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I couldn’t believe my luck, Sir Paul McCartney playing an outside concert in Halifax when I was visiting a few hours away from New Brunswick! Soon after three pm the line formed as far as we could see behind us. We could see a scary moment at the front that looked like it would turn into a stampede to get into the park first, quickly stopped by security. There were already people on rooftops, balconies, chairs just outside the fence, and nearby Citadel Hill. I wonder how many more saw the concert than the approximately 50 000 ticket sales indicated?
The chairs we and many brought were abandoned when McCartney came onstage. Everyone was suddenly on their feet, in both the mosh pit and the designated chair areas. I was awed by his energy, power, and charm. Recordings of his work are amazing, but it took a live viewing to fully realise his performance prowess. The ground vibrated, the audience swayed, sang, danced as he played us as easily as his instruments. Gently he endeared, “ladies, sing it again, I like it, it’s sweet.” Politics and moral issues were locked away as he worked his seductive charm. There is a time and a place for debates, but this was not it. There were little glitches, which he smoothed over like the seasoned pro he is. He started “Paperback Writer,” then realised it's in G, not A. “Stop, it’s not going to work,” he called out, and re-started. Afterwards, he explained the error was his. A lesser man would have tried to blame someone, or perhaps faked it in the wrong key to cover the false start. Another time he stumbled going down the stairs from the piano, but smoothly stepped into a goofy sailor-on-deck swagger reminiscent of his playful Beatle days. He exuded an inner confidence that the audience would love him no matter what, and they did! Except perhaps when they had the audacity to boo when he suggested it would be time to go home soon. He took that in stride too, though, miming falling asleep despite the fact that a moment before he hadn’t appeared the least bit tired.
Visual affects were hypnotising at times, plain black for tribute to John Lennon, and astounding for “Live and Let Die,” in which flames shot up from below and fireworks from atop the stage. Sir Paul himself created an iconic image as he stood with guitar raised high above his head to punctuate a powerful ending. Without missing a beat he could move from goofy and playful to serious musician striking moving chords on the piano to introduce, “Let it be.” The sound of silence but for that one rich instrument on the open stage was ethereal.
A young gal screamed like the fainting teens of the sixties when she was invited on stage to have her arm signed after holding up a sign, “Will you sign my arm so I can have it tattooed?” Paul explained he’d been trying to concentrate and get the chords and words right, but couldn’t resist being distracted by that sign. So he got it out of the way by saying kindly, “Well come on up then.” It looked like she almost bowled him over with her hug, then a pen that had appeared from somewhere signed her arm, eliciting the screeches and sending her to hug the rest of the band before security guided her away.
I got a surprise when a man fainted ahead of me – I wasn’t surprised that Sir Paul played through it all for approximately two and a half hours and three encores to give us the performance of our lives.
The chairs we and many brought were abandoned when McCartney came onstage. Everyone was suddenly on their feet, in both the mosh pit and the designated chair areas. I was awed by his energy, power, and charm. Recordings of his work are amazing, but it took a live viewing to fully realise his performance prowess. The ground vibrated, the audience swayed, sang, danced as he played us as easily as his instruments. Gently he endeared, “ladies, sing it again, I like it, it’s sweet.” Politics and moral issues were locked away as he worked his seductive charm. There is a time and a place for debates, but this was not it. There were little glitches, which he smoothed over like the seasoned pro he is. He started “Paperback Writer,” then realised it's in G, not A. “Stop, it’s not going to work,” he called out, and re-started. Afterwards, he explained the error was his. A lesser man would have tried to blame someone, or perhaps faked it in the wrong key to cover the false start. Another time he stumbled going down the stairs from the piano, but smoothly stepped into a goofy sailor-on-deck swagger reminiscent of his playful Beatle days. He exuded an inner confidence that the audience would love him no matter what, and they did! Except perhaps when they had the audacity to boo when he suggested it would be time to go home soon. He took that in stride too, though, miming falling asleep despite the fact that a moment before he hadn’t appeared the least bit tired.
Visual affects were hypnotising at times, plain black for tribute to John Lennon, and astounding for “Live and Let Die,” in which flames shot up from below and fireworks from atop the stage. Sir Paul himself created an iconic image as he stood with guitar raised high above his head to punctuate a powerful ending. Without missing a beat he could move from goofy and playful to serious musician striking moving chords on the piano to introduce, “Let it be.” The sound of silence but for that one rich instrument on the open stage was ethereal.
A young gal screamed like the fainting teens of the sixties when she was invited on stage to have her arm signed after holding up a sign, “Will you sign my arm so I can have it tattooed?” Paul explained he’d been trying to concentrate and get the chords and words right, but couldn’t resist being distracted by that sign. So he got it out of the way by saying kindly, “Well come on up then.” It looked like she almost bowled him over with her hug, then a pen that had appeared from somewhere signed her arm, eliciting the screeches and sending her to hug the rest of the band before security guided her away.
I got a surprise when a man fainted ahead of me – I wasn’t surprised that Sir Paul played through it all for approximately two and a half hours and three encores to give us the performance of our lives.
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