So I'm alive and survived a rather busy week. I'm seriously sleep deprived but I'm awake, functioning and happy. Life is good.
I was going to write up a review of the Paul McCartney show that I went to last night but I don't think I have the energy or inclination to put my experience into words. To say it was great is an understatement and doesn't begin to explain it. I'll just say that I saw Paul McCartney sing Eleanor Rigby last night. I saw him sing Day in the Life. The second encore was Yesterday, Helter Skelter and the last six minutes of Abby Road. It was an amazing set list and a fantastic show.
The only negative was that, at times, the whole thing felt to me like an exercise in nostalgia rather than a musical performance. I had a strange feeling that I was a consumer being sold my own past. Also, the entire show was haunted by three people who weren't there. Hearing a certain guitar lick, drum fill or vocal harmony, my mind would immediately go to George, John and Ringo. While the band, last night, was in fine form, I found myself thinking, more than once, that Paul had, in the past, played with substantially better musicians.
But, my God, the man played half the Rooftop Concert. He opened with Magical Mystery Tour. He had fifty years worth of material and seemed to enjoy bringing those songs to life. There was nobody else in the world who could have put on the show that he did last night. And I'm glad I was there with him.