July 13, 2020
A year ago today, I went to see Paul McCartney at Dodger Stadium. During the week preceding the concert, I waited patiently for ticket prices to drop, believing that I could score a single ticket at a decent price closer to the performance date. By the 12th, prices were still climbing, so I called my older son, who has “connections”. Nothing worked, and I decided to pass.
Late that evening, I opened my email to find a ticket waiting for me. A gift from my son, he said he did not want to listen to me bitch and moan for years that I should have found a way to go to the concert.
I went alone, talking to fellow fans, first in line then sitting on either side of me. They were young and old, parents bringing their children, couples who grew up listening to the Beatles.
The concert was stellar. Joe Walsh (Eagles) appeared and played. Ringo showed up for a rocked out encore.
It was the last night of the North American tour that began in May in New Orleans. Paul ended he evening saying: “Farewell to you guys. Farewell to America. Only one thing left to be said: we’ll see you next time.”
Paul is 78, his voice not as strong as it once was. There will be no concert this year.
Like many baby boomers, I could describe my life using lyrics written by John, Paul, George and Ringo.
Sitting alone today, planning and doing as I wait for a vaccine, I think about all the great concerts I experienced, and I expect I’ll find myself watching live music again one day. In the meantime, I’ll start writing about my life using the lyrics of the guys who defined my generation: “In the town where I was born…”
