My biggest concert last summer
At his Seattle performance on May 2, 2022, Paul McCartney reminded me of Neil Finn just for a moment. He stood at the front of the stage leading the crowd in the na-na-na’s of Hey Jude, and seemed, uncharacteristically, to really need this emotional connection the way Neil Finn (endearingly) often seems to. Paul always invites a singalong because he knows the audience loves it; he seems happy to give us this way of interacting with him. But at this moment he seemed caught up in the feeling too. Maybe it’s because it was only the second show of the first tour since the pandemic started.
Paul’s big, powerful, tender, versatile voice is unfortunately gone forever, replaced by a wavering or hoarse croon. He can’t hold notes, can only hit the high ones with a soft falsetto (ie on Blackbird), can’t go into that deep, bluesy place. I wonder what this is like for him. Singing was one of his towering, awe-inspiring abilities, but he seems as secure as ever and I admire that. He makes it work. Still, the loss of his big voice is a hard absence to get used to. It’s as if the Space Needle, or the iconic Picasso in Chicago, crumbled and vanished. Paul’s voice has, I believe, been more of a beacon to many more people than either of those — and for the same number of years, roughly.
On the other hand, I’ve heard some fans say “he sounds amazing!” so I know not everyone hears him the same way I do.
We watched Paul’s Glastonbury show online eight weeks later. Thanks to the cameras, we enjoyed being able to see everything he did, such as turn the front of his bass up towards him and find the fret for his right hand during a turnaround in one song. I liked being able to see his face at certain times — he looked relaxed. (Imagine that – performing in front of tens of thousands as a place where you can relax.) The camera often showed his hands on the piano, which I love seeing.
He came out from behind the piano (as always) for the na-na-na in Hey Jude, and said, “I love to hear that.” I imagined him wondering “when will I ever hear this again?” as Glasto was his final show of this tour. After the virtual duet with John Lennon on the big screen, he said, “that’s special to me. It’s virtual, but I get to sing with John, and we’re back together.” And this was the final show where that took place. What did that feel like?
The vast festival audience, with their many tall flags, wore faces of bliss. Who brings joy like a beloved musician? What a life Paul McCartney has had. What an enormous role, the role he carved out or that fell to him, bringer of joy to millions for 60 years. And he’s just a person. Imagine the toll our adoration has cost him versus the fulfillment he’s experienced, the overwhelm versus the dreams realized. Despite the magnitude of both, he’s only able to experience one day at a time in a finite series, just like anyone.
Everyone’s life is unique, but his is a phenomenon. He had an electrifying friendship that drove such an explosion of creative output that they hardly had time to sleep — and then an abrupt end to the partnership and the friendship, never to be fully restored before his soul’s counterpart was murdered with a gun. Is Paul’s life since age 40 (or 60 or 70) more immediate to him than the years between 16 and 28? I suppose so, probably? But his life is not like most people’s. Much of the world only craves more of his irretrievable Lennon-McCartney years. Does he, also? Maybe by age 80 you don’t rail against that irretrievability — maybe acceptance of its goneness increases. But his virtual duet with John, and certain things he says in interviews, look and sound as if he wishes he could retrieve and repair history.
Paul has said memories become stories so that you’re not sure any more if it’s a real memory. He does tell the same stories over and over again (on purpose). He’s public, he’s private, he’s a resource, a treasure, a person.
His couplet in the song “The End” hopefully applies to his life as a whole — that as much as he has given, so he has received. Personally, I wish he could live forever at some peak age. Would he want to?
