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Wednesday, September 21, 2005
Paul McCartney
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
This reviewer is not an especially big Beatles fan. He knows, he knows, he knows — it’s a terrible sin for a music critic to feel ambivalence toward this band, and he will be punished severely in the afterlife. But lying about it would only make matters worse.
And so it was with some trepidation Tuesday night that he trudged into a sold-out Philips Arena, notebook in hand, thinking he might have to write something unpleasant about Paul McCartney’s concert, in the interest of telling the truth.
He is happy to report, however, that the show was a tour-de-force. The career-spanning 160-minute performance not only testified to McCartney’s artistic stamina, it reanimated a catalog of songs so overexposed that they’ve been systematically bled of their life force.
Against the odds, Sir Paul made them matter again. His voice, while not much worse than in his prime, is certainly not better. And his concert arrangements were generally straightforward, leaving the Beatles’ vintage studio work untouched. But he didn’t need a perfect voice, or a revisionist approach. He just needed to be himself, a 63-year-old boy.
McCartney came out wearing a goofy mismatched outfit and a bad haircut, and throughout the night he tugged at his jeans as though they were sliding down his Underoos. Along with all of that, however, came an infectious innocence, the innocence of someone still dazzled by his own powers of creation, someone who can’t dance but can write a pretty love song, someone who wants to hold your hand.
McCartney played a few tunes from his new album, “Chaos And Creation In The Backyard,� then joked about plugging the record, as though he were self-conscious about it, as though the billionaire singer-songwriter for the world’s most famous band has anything to be self-conscious about ever again.
He introduced “Too Many People� by exclaiming “This is for the Wings fans!� with no discernable irony. He dealt as gracefully as he could with the audience members who insisted on talking — and in some cases screaming — while he was trying to communicate. (Incidentally, the crowd’s behavior almost spoiled this reviewer’s mood. He found himself wondering how fans could spend $252 on a ticket, then gab through the show. And he wondered why the fans’ innermost thoughts couldn’t wait to be revealed at a time when they weren’t in the same room with a Beatle.)
In any case, McCartney carried on, playing his songs as though they were written yesterday. The parade of Beatles songs was enough to make ticketless fans stuck at home weep: “Eleanor Rigby,â€? “Penny Lane,â€? “Fixing A Hole,â€? “Please Please Me,â€? “Magical Mystery Tour,â€? “Yesterdayâ€? and a batch from “The White Albumâ€? including a noisy “Helter Skelter,â€? a sweet “I Willâ€? and a gorgeous “Blackbird.â€? Late in the main set came “Hey Jude,â€? a singular experience. McCartney has a special gift for making “na na na naâ€? sound profound. For this song the audience stopped talking and joined in a colossal chorus of na’s.
Around this time, Sir Paul noticed a fan hoisting up a baby. The kid looked too young to feed himself, much less sing along. But one got the feeling that he’d grow up to learn the words, and that he’d be reminded, emphatically, that one day long ago Paul McCartney came to town, and that he was there.
McCartney’s two encores were loaded with Beatles songs, and the most powerful came near the very end when McCartney, seated at an upright piano, played and sang “Let It Be.� Ever the master of the simple gesture, he provided ambiance by lighting a solitary candle. “When I find myself in times of trouble,� he sang, “Mother Mary comes to me. Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.�
At a moment in history when humankind is at war not only with itself, but also with nature, it’s plain that we have found ourselves in times of trouble. We have too few voices of universal reassurance, too few words of wisdom, too much pain to let anything be.
“And when the broken hearted people living in the world agree,� Paul McCartney sang, “There will be an answer. Let it be.�
This reviewer is not too proud to confess that, as the song unfolded, he felt a single tear slide down his cheek.
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