THERAPY WITH PAUL MCCARTNEY

Last Friday some friends and I saw Sir Paul play Citi Field, the new Mets stadium the size of a self-sufficient city in Queens, New York. I, along with many thousands of other people, had come in order to feel wistful in the bosom of an enormous corporate-sponsored arena. One might be tempted to bemoan the relentless commodification of the Beatles--as a band, as an era--but that would miss the point. We all had fun.

Nearly 45 years ago Paul McCartney, a Scouser bass player, sang his newly co-written songs with his mates across the street at Shea Stadium, shattering attendance records and straining to be heard over the thousands of screaming fans. (He was 23 at the time, which frankly blows my mind.) My own mother only once risked the fury of Catholic nuns when she skipped school to join every other screaming girl in New York to welcome the Beatles to America at JFK Airport. The age of arena rock had begun.

Walking around the various levels of Dante’s stadium the other night, I was struck by McCartney’s overwhelming, indiscriminate appeal. Young, old, fat, skinny, smart, stupid, short, tall, rich, broke, cool, dorky (though considerably more ivory than ebony): they all came to hear the songs they had grown up loving. The cheapest seats were (a relatively reasonable) $50; we clapped our hands, everyone else rattled their jewellery.

McCartney plays a consistent show, essentially a one-man Beatles concert. There was little difference from the first time I saw him live at the Georgia Dome in 1993, down to the fireworks during “Live and Let Die”. Before he goes on, the audience is worked up into a lather, with massive vertical screens cycling through photo collages of the fresh-faced glory days. This tour also marks the launch of the Beatles Rock Band video game, unveiled on stage, which hits stores in September ("09/09/09") replete with nostalgic animation of the foursome. During a particularly surreal point of the show McCartney tore through “Got to Get You Into My Life” while the game's cartoonish Beatles were splashed on the screen behind. The effect was somewhat disorienting, with an actual Beatle—dyed and jowly—performing the same songs in front of a pixellated version of his youthful self.

Sure, a part of me felt confused, maybe a little cynical about being manipulated. I often jog past the spot on the Upper West Side in New York where John Lennon was shot and silently curse the morbid spectacle of tourists taking pictures. Yet when McCartney played “Something” on George’s ukulele, as well as a tear-jerking rendition of “Here Today” and a medley of “A Day in the Life” and “Give Peace a Chance”, I was caught up, completely moved. I realised there was something overwhelmingly cathartic about the whole concert experience--a form of therapy we don't really find anywhere else. And isn’t that what a true entertainer delivers?

~ DANIEL ARIZONA

Picture credit: rieh (via Flickr)