Your day breaks
Your mind aches
You find that all her words of kindness linger on
When she no longer needs you
Pop music can be your friend, maybe even your truest friend at times. At least, it may seem that way when a heart breaks, your mind aches, and no volume of well-meaning words of kindness can erase the dull regret, the taunting abyss when a love that should have lasted years...doesn't. It's not your friends' fault; they love you, they want to be there, to help you if they can when you're feeling down. But they can't provide real solace, no more than you could really help them in their hour of loss. Still, we try to support, to hold fast, to comfort, to understand. And you turn to your music, in hope of deliverance.
Why she had to go
I don't know
She wouldn't say
I said something wrong
Now I long for yesterday
I've been there. Most of us have. In the words of another pop song ("Saturday's Girl" by The Human Switchboard), they say a heart's not quite a heart until it's been broken. Hemingway would insist that afterward many are strong at the broken places. But it hurts so much in the moment, and it doesn't matter if that seems silly or pathetic to detached onlookers, nor even to love's victims as we look back on our own travails. I said something wrong, now I long for yesterday. Our fault? Someone else's fault? The distinction may become relevant in the postmortem, as we attempt to move on. In the moment? We only feel the pain. And we turn to our music, in hope of deliverance.
When I find myself in times of trouble
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom
Let it be
And so it goes.
When it will be right
I don't know
What it will be like
I don't know
We live in hope of deliverance
From the darkness that surrounds us
In times of trouble, I have turned to my music, in hope of deliverance. The records comprehend and console. Tears fall, music plays, life goes on, ob-la-di, ob-la-da. I've turned to Big Star. I've turned to Otis Redding. The Ramones. The Four Tops. The Beach Boys, The Kinks, The Monkees, and an endless list of others, trying to process my sorrow, my rage, my helplessness, seeking catharsis, pursuing happiness. I recall two days in my life when my emotional debris was too heavy, too overwhelming, to even turn to the music, days of inconceivable permanent loss. Other times? The music has been there for me. And, more than any other artist, it's been the music of The Beatles.
All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?
On the morning of Saturday, September 23rd, 2017, I woke up, fell out of bed, dragged a comb across my head. My mind filled with anticipation and possibility. Brenda and I were going to see Sir Paul McCartney in concert. Our first McCartney show. After decades of hope, deliverance was at hand.
The concert was scheduled to begin at 8 pm at The Carrier Dome in Syracuse, a site where Macca had pulled a no-show on us back in 1993. It was an unseasonably warm day, uncomfortable for those of us who hate hot weather even more than we hate cold weather. Inside, The Dome would be sweltering, and urgent announcements were made that each ticketholder could bring in one sealed water bottle of any size, pleading with all of us to stay hydrated however we could. On a morning side trip to visit my Mom, I also stopped at 7-11 and picked up two water bottles, each one the approximate size of the Ritz-Carlton Hotel. Hydration plan in place!
The Sheraton on University Avenue, well within walking distance of The Dome, was holding a pre-concert tailgate party with live music by The FabCats, the British Invasion tribute combo that features bassist Gary Frenay and guitarist Arty Lenin from The Flashcubes. More music?! Well! We couldn't miss that. We'd heard reports that prospects for parking would be intimidating--Manley Field House parking was completely sold out--but also heard that lot parking near Syracuse University might be available. We wanted to get there early anyway. Baby, we can drive my car: we gathered the rest of our carpool contingent (my This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio co-host Dana Bonn, our friend Jeanne Chu, and outta-towner Ray Paul), and set off on the road to Paul McCartney.
At 3:00, traffic had not yet begun to congest, so we sailed through and easily found lot parking a couple of blocks from the Sheraton. The FabCats (Gary, Arty, and guitarist Dave Novak, with local drummer extraordinaire Cathy LaManna sittin' in) usually play a mix of irresistible '60s material, with the occasional original tune thrown in as a treat for the faithful. But today, fittingly, it was all Beatles all the time. Close your eyes and I'll kiss you, tomorrow I'll miss you. As always, they lived up to the Fab in their name.
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| Your humble blogger, Ray Paul, and Dana Bonn |
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| Happy couple. Photo by Ray Paul. |
Our party split up as we arrived at The Dome, with coordinates on where to regroup for the ride home later. Brenda and I had floor seats, and we moved through security with ease. We were dying to see how good/bad/indifferent our seats were. Although they were floor seats, they certainly weren't the higher-priced time-for-a-third-mortgage seats at the very front of the floor. We were pleasantly surprised at the location; not close, but not far either, and with a perfect angle of view. We would inevitably be watching most of the show on the giant screens, sure, but we could steal glances at the live figure on stage, and be able to say to ourselves with conviction, That's Paul McCartney!
We had a long time to wait before the show, but the wait was more pleasant than we'd anticipated. Though still warm in that big, glorified baggie called The Dome, there was fan-driven air movement on the floor itself. The temp was manageable. I caught up with an old co-worker, Dave Gallacher, whom I hadn't seen in almost 35 years; I noticed that Dave had checked in on Facebook, sent out a boy-howdy, and he came over with his wife Darlene to chat. Lovely people, and seeing them just added even more to my feeling of contented bliss. It's getting better all the time.
Mere minutes (if that) after 8:00, the lights dimmed. Paul McCartney was on stage.
Paul McCartney was on stage!
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| Photo courtesy of The Daily Orange |
Did he say anything as he took the stage? I don't think so. There was just that chord--that chord--the one I'd heard in 1964, when it was blarin' from the speaker hanging in my brother's car window as A Hard Day's Night commenced on screen at The North Drive-In in Cicero. I was four. It could have been last week as far as my cherished memories go. Now, following that chord, McCartney was in Syracuse, at The Dome, singing the verses that John Lennon sang so long ago, retaining the bridges he's always sung himself. McCartney's long-time bandmates--keyboardist Wix Wickens, guitarists Brian Ray and Rusty Anderson, and singin' drummer Abe Laboriel, Jr.--ably and winningly aced the seemingly thankless task of standing in for the act you've known for all these years. So why on Earth should I moan? The enchantment was firmly in place.
"A Hard Day's Night" led into the familiar seductive intro to Wings' "Junior's Farm," followed by a return to that 1964 soundtrack with "Can't Buy Me Love." "Jet." "All My Loving." The magnificently Lennonesque "Let Me Roll It" ended with the gloriously noisy riffs of Jimi Hendrix's "Foxy Lady." McCartney told the story of he and Lennon seeing Hendrix a few days after the Sgt. Pepper album had been released in 1967, and feeling honored that Hendrix was already including a raucous cover of the LP's title tune in his own live set.
McCartney is an experienced showman. Yeah, you don't need me to tell you that. But nothing you've read or seen on YouTube can prepare you for how effortlessly Sir Paul commands a venue. To him, a crowd of 35,000 is the same as 35, or 350,000. He knows he's in charge, and he accepts the responsibility with a wink. He sings. He plays. He tells stories. He jokes. He laughs. He quips about this first visit to The Carrier Dome, but says he's seen many "basketball matches" played here on the telly. When he spied a hand-held sign that read Sign My Butt!, McCartney did a slow comic beat to perfection, then added, "Well, let's have a look at it, then." He made this cavernous, impersonal venue seem as intimate as a coffeehouse.
"I've Got A Feeling" concluded the set's initial alternating sequence of Beatles-Wings-Beatles-Wings-Beatles-Wings-Beatles. McCartney dedicated "My Valentine" (from his 2012 album Kisses On The Bottom) to his wife Nancy. The piano lick of Wings' "Nineteen Hundred And Eighty-Five" electrified the crowd, followed by a palpable aaahhhh as Paul sang a song for his late first wife Linda, the incomparable "Maybe I'm Amazed." I turned to Brenda and repeated what had become my mantra for the day: I'm so happy! The ensuing performance of "We Can Work It Out" only amplified that feeling.
In the months and weeks leading up to this concert, I had avoided reading any of McCartney's set lists. Spoilers were not for this lad! So I was surprised to hear McCartney and company play "In Spite Of All The Danger," the first recording by Lennon and McCartney's pre-Beatles combo The Quarrymen. Did not see that coming, nor did I really expect "You Won't See Me" or "Love Me Do," the latter introduced with a charming story of The Beatles working in the studio with George Martin. "And I Love Her" was neither presumed nor shock (but certainly welcome), and I woulda betcha money that Paul would include "Blackbird," so no surprise there.
This was followed by "Here Today," Paul's gentle, moving 1982 tribute to his fallen friend John. Brenda had never heard the song before. Its message of telling the people you love how much you love them now, before it becomes too late to tell them anything ever again, is timeless and heartbreaking. We looked at each other. Our family has suffered losses--not a unique level of loss, but losses that linger still, and likely always will. You gotta tell them, McCartney said as the song concluded and 35,000 people wiped away whatever it was that had gotten in their eyes. Dust. Yeah, it must be dust.
After "Queenie Eye," McCartney noted he can always tell the difference in an audience's reaction to familiar Beatles and Wings material versus newer tunes. Brushing away any perceived indifference to 21st century Macca, Paul said he and the band didn't care, because they were gonna play the new stuff anyway. The title track from 2013's New led to "Lady Madonna" and his Kanye West/Rihanna collaboration "FourFiveSeconds" (which actually sounded great). And then....
And then.
Although I had dutifully avoided pre-show spoilers, there was an old Beatles song I suspected (and hoped) would be in McCartney's set. I didn't tell Brenda. I wanted her to be surprised if Paul McCartney sang her all-time favorite Beatles song in concert. She was unprepared and overwhelmed by its sudden appearance:
Ah, look at all the lonely people
Ah, look at all the lonely people
She flipped out. In a good way. She had no idea "Eleanor Rigby" was even a plausible possibility in a live McCartney show, and she was as happy as I've ever seen her in our nearly 39 years together. That moment. Everything was worth it in that moment.
More surprises for me: a story about John and Paul running into Mick Jagger and Keith Richard in 1963 London led into "I Wanna Be Your Man," the song Lennon and McCartney wrote for The Rolling Stones. I was nearly as surprised to hear Paul sing John's Sgt. Pepper track "Being For The Benefit Of Mr. Kite," and touched when he brought out George Harrison's old ukulele for George's beautiful ballad "Something." My mind then expanded and exploded with the medley of "A Day In The Life" and John's solo "Give Peace A Chance." I think McCartney messed up one of the lines in "A Day In The Life," but I have no intention of seeking a refund.
Paul McCartney had been on stage for something like two hours already. The guy is 75 years old. He was still going strong. His voice was no longer that of the young Beatle who crooned "Penny Lane," but it was still there, supplemented (especially on higher notes) by drummer Laboriel. Even the notoriously crappy acoustics of The Dome, a cave I've nicknamed The Cone Of Muffle, could not suffocate this pure pop sound. McCartney and his band sounded better than I ever imagined a band could sound in the friggin' Dome. McCartney and company had conquered The Cone Of Muffle!
And it was time for their victory lap.
"Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da."
"Band On The Run."
"Back In The U.S.S.R.," accompanied by a keenly comic reminiscence of meeting Russian government bigwigs backstage at McCartney's first Russian shows.
"Let It Be."
And then the roof erupted with the pyrotechnics of "Live And Let Die." The eruption was nearly literal, as the attendant fireworks ignited a small flame that techs scrambled to extinguish. Jeez, talk about bringin' the house down.
"Hey Jude" closed the main part of the show. Over the years, I've had a complicated like/loathe relationship with "Hey Jude," and I generally regard Wilson Pickett's cover as the definitive version of the song. But tonight? It was Paul McCartney singing "Hey Jude." I have never loved the song anywhere near as much as I did right then and there.
At 11:30, two and a half hours after that iconic opening chord, Paul, Wix, Brian, Rusty, and Abe left the stage. Five minutes later, Paul was back, and he began to strum his guitar and sing a song.
Yesterday
All my troubles seemed so far away
Now it looks as though they're here to stay
Oh, I believe in yesterday
A flood of feelings, not all of them happy. "Yesterday" is the most-recorded song of all time. Yet it is underrated, a devastating expression of loss and longing, its casual delivery belying the depth of its emotion, its sheer ubiquity masking its simple eloquence, its absolute mastery. I recalled a miserable evening, decades ago, when I sat alone in my room, drinking beer, and listening to Paul McCartney singing "Yesterday" on my little stereo. I'd met a girl. And I'd already lost her. I was so sure it would work. If it didn't work, I was sure that I would be the one to walk away, as I'd walked away from others before her. But she was gone. Suddenly, I wasn't half the man I used to be.
She appeared in my room. She told me it would be all right. Somehow. We could work it out. I believed her.
In the present day, I looked at her by my side at The Dome. She was still there. Boy and girl had worked it out. The path was never easy but we've traveled it nonetheless. Did she remember that night? I didn't ask her, not in that moment. I held her hand instead, and let the magic of The Beatles wash over us. There was no shadow hanging over me. I believe in the yesterday that led to today.
The band fired up for the rest of the encore. The reprise from Sgt. Pepper. A blistering "Helter Skelter." "Birthday," dedicated to an overwhelmed but deliriously happy young woman brought on stage, holding a sign that read I Just Turned 18 If You Know What I Mean. The closing three-song cycle from Abbey Road--"Golden Slumbers,""Carry That Weight," and "The End"--concluded the show. The lights came on. It was 11:00. For three hours, 35,000 people had been taken on a Magical Mystery Tour. Get back to where you once belonged.
As we emerged from The Dome, Brenda noticed that the bells on SU's campus were chiming McCartney tunes. When I went off to secure our carpool companions, a family asked Brenda to take their picture. The woman said her daughter had just graduated from Syracuse University that spring, and the combination of that memory with the thrill of Paul McCartney's show was makin' her verklempt. Dana, Jeanne, and Ray rejoined us, each abuzz with the sheer exuberance of what we had all experienced. Everyone was happy. Everyone, everywhere we looked. In the end, the love you take
is equal to the love you make.
The traffic was nowhere near as bad as we feared it might be, and we navigated the way to get back home. We bantered, and we discussed the show. Ray thought McCartney did a few too many Lennon songs, and would have preferred more Paul and less John. But we were all delighted with the show as it was.
As a fan, of course I have a long, long list of songs I would have loved to hear. "The Night Before" or "Another Girl" from Help! "Penny Lane." "Paperback Writer." "I Saw Her Standing There." "For No One." And so many post-Beatles McCartney songs as well, from "Another Day" and "Getting Closer" to relative obscurities like "Not Such A Bad Boy" or "Beautiful Night," and slightly lesser known Fave Raves like "My Brave Face," "Sing The Changes," "Hope Of Deliverance," and "The World Tonight." But I don't know what I could have possibly taken out of McCartney's Carrier Dome set list to make room for something else. His show was perfect. Perfect. Perfect.
Back home after midnight, our daughter Meghan let us share our bubbly enthusiasm, fully aware of how much this concert meant to us. Paul McCartney. Meghan is not a Beatles fan, but she respects them, appreciates their importance, acknowledges their impact. She's heard it her entire life. Literally. When the nurse handed me this tiny, precious newborn for the first time, in the first wee hour of June 12th, 1995, I sang softly to her, Close your eyes and I'll kiss you, tomorrow I'll miss you. She screamed in protest, setting the template for our subsequent father-daughter musical dynamic. But now, in the first wee hour of September 24th, 2017, she was happy for us, pleased that her mom and dad had finally seen Paul McCartney.
In the weeks since the concert, Brenda and I still light up at the mention of Paul McCartney at The Dome. We feel blessed to have been there. We feel fortunate to have had this rare opportunity to experience it with each other. All together now.
Pop music is our friend. It's been my friend since I was a toddler, since even before Ed Sullivan welcomed these four young men from Liverpool who called themselves The Beatles. In our hour of darkness, it is standing right in front of us. If it speaks words of wisdom, we will listen. If we've said something wrong, it will console us, yesterday and today. If golden slumbers fill our eyes, the music we love will see us through to the end. Take a sad song. Make it better. We live, always, in hope of deliverance.
Hope of deliverance
Hope of deliverance
Hope of deliverance
From the darkness that surrounds us
And you know that can't be bad.
Many thanks to Katrina Tulloch at The Post Standard, Matt Michael at The Syracuse New Times, and Gary Frenay for their own essential McCartney concert reviews and recaps, which served as invaluable references in recreating my memories of the night. I read the news today, oh boy....
"For No One," "Yesterday," "Let It Be," and "Eleanor Rigby" written by John Lennon and Paul McCartney, published by Sony/ATV Music. "Hope Of Deliverance" written by Paul McCartney, published by MPL Communications.
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Our new compilation CD This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio, Volume 4 is now available from Kool Kat Musik! 29 tracks of irresistible rockin' pop, starring Pop Co-Op, Ray Paul, Circe Link & Christian Nesmith, Vegas With Randolph Featuring Lannie Flowers, The Slapbacks, P. Hux, Irene Peña, Michael Oliver & the Sacred Band Featuring Dave Merritt, The Rubinoos, Stepford Knives, The Grip Weeds, Popdudes, Ronnie Dark, The Flashcubes,Chris von Sneidern, The Bottle Kids, 1.4.5., The Smithereens, Paul Collins' Beat, The Hit Squad, The Rulers, The Legal Matters, Maura & the Bright Lights, Lisa Mychols, and Mr. Encrypto & the Cyphers. You gotta have it, so order it here.
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