Before the Paul McCartney concert, if you look at the stage and the brightly colored screens on either side of it–those had a constantly scrolling stream of pictures, often juxtaposed against some amazing groovy artwork, that offered his entire musical career–Beatles, Wings, solo, with personal photos, photos of band members, photos capturing moments in everyone’s histories.
I wish I could have photographed every bit of it and was lucky to catch the ones I did. If you know me, you know my Beatle is George Harrison. Everyone has a definition for them and most fall into the same categories: for me, John was the conscience, Paul was the heart, George was the spirit, and Ringo was the soul. I still stand by my interpretations of what those mean to me.
This was an image of George going up the screen.
I could have watched all of those photographs all night long.
There were a lot of emotional moments for me in the show, but the only other song that made me cry was when Sir Paul did one of George’s. He began with the usual story: He was at George’s house one day, looking at his large collection of ukuleles, and suggested they play one of George’s songs using only the ukulele. So he performed for us the song they did, “Something”–and he was using a ukulele that was a gift to him from George’s collection. When the song reached the guitar solo, the band took over and delivered a fantastic performance.
This is the film that the Beatles made to accompany the song and is a favorite of mine, though the underlying sense is of a band moving forward and away from each other and into their own lives. It wouldn’t be long before the breakup.
I may not wear T-shirts, but I live in denim. This was a no-brainer and now I need January to come because that’s when it may be cool enough for me to wear it.
And in the end…
(P.S. Those buttons came with the jacket. It’s like they know me.)
There are so many inspirations and memories on the walls in my office. The wall behind my desk is my Muse Wall, and the wall behind the other desk–I guess that’s Muse Adjacent, though there are some heavy hitters on that wall in terms of who has influenced my writing and thinking.
It was definitely a Houston summer night in June 1993 when Tom and I saw Warren Zevon. He signed a CD cover for me, “For Becky. Very hot, Warren Zevon.” It lives on the Muse Adjacent Wall.
I read a review of Paul McCartney on the Freshen Up tour in which the reviewer said someone needs to tell him to stop–you see, his voice isn’t as strong as it used to be. Needless to say, I was not amused. The man just turned 77 and he kicks ass. Rock and roll, Sir Paul, rock and roll, even if they have to wheel you out, even if your voice is a whisper. You are Paul Fucking McCartney and your music changed the world.
When I was telling Tom about that review, he talked about what a different depth Warren Zevon’s voice had on his last album. Zevon knew it was his last, he was dealing with lung cancer. The Wind was released two weeks before his death. I compared it to the emotional power of Johnny Cash’s last work.
The audacity of thinking anyone shouldn’t do what they love as long as they can do it, and share it with the world if that’s what they want to do. If you want perfection, limit yourself to whatever you think that was. I’m grateful to listen to the voices of my inspirations for their whole journey. It’s all real.
Probably anyone at any concert on the Freshen Up tour heard the same thing, but here’s one little story.
When the band finished a familiar song, Sir Paul’s chatter went something like this:
We know what you want to hear. When we play one you know, out come the phones. And when we play a new one, everything is dark. But we’re going to play a new one.
Then they played a new one, and I only wish my phone hadn’t been dying so I could have panned the entire stadium, which was enough to fill a fan’s throat with emotion. It just got lighter and lighter and lighter as the song went on.
We love him. And he’s not new at getting the response he wants from his audience.
One reason I relish these moments is because when I go to a concert, I get to see it through many eyes other than my own. My fictional characters, some of whom are musicians, and a couple of whom are brilliantly successful musicians, get to look at an arena as if they’re seeing it from their stage.
Having a writer’s multiple personalities makes life a lot of fun.
What I didn’t know was that when I purchased my ticket, I was automatically gifted with Paul McCartney’s Egypt Station CD. Nice surprise!
I have not had time to read the program or listen to the CD. Anytime work and life slow down a little, I’m writing. As long as the words are coming, I’m getting them down. Good feeling.
This one is harder than some others to share. Let me get a few photos on here first.
Setting up my remote office.When I checked into the hotel (I could SEE the venue from the hotel!), the guy at the desk asked what brought me, and I said Paul McCartney. He pointed to a table across the lobby where I could sign up for a shuttle to and from the concert. So convenient. My pickup time was 6:50 Friday night.My seat was on the floor. Haven’t done that for a long time.It doesn’t matter why you go, when you’re at a ball park, you eat a hotdog. It’s mandatory.
Background on going to see Paul McCartney. I follow Sir Paul on Instagram and he has been posting photos and stories all along from his Freshen Up tour, and I knew it was coming to the States. And I thought, What if Tom and I try to see him in concert as our anniversary gift to each other?
We considered various dates, but there was always something in the way so that it wouldn’t work out–Arlington, New Orleans, Phoenix, Las Vegas, LA–I was looking at them all, but there were too many scheduling conflicts.
Finally, Tom said, “Look, I don’t care about this as much as you do. It would be a good concert, but it means a lot more to you than it does to me. You go. I’ll stay home and take care of things here.” One way you can stay married for 31 years is to understand and respect the other person and know sometimes you are an anchor, and sometimes you wish them wings.
My original Arlington choice was a good date and an easy drive. I left after transport on Thursday and worked in my hotel room that night and through the day on Friday, went to the concert Friday night, left Saturday to spend a day and night in Corsicana with Lynne (and worked from there, too–bless the Internet and WiFi), and returned to Houston Sunday. I needed time outside my space, outside my head, outside my routine.
So at the concert… I’m literally about as happy as I can be on this planet. I was exactly where I wanted to be when I wanted to be there. It’s a significant date in my life, June 14. On that date in 1992, I said goodbye to our friend Steve when he died because of AIDS. He and I always said, “Will you still need me when I’m sixty-four?”–and the answer was always, “Yes,” though we knew we weren’t really going to get that option.
I knew Steve (who was himself a musician and a conductor) would be delighted that I was at this concert. He wanted the people he loved to LIVE every minute after he was gone.
So I’m living in that moment, relishing every song, reminding myself every few minutes, This performer came into your life when you were seven. You watched him and his band CHANGE THE WORLD. He’s interwoven in your history, just as he is for millions of others…
And then he put down his guitar, went to his piano, and played “Maybe I’m Amazed.” I shocked myself because I started crying. We will always have new and wonderful relationships if we’re open to them, but I never forget that two of Paul McCartney’s most profound loves–part of both his emotional and professional lives–ended when John Lennon was murdered and when Linda McCartney died of cancer. They will always be an empty space on his stage.
Riley played that song for me on piano, too, and he was the empty space in the audience, so I cried. And that’s okay. Steve also once told me, “I’d be so sad if I thought no one would cry for me.” I’ve shed so many tears for both of them. I love them still and always will.
I like this video a person put on YouTube for the song. It celebrates Paul and Linda beautifully in photographs.
Maybe I’m amazed at the way
You’re with me all the time
And maybe I’m afraid of the way
I leave you
Maybe I’m amazed at the way
You help me sing my song
You right me when I’m wrong
Maybe I’m amazed at the way
I really need you
I’ve mentioned the Wings song “Let Me Roll It” multiple times on Instagram because when I’m in my car, if it comes up on my iTunes, I am compelled to let the world know I’m happy because it’s playing.
The song was on the 1973 album Band on the Run which I played endlessly. I’ve even shared on my blog (when people used to comment on my blog–I love these memories) the personal association of “Let Me Roll It” with my little stuffed dog First.
So anyway, Sir Paul has SUCH a catalog between being a Beatle and a Wing and a solo artist, so I had little expectation of hearing “Let Me Roll It” in concert. But then he strapped on a different guitar, and I thought, We’re about to hear something I THINK I WANT TO HEAR and HE PLAYED MY SONG! I was so happy.
That’s a screen cap from a shitty video when my phone was crapping out on me.
Here’s a photo of the real thing, a custom painted Gibson Les Paul (guitarists commence drooling).
And if you want to hear the original, click below and know that when I hear it, I sing every word at the top of my lungs. Learn from me.
Thank you, Sir Paul. All my loving, I will give to you.
