we stare at him.
The ovation swells to a crescendo. The love in the building for this one man is overwhelming, saturating, encompassing.
The cutest Beatle places his hand over his heart and with an earnest, humble tone, he leans toward the mic on the stage.
“Forgive me as I drink this in.”
He takes a step back as the ovation ungulates across the building like thunder.
With another entertainer this might be contrived. But this moment feels real. It feels like a man taking stock of his moments. To me Paul McCartney is a man, the sunset of his years shining brightly upon him, soaking in what could be – most probably will be – the last time he ever sees the Bridgestone Arena.
Paul McCartney is a man in the twilight of not only his rock career, but his life. He is like your grandfather hugging his grandson a little longer, knowing there are only so many hugs anyone gets to hug.
When you are young, you take everything for granted. There will always be more time.
When you are 72, you need to stop and remember to remember.
And so here we are. Remembering.
It’s an unusual but cool way to start a major rock show. A global superstar who makes other supposed superstars seem ordinary, is standing quietly, reminiscing.
For close to a minute there is a mutual appreciation of this magnificent moment. I’ve never seen a show start like this and it is memorable for me too.
In the thunderous adulation, I think about the unbelievable life this man has led.
72 years of being Paul McCartney must be something amazing. The man has spent a lifetime staying in the best hotels driving the finest cars and living in the loveliest homes. He has more money than a human knows how to spend. He has traveled around the globes so many times he is an honorary member of NASA.
Paul McCartney is 50 years of world-class celebrity. He is a celebrity’s celebrity. He is for all intents and purposes, a musical deity.
Now he is before us, in the twilight of his life, a grandfather, a senior citizen, a rock God.
He looks slim and athletic. His hair is full and dark.
“He’s 72 years old?” I say aloud. “He looks like he’s 50.”
And in deed he does.
“Thank You,” he shouts. “How you doing Nashville,” he hollers as the band suddenly erupts into a classic version of Magical Mystery Tour.
It’s the first of so many classic songs I will quickly lose count.
Can a 72-year-old man even come close to fulfilling my expectations?
Can a 72-year-old rock God sound like the albums I grew up listening to as a kid.
Hey Jude. S
gt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band.
Helter Skelter.
Can a 72-year-old man still entertain an arena?, bring the rock and roll goods?
That question would be answered in the first 30 seconds.
He is surrounded by 4 musicians who could play with anyone in the world. Tonight they will stand beside a Rock and roll God who will transport us to another dimension.
I feel a wave of WOW wash over me.
I can hardly see the stage in real life, but I can hear the voice and it sounds like the memory of my childhood.
When do I remember the Beatles? I don’t know. Maybe I was 10 years old. I remember my 1st 8 track player. It was a square box, like a bomb with a plunger. It was bright yellow. I put in a thick cartridge of the Beatles albums. When I hit the plunger, the song changed. I hit that plunger a thousand times.
The voice blasting off the stage and filling my ears is that voice from my life, from my 8 track tape player. It’s the voice that swept across my elementary school room from my little am clock radio with the tin speaker. It’s the voice that plays every day in my car on classic rock radio today.
Now this voice is emanating from the tiny superstar I can see from my airline window a 1000 miles up in Row N.
I am amazed at clarity of the voice. I immediately recognize the consistency of the tone and the layers of enthusiasm inside the vocal projection.
“He has so much charisma, so much stage presence,” my friend says dancing in the aisle.
We are both dancing in our aisle, our last row, our bastion of historical rock and roll memories.
Suddenly Row N is the best seat in the house.
There is nobody behind us. There is nobody screaming “down in front.”
It’s our own little cathedral of musical wonderment.
“This is so awesome,” I shout, swaying back and forth, knowing every beat of this song filling the spectrum of my existence.
Sir Paul McCartney finishes another classic and the crowd explodes.
“How ya doing Nashville?”
It feels so honest.
What impresses me is how McCartney connects with the crowd. He talks to us, like he’s at my dinner table and we’re sharing stories about growing up.
Sir Paul’s stories begin with “Jimi Hendrix was a quiet, almost shy guy. Sgt. Peppers came out on a Friday,” he tells the crowd. “By Sunday Jimi had learned the whole album and he opened with it on stage.”
The crowd laughed. So did the most famous Beatle.
McCartney was full of stories. Back in the old days, he told us. Guitars would go out of tune. So with all that feedback, he told us that Jimi Hendrix was on stage and he asked Eric Clapton to come up and tune his guitar.
Can you imagine?
Jimi Hendrix asking Eric Clapton to tune a guitar. A story witnessed by the great Paul McCartney.
Wow.
McCartney’s stories, his life, his music, were on display.
His talent is immeasurable. His spark undeniable.
As he launches into another classic Beatle’s song, the arena is filled with a banging blanket of familiarity, that is 50 years in the making.
After a bit, McCartney pulls off his black vest, revealing a plain white shirt.
“That was our one and only wardrobe change,” he says with a chuckle.
The crowd laughs.
It’s fun. It’s honest. He’s almost poking fun at today’s performers who dress up in theatrical make up and make multiple costume changes to compensate for what they may lack musically.
This man lacks nothing musically. He is singing like a Beatle. He is playing piano and playing guitar like a man who has influenced the planet.
Paul McCartney’s death was surely exaggerated. The longer he plays, the higher this show rises up my scale of greatest concerts I have ever seen.
I’ve seen the Stones, AC/DC, U2, Springsteen, Van Halen.
This show feels bigger than them all.
Why is this show so cool?
Maybe it’s because I know all the songs. Maybe it’s because I know the words to all the songs. But it’s more than that. It’s Paul McCartney. He’s why this show is so damn cool.
He plays music that makes you want to dance. Then he tells you the back story about that song that gives it relevance, that brings new meaning to a song you have heard 1,000 times but never really thought about.
How cool is Paul McCartney? Many bands break up. Many bands have disasters and heartache. Not many bands stop to pay homage to former band mates.
McCartney does.
He remembers his friend John Lennon. He asks the crowd to clap for his former mate. And then he sings a song about what he would say to a man who was like his brother. As he plays a beautiful, lyrically poignant song to John Lennon, the stage rises 20 feet above the crowd. Water and ocean imagery flood the stage.
It is a sweet song with a personal message, like a love letter to a friend long ago taken from this world.
IMAGINE what John Lennon might say in return.
The song is new to most of us, but it is so amazing, it is hard not to feel the bond, the loss.
The crowd cheers as he breaks into another classic that reminds me of growing up, of good times, of a drive down an ageless, timeless road with classic rock radio filling my dreams.
Paul McCartney reminds me of my life. I think of growing up in the 70’s. I think about my high school and college years in the 80’s. I think about today as heard his songs on the radio a dozen times.
People talk about Bruce Springsteen’s energy, and don’t get me wrong, the Boss is a steam roller of intense. But this 72-year-old man is steady like the tide. He easily flows through classic song after classic song. I’m not sure he even sweat.
Unlike Springsteen who needs an intermission to refuel, McCartney takes a break by stepping to the mic and telling us a story about his life.
It’s a story that unfolds like the history of a generation.
He tells us about playing BACK IN THE U.S.S.R. in the U.S.S.R., for the politburo.
He uses a Russian accent to imitate a defense minister. “We learn English from Beatles Songs.”
The crowd laughs.
When McCartney sits at the piano, you know something special is about to happen.
You know it will be a classic, like Long and Winding Road or Hey Jude.
Each song is a new stroll down a familiar path.
“I wrote this for my wife, Linda,” he says his voice full of emotion.
Then he begins.
Maybe I’m amazed at the way you love me all the time. Maybe I’m afraid of the way I love you.
The song is powerful on its own. But I never thought about the words. Suddenly that is all I am thinking about. I see the emotion on his face as he caresses the ivories. I see not a performer, not a songwriter, but I see a man who loved a woman so much, he sat down and composed a love song for her that will live forever.
Paul McCartney is creative, artistic, expressive. But unlike other performers, he lets us see behind the curtain. He is the rare superstar who has revealed a little of himself to me. During a song, between a song, across a whirlwind set of memories, I learn he is a family man, a husband and a grand father.
Not many rock gods talk about being a grandfather on stage.
He stops the show more than once to read signs fans are holding up.
He asks if it’s anyone’s birthday. Someone squeals on the floor. Then this is for you, he says. And the band bursts into the Birthday Song. Someone just got a birthday memory that will last forever.
Somewhere in the middle of the 2 hours and 45 minute odyssey, he walks out with a ukulele. He tells the story of how he went to George Harrison’s house. “Hey George, I learned one of your songs.”
And he begins a solo of “Something.”
The story behind the classic song. It’s worth the price of admission. It makes squinting from outer space worthwhile.
We sing Obla Di. Obla Da.
Of course we all know every word.
We sing Hey Jude. The men sing. The women sing. Then we sing together. It’s like a sleep over with 18,000 people.
From the crow’s nest of row N, I watch as the theatrical production unfolds from simple to complex.
What starts as a stripped down show with barely a spot light on a stage has blossomed like a psychedelic flower. Suddenly there are fireworks and laser beams and a video screen with hallucinogenic explosions.
My eyes are flying around like pin wheels lit by bottle rockets. I don’t know where to look. It’s a fiesta of sight and sound. My brain is a musical pinata full of candy and memories.
By the time the band plays Live and Let die, the stage is alive with pyrotechnics, explosions, lights and lasers.
The arena is alive and the crowd pulsing.
Sir Paul will do two encores. He will challenge the crowd to keep rocking. The 72-year-old grandfather, iconic figure, rock-God comes out with an American flag, a British flag and a Tennessee flag.
It’s a spectacle. It’s so much fun.
Paul McCartney will thank us for being a great audience. We should thank him for being the soundtrack of our lives.
Almost 3 hours later, the last song; fittingly “The End”, signals the end of the show.
“Nashville, Tennessee,” he screams leaving the stage. “You are fantastic. We’ll see you next time.”
I don’t think there will be a next time for Nashville, Tennessee. He’s performed here 2 times in a 50 year career.
I think next time is a lot to ask.
But for me; this once in a lifetime experience is ever lasting.
I walk out of the arena in a euphoric state.
The only time I have felt like this after a concert was 20 years ago when I saw U2 after the Joshua Tree tour.
It was a feeling that somehow life would be ok, like a melody where everyone knows the words.
Perhaps what I just saw for three hours was a tiny taste of what Heaven is like.
Now I have another life experience to add to my pantheon of greatness.
Thanks Sir Paul for an amazing night of surprises and expectations realized.
I’m sorry I doubted your health, your ability to sing, your possible need of bottled oxygen.
The only ones needing oxygen were us. You left us breathless and wanting more.
Life’s Crazy™