The Beatles are my band, after all
Re: The Beatles showed us the way to get back home, July 11. I saw Paul McCartney perform at the Canadian Tire Centre. The show was excellent, but what I learned about myself was far more interesting.
The Beatles were never my band. They were my sister’s band and my brother’s band and everyone else’s band. Of course I knew who they were. At home I listened to my sister’s Beatles albums from Beatlemania to Revolver and my brother’s albums from Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band to Let It Be. I heard them a lot, knew the words and picked out favourites — but they were a backdrop to my bands — Grateful Dead, Jefferson Airplane and the Band.
So I went that Sunday night expecting a good show, and interested to see a real Beatle. And real Sir Paul was! So real, in fact, that all sorts of memories came flooding back — listening to those harmonies on Paperback Writer for the first time, seeing the Sgt. Pepper’s album cover for the first time and marvelling at that eclectic collection called the White Album.
There I was, listening to Let It Be, played by the person who made it famous over 40 years ago and listening to song after song that hadn’t been played live by a real Beatle in decades (did you ever imagine you’d see a Beatle play Helter Skelter?). The waves of memories poured over me, culminating as I listened to Hey Jude.
I’d seen them play it on a BBC special 40 years ago. I got goosebumps. I had never understood how integrally the Beatles were woven into the fabric of my past.
It was exhilarating and cathartic all at the same time. It was a great concert — entertaining and thoroughly enjoyable. And after all this time, it turns out that Beatles are my band. Thank you, Paul McCartney.