- Tue, 2007-08-28 10:57
Paul McCartney live @ The ICA, London
My mum loves to regale me with tales of how, as a young woman living and working in Liverpool in the 1960s, she would go to the Cavern Club with my auntie at lunchtime for the cheap soup-and-a-roll. There, apparently, Priscilla White (née Cilla Black) would collect the coats at the door and they would sit and watch a fledgling Beatles play to a relatively empty club.
She comments on the how wild and messy the band were when they returned from Hamburg and how she even slow danced with each of the band at some point - a fact I still find difficult to truly comprehend - and has each of their autographs to prove it.
As a massive Beatles fan I still find it hard to listen to this without being a little bit sick in the back of my mouth with jealousy.
So, imagine my delight, when the Editor of I Like Music rings me up at 3pm the day after my birthday and asks me if I'd like to attend Paul McCartney's intimate iTunes Music Festival gig that night at the ICA in London for 300 press and competition winners.
Hell, yeah!, I say, beside myself with glee.
Then picture my face as I remember it's my daughter's school production of 'Oliver' that night. She is Orphan number 3.
I can't not go!, I later plead to her mum.
'You 'can't not go' to what, exactly?, comes the immediate sarcastic response.
This is Paul McCartney for God's sake, not the Towers of London playing at the Old Dive and Sh1t Pit.
I decide I can do both. I am quite possibly in denial.
The very second the final note of my daughter's excellent school play finishes and the deserved applause begins, I dash from the hall, leap in the car and career up the motorway at a physics defying velocity and play high speed Russian roulette with the M3's speed cameras.
I arrive at Piccadilly Circus with minutes to spare and fortune smiles on me as an empty car parking space opens up before me. Thank you, Lord.
I then tear-arse down to the ICA and arrive sweaty and unkempt before being led by security down to the tiny dark theatre just as Macca bounds on stage and chirpily shouts, Good evening! Alright?
And then reality smacks me round the face. Hard.
There he is, not 10 feet away from me; Sir Paul McCartney, Macca, the former Beatle, the most famous bass player in the world.
There are those who scoff at McCartney; for the Frog Song, for the ubiquitous thumbs up gesture, for his forays into classical composition, and for ultimately not having the good grace to shuffle off this mortal coil in pointlessly tragic circumstances, thus cementing his place in the pantheon of great but dead musical icons.
But to hear a Beatle singing Beatles songs is a rare honour; songs that have soundtracked and influenced so many lives they've become an inherent part of the fabric of everyday culture. As living legends go, Macca is The Man. Even that youthful primal scream still hasn't deserted him.
Sir Paul is in an ebullient mood and rocks young and old alike in the tiny ICA, declaring the gig as being like a party and inviting us back to his place afterwards.
In turns we are rocked and rolled with authentic 50's rock 'n' roll played with the gusto of a 21 year old and treated to Wings-era 70's stomp-rock as we punch the air and shout Jet!
Included even is the odd solo number from the 80's (opener 'Coming Up' and his touching 1982 tribute to John Lennon 'Here Today') and a smattering of tracks from new album 'Memory Almost Full', including the perky new single 'Dance Tonight'.
But the biggest treat was the liberal dose of Beatles tracks; 'Back in the USSR', 'Let It Be' and 'Lady Madonna', among others. Sir Paul even conducts the crowd in the singalong to 'Hey Jude's' long refrain. I am in heaven.
On the way out I bump into an equally ecstatic Emily Eavis and we discuss this year's Glastonbury and Macca's performance there in 2004.
How bizarre that an evening which ended with the great Sir Paul McCartney of the Beatles singing 'Saw Her Standing There' should begin with 'Consider Yourself at Home' from Oliver as sung by a group of nine year olds.
As I arrive home late but elated, I enthuse about what a fantastic night it was, how brilliant the songs were, how honoured I was to witness such an unbelievable performance.
Hmm, comes the sleepy reply, and how was the Paul McCartney gig?
Review by Chris Waugh
