Sunday night, I saw a Beatle. My favorite Beatle. IN THE FLESH.
Granted, from where we were sitting, he was a beetle-sized Beatle, but I came face to massive-jumbo-tron-sized face with Sir Paul McCartney. We were breathing the same stale, humid, city air for OVER THREE HOURS. I’ll never wash these lungs again.
Paul McCartney at Wrigley Field. Oh yes, it was as epic as you’re imagining.
Yes, even though we were that far away, it was still awesome.
And while I wasn’t spastically shrieking and pulling on my hair like the girl sitting in front of us (that’s so 1964…), I did freak out a little bit internally. Which is pretty much the only way I ever freak out. (No, you can’t read my poker face!)
I really can only describe it this way: Anticipation. Lights! Paul! Crowd roaring. Waving. Guitar playing. Hello, Goodbye! Jimmy Hendrix and Eric Clapton storytelling. Paperback Wriiiiiterrrr (wriiiiterrr…wriiiiterrr…). Sweating. Piano playing. Maybe I’m Amazed. Live and Let Die. Explosions! Fireworks! Hey Jude! Encore #1! Encore #2! Thank you, Chicago! AND… I’m spent.
Not to rekindle those “Paul is dead” rumors, but I’m not entirely convinced that the Paul McCartney we saw onstage was not a genetically engineered clone or an impressive illusion created by light and mirrors. (Also, this website is mildly convincing.) Otherwise, this guy turned 45 and immediately stopped aging. No way he’s in his late 60’s. He spent three hours playing various instruments and screaming into a microphone on a humid, 90-degree night and the man did not take a single break. Or a drink of water. EVER.
Upon fruitlessly searching for an IV line trailing from his arm, we became concerned that we might witness the dehydration and subsequent death of a superstar.
But who were we kidding? He’s Paul Mc-freakin-Cartney. He doesn’t NEED water. He gets his strength purely from the sheer force of his rock-and-roll legendary-ness that leaves others gaping in its wake. And pot.
And just in case you’re not convinced that it was kick-ass concert, check out the Hey Jude awesomeness below.
All hail Sir Paul!
Hi, Carlie. This is your mom’s friend from college. Yes, I’m old (but your mother is still very young)! You just brought back great memories of seeing Paul McCartney perform at Raymond James Stadium in Tampa, home to the Buccaneers, maybe 20 years ago. It is a night I will never forget. Thanks for the trip down memory lane!
Hey Jude was my favorite!!! I still can’t believe performed for 3 hours both nights. It was incredible!
Yes, it was amazing! I was freaking out also (between wiping drips of sweat off my face). What really struck me as I looked out over the ecstatic gyrating crowd was that at least half of them were not even born yet in 1964 when I was in 8th grade and first fell in love with the Beatles. Talk about a legend! I feel so lucky to be part of a generation that produced such incredible music that still is universally appealing. Back in 1964 I never would have imagined that someday my daughter would be a Beatles fan!
Where was your spritz bottle?
Carlie, I love your sense of humor. You really capture the moment. I wish I could have seen the Beatles live in my youth. My father always called that kind of music “crap”. ( He was a big band lover.) He is 89 and now thinks Paul is one of the greatest song writers. Go figure. He also watches every episode of Friends. Does that mean when I am 89 (Ha!) I will love rap music?