Last night I went to see Paul McCartney at Arco Arena here in Sacramento with 9 friends. Truly, I tell you, it was one of the most amazing and moving shows I have ever seen. I suppose it was as close to seeing the Beatles as I’ll ever come, barring time travel.
I drove home from work last night to pick up the tickets, check my e-mail. I’m having a conversation with the one and only Tough Street Otter, Anthony Berno, about a problem I’m having on my site, BearFinder.com, with users being unable to upload pictures to the site for their personal ads, and also about an essay he wrote about how to successfully shop for truffles, and where in the Bay Area one can purchase them. Anyway, then I took off to Ned’s house to meet the other members of this happy party - Ned, his wife, Terrie, his sister, Dena, her boyfriend, Robbie, Ned and Dena’s mother, Carol, their brother, Jared, friends Angela and Christina, and my ex, Rick. With parking gougingly priced at $10.00 per car, it makes sense to carpool. So with Angela, Dena, Robbie, and Rick piled into my car, and the rest of them in Carol’s, except for Jared, who was still driving up from Irvine, we head off for the arena.
Strangely, Jared actually gets his ticket from under the frog statue at Ned’s porch, and is only two minutes behind us. We meet in in a happy coincidence in the parking lot, only a few cars from us.
After going through the casual search by the security of the place, which we joked was really some strangers off the street who just wanted to feel us all up, we make it to our seats. From there we see Jackie and Mark sitting two sections over, and we all act like fools and wave and make noises at each other. The place is completely packed.
The lights dim. Last minute concertgoers are scurrying to their seats. The blue spotlights are aimed at several people walking slowly down the floor aisles. At first, I thought that they were just fooling around, but then I notice their clothes: a Marie Antoinette, A Louis XVI, a flamenco dancer, a Briton in a suit and umbrella, a Victorian lady, others. They are all walking gracefully through the audience toward the stage, like someone lost and coming upon a strange new civilization.
The costumed people ascend the stage, looking out into the audience. Screens placed above and behind the stage start displaying images of ancient religious buildings - mosques, churches, temples to various gods and goddesses. Then images of these gods. One of Ganesh in particular stands out. It’s a familiar image: Ganesh, seated in the lotus position, hands open and outstretched to the sides, his elephant head looking gently directly into yours. I was wondering if some of the people realized what they were seeing?
Then some music started and the people on stage started dancing, gently, then picking up pace. A strongman came out with a giantic dumbbell, then three Graces were rolled out on a platform. They stood this platfrom still like statues for many minutes, the suddenly started gyrating and flailing arms, twisting and ducking. A contortionist was carried out in a tiny lucite box, eliciting gasps from the crowd. A guru levitated out, ballet dancers on toe, the Graces ran off the platform, becoming, I suppose Maenads, bacchanalian women of wine. The strongman ascend the platfrom, becoming Atlas supporting the world. Louis XVI walked out balanced on a ball, the flamenco dancer stomped. All in all it was a wonderful scene.
Then they were all chased off stage by the arrival of Paul. He opened with “Hello, Goodbye” to the roars of an appreciative audience. Next he sang “Jet,” and the band was off. Rolling through over forty songs, spanning his entire career, including some songs he had never performed live before, like “She’s Leaving Home.” Every time he moved to the grand piano, Paul would introduce a member of the band, who would talk to the audience for a moment while Paul readied himself at the piano. He had o
n stage with him a drummer, guitarist, guitart/bassist, and keyboardist. Each of them also sang backing vocals. Paul’s voice was in fine fettle, clear and high. For a man his age, and at this late stage of the tour, one would think that his voice would be tired, but amazingly, this last song sounded as beautiful as the first. A tribute to his health regimen, I suppose.
He performed an lovely rendition of “Blackbird,” explaining to the audience that the song was about the Civil Rights struggle of the ’60s. It put a fresh perspective on the song, that you could hear in the audience. John Lennon was memorialized with a new song Paul wrote after his death, and George Harrison was as well, with a ukelele performance of “Something” that had the audience laughing and crying at the same time.
I left the arena sweating from having danced my ass off, exhilirated from the incredible energy of the evening, yet very tired from having worked all weekend on Flugtag, and TFO, 5 hours of church singing for an ordination, and 6 hours of driving to and from San Francisco. A strange combination of feelings, to be sure. I just wanted to get home and get a shower and then off to bed.
An as amazing show I have seldom witnessed.
October 22nd, 2002 | Uncategorized | No comments
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