Brokenness, Paul McCartney, And Letting It Be
Lately I’ve been feeling broken. It’s lasted long enough that I don’t think it’s unique to me anymore. You try to do good and you fuck it up. People who you’ve never met hate you. People who love you stop, turn on you–it happens every day. Broken in the way that doesn’t get fixed. At 74, Sir Paul McCartney knows a thing or two about brokenness. Maybe when people are as successful as he has become, we forget to acknowledge their humanity. We forget to acknowledge their losses, struggles, their brokenness. There were several times on the stage at Metlife Stadium last night where Paul McCartney visibly teared up.
One was when he sang “Maybe I’m Amazed” a song he wrote in tribute to his late wife Linda, who died back in 1998. Nearly twenty years ago at this point, McCartney lost his partner of 29 years, but he didn’t shut down. Another emotional moment was when he prefaced “Here Today” with a gentle lament on not telling the people we love how we really feel about them, then described the track as a conversation he wrote between him and John Lennon. McCartney has lost two of the three men who will forever define his musical career–hell, who will forever define an era of music that much of the world regards as one of the greatest in history. The Beatles and The 60s seem and feel and sound so synonymous, and yet, that’s only one fraction of the musical output this man has given us. Even after the band’s breakup infamously sent him into a spiral of depression, he didn’t stop there. He could’ve. I thought about that last night, because I’ve been thinking about quitting.
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What is music writing supposed to do? What am I, a 28-year-old woman with a cursory knowledge of The Beatles and Wings seeing Paul McCartney live for the first time going to tell you about what happened in MetLife Stadium last night? Can I tell you how this year has felt like one long nightmare so far and last night it broke? Can I tell you the joy I saw on one of my best friend’s face when Paul launched into “Can’t Buy Me Love” as the third song in his set? Can I tell you that being able to bring her there felt like restitution for all the nights she fielded late grief-stricken calls, gave advice, took me to recover in her Jersey beach town, taught me about grace? It’s no secret that the music industry leaves those of us who are a part of it jaded, when going to shows is literally your job it’s inevitable for that too to lose its magic and feel like a chore. Seeing her reaction to the concert last night reminded me of the thing I always try to come back to–that music has the power to transform us, restore us, connect us to the larger centrifugal force of joy that moves the sun and other stars–even if it’s just for a night.
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