The Paul McCartney concert was last Saturday night at Target Field. We were going as part of a large party in a box suite. Our host is an executive with the Twins organization as well as an avid Beatles and McCartney fan.
We began the night at the high rise home of the lovely Mr. Curry and his lovelier fiancé, overlooking the Mississippi River in the heart of Downtown Minneapolis. Jay and I parked in the street, where the meters aren’t enforced on a Saturday night so : Score! Free parking down town!
We had appetizers and chit chat as we watched a mild storm front roll in across the river. Then, ignoring the light drizzle, we walked the half mile through down town to the ball park (like New Yorkers!) joined by throngs of other excited fans the closer we got to the venue.
It’s probably a good thing that I had to wait 38 years to see McCartney in concert. When he played here in 1976 as part of the Wings Over America tour, I couldn’t go, as I had to run in the State Track meet that day. I got my doors blown off in the prelims, in case anyone is interested. Had I attended the concert instead, I think it would have wrecked me. I’d have lost what little there was of my 16 year old mind and become a groupie, traveling across the globe following the band, doing whatever it took to earn my way to the next venue.
Decades passed before he came back. By the time he played the Excel Center (in ’07?) I was over my arena concert days and no longer daydreamed about becoming the third Mrs. Paul McCartney. I’ll admit I freaked out just a little bit a few years later when he up and married a woman who’s my age. The idea that in 1976, there was a 16 year old girl out there who was destined to become Mrs. Sir Paul but it wouldn’t be me was…disconcerting.
I figured middle aged me could handle it. Saturday night there was zero chance that I’d fling myself over the rail of the suite at Target Field after the final encore since nothing else in life could ever measure up to singing Obladi Oblada with Paul.
But I thought about it.
I’ve seen some great shows in my life. Peter Gabriel at the Amphitheater in Milwaukee during Sommerfest in 1987 was so good it was transcendental. I’m fairly sure I had an out of body experience. Totally worth the 22 hour drive it took me to get there. Michael Buble at the State Theater in ’07 was so good that by the end of it, I was convinced he was in love with me.
This one left them all in the dust.
First of all it was at Target Field. I love that place. Yes, it’s a sports arena but it has a small footprint and is so well designed that it manages to feel intimate and personal. Modern technology is such that it enables you to feel like you’re in the front row even when you’re in the cheap seats (which we most certainly were not!). The Jumbo trons are high-def and the sound systems are so good that even with 45,000 screaming fans you don’t miss a single lyric. The Beatles would have continued touring a lot longer if they’d had speakers like that.
Our pre show party was under way in plenty of time to watch the field fill up with fans while we ate and drank the varied refreshments our host provided. Everyone was very excited. Some of us had never seen McCartney in concert, some of us were second generation fans and several had seen him multiple times.
I overheard a young man mention the movie Back Beat and I had to introduce myself. As we chatted, the clouds drifted away, bathing the ballpark in the pink glow of another spectacular sunset. The venue could not have been more perfect.
The second great thing about the concert was the fans. Jay and I did a circuit of the park and got a look at the crowd. I’d say there were very few people there just to be able to say they’d seen the legend; this crowd was all about an overwhelming love of the music. There were a lot of under thirtysomethings who had clearly done their research but most of the fans looked old enough to have chosen sides in the Linda/Yoko wars of the early ‘70s. These were aficionados who know what they love and why they were there.
You know that awkward moment in a concert where the artist lets the crowd do the singing? This crowd was up to the task. When Paul said “sing”, it was like the So Long, Farewell scene in the Sound of Music.
The final element that made this concert so great was the Man and His Show.
“Amazing” is one of the most overused and abused words in the English language these days. It drives me crazy to hear idiots describe everything from soup to nuts as ‘amazing’! I heard a designer on TV call a dining room table ‘amazing’ and I thought “Not unless it does the dishes after dinner, it’s not.” Seriously, if your dining room table amazes you, how would you describe something truly extraordinary?
The show was amazing.
No, it was fucking amazing.
There was no opening act. As the last glow of sunset faded in the west, one of the guys I’d been chatting with said “Oh, it’s about to begin!”
I said “It’s been great talking to you but I have to ignore you now!” and I turned.
The twin jumbo trons flanking the stage lit up with a rendition of the iconic bass guitar, the crowd began to cheer and there he was; right there in front of us, looking slim and fit and every bit as delighted to see us as we were to see him.
He began with Eight Days a Week.
45,000 people were 17 years old again, singing along to a song that was written nearly 50 years ago by a man who just may have written more hit songs than anyone in history.
That he has written so many great songs; has been doing it since before he was old enough to drive; that he could hold that crowd in the palm of his hand for as long as he liked; that he made every person in that park feel like he was there for them alone; that 45,000 people held their breath and listened when he introduced a song or told a short story; that he was as energetic, charismatic and romantic as he had been at 22 was amazing.
That he’s doing it all at 72 is fucking amazing.
He gave a moving tribute to his dear friend George and played a wonderful arrangement of Something on the ukulele, which he told us is how he and George used to play it together. It sounded like the song was written for that instrument.
He gave John his due as well, eliciting an ovation for him before singing Here Today, his imaginary conversation with John after his death.
He played a song he wrote for his wife Nancy and it was lovely but not as beautiful as the song he wrote for Linda; Maybe I’m Amazed.
He gave us plenty of Wings; Band on the Run, Nineteen Hundred and Eighty Five, Listen to What the Man Said and Let Me Roll It. For the most part, the special effects were limited to a video behind the stage and lights that emphasized the mood of songs like Hi,Hi,Hi, which served to make the flames and explosions in Live and Let Die seem all the more spectacular. The effects were fun but unnecessary, since all the attention was on the ageless man at center stage.
He did lots of Beatles tunes, sticking with the songs more associated with his vocals than what were necessarily the biggest hits. We Can Work it Out, Blackbird and I’ve Just Seen A Face, rather than Love Me Do or I Wanna Hold Your Hand. Once of my favorite moments was when he did Eleanor Rigby. He managed to make that song as sad and haunting for tens of thousands as it would have been had he been singing in a dingy little bar for a handful of drunks. I don’t know how he did it. Especially when I remembered that he wrote that song when he was 24 years old.
Fucking amazing.
That’s why he’s a legend and we’re mere mortals.
Pre-show, Jay was an admirer but not a fan. He admitted that he was going to watch me watch Paul but the show was his road to Damascus. By the time it was over he was ready to hang up his whistle, buy a psychedelic VW bus and spend his retirement following the tour. He told me that if I left him for Paul McCartney, he would come along.
McCartney played for nearly three hours, did two encores and finished with the tail end of the medley off of Abbey Road; Golden Slumbers, Carry That Weight and The End. When I was in high school, I used to listen to Abbey Road before every track meet because that medley got me so psyched up I could fly.
There were fireworks and so much confetti that it drifted up into our box. I caught some to bring home.
It was perfect.
As we floated out of the ballpark after the show, a woman about my age turned to me and blurted “I’m in love with him!”
“I’ve been in love with him since 1976.” I told her.
“No, I’ve always loved him,” she clarified “But I didn’t realize I was in love with him until tonight!”
We were all in love with him tonight.
Since ‘amazing’ has been rendered meaningless due to overuse in describing inanimate objects, I’ve got an idea for a new adjective for things that mesmerize, fascinate and and inspire; “McCartney”.
“How was the show? Was it amazing?”
“Oh man, it wasn’t just amazing; it was mccartney!”