I had two great realizations about the music and the body of work of Paul McCartney during his incredible show at Yankee Stadium this summer. The first occurred early in the concert. I was overwhelmed at how beautiful the sound that was pouring through the massive space was. The rich harmonies and the textured instrumentation were the greatest sounds I’d ever heard in all my years of attending rock and classical concerts. McCartney had opened with a Beatles tune, “Hello, Goodbye,” and when he began to play songs from his solo oeuvre, I thought to myself, “I understand the solo years now. I finally understand.” I had always joined the chorus of critics who felt that McCartney’s genius had never been equaled after his years with The Beatles. The New York Times has been particularly cruel to McCartney in the last 40 years, once dubbing him a “marshmallow,” and on another occasion describing his talents in such an unflattering way, I will not repeat it. (Ironically, the Times loved this concert.) When I heard the pulsating rhythm of the Wings’s song, “Junior’s Farm,” I understood that McCartney has been all about the music all along: about the craft of rock and roll, about structuring a good solid tune, and about making it sound so very gorgeous for a crowd of people who want to be entertained. And he had succeeded with this in every aspect. I didn’t even understand this when my own first band had performed that same song in 1974. It all made sense now, standing in Yankee Stadium, and I felt very much like a fool on a hill for doubting this consummate musician.

Paul McCartney, 2010. Credit: Wikipedia

The Beatles had made it impossible for themselves because of the incredible heights to which they’d risen. I, too, placed them on a ridiculously high pedestal, believing that they played a large part in my having had such a fun childhood and being forever in their debt for teaching me, through osmosis, how to write a melodic pop song. I also believed that their music is the only artistic achievement comparable to Michelangelo’s (roll over Beethoven). My second realization at McCartney’s concert came towards the end of the evening, during a great rendition of a Beatles’ ballad, “Golden Slumbers.” Of all the members of the Fab Four, it was McCartney who really was the one who believed the music came first, and that the image, the legacy, and the relationships within the band, were all secondary. The Beatles changed the world, but to expect their members to maintain that intensity and that importance past their years together is asking too much. John Lennon used to say to people who wanted the band to get together again something along these lines: “You want me to get back on the cross, just because you missed it the first time?”

As McCartney sang the song from Abbey Road that night, I felt his soul saying, “This is all I’ve ever wanted to do: to sing great music to people who want to enjoy it.” It was McCartney who had been pushing the other Beatles to return to live concerts at the end of the days of The Beatles. John Lennon never had a solo tour (though he was mired for years with legal problems). George Harrison toured the states just once. Ringo Starr is closest to McCartney’s spirit of playing live and has toured often through the years.

At Yankee Stadium, once McCartney had sung songs such as “The Night Before” and “Nowhere Man,” I knew that the whole concert was going to be a delight and a joy for the ears. I just took it all in. He performed a total of 35 songs and played about a half of dozen instruments without taking a break, for nearly three hours. One of the peaks of the show was his moving rendition of Harrison’s beautiful song, “Something.” McCartney’s on-stage banter was also quite funny and lighthearted. He completely understood the mood of the crowd and kept it relaxed between tunes. You could feel the appreciation and the emotion of his audience as he crooned lovely ballads such as “I Will,” “The Long and Winding Road,” and “Blackbird.” When he performed my favorite song, “Hey Jude,” I fondly remembered hearing it for the first time in 1968 as a lad of eleven years old.

McCartney closed the show with the final medley from the Abbey Road album. When he sang the famous last line, “And in the end, the love you take/Is equal to the love you make” I thought about all the joy that Paul McCartney has brought into the lives of so many millions of people throughout the world. That’s quite a lot of love he’s given. I was glad the audience was able to give some back.