Coachella 09 Friday: McCartney's Long and Winding Set.... Apr 18, 2009, 08:29 AM | by Whitney Pastorek
Categories: Coachella 09 <http://music-mix.ew.com/coachella_09/index.html> After reports that ticket sales hadn't been affected<http://music-mix.ew.com/2009/04/coachella-09-co.html> by the recession -- and given tonight's massive headliner, one Mister Sir Paul Former Beatle McCartney -- I anticipated crowds well beyond what I saw in the fields of Coachella as it kicked off this afternoon. Instead, there was space to do multiple cartwheels just about anywhere throughout the festival's first day, and as late as Morrissey's undercard set, it took little to no time to traverse the massive fields of the Empire Polo Grounds. The small but merry trickle of shambolic twentysomethings seemed a far cry from the throbbing seas of humanity seen in recent years for acts like Prince, Rage Against the Machine, or Tool -- if the sun goes down and it looks like there are more people in VIP than outside of it, I'd say that's a problem -- but then again, it was a bigger throng than they had forJack Johnson <http://popwatch.ew.com/popwatch/2008/04/coachella-08--1.html>, though one hopes he's not become the official barometer for Friday fun. Let me be clear, however: Anyone who elected not to (or couldn't afford to) make the trip to see Macca in person officially missed out, as did all those who wandered to their cars when his set -- which doubled as a memorial service for John Lennon, George Harrison, and Linda McCartney -- drifted into a sluggish and directionless middle section. It was the very cheesy rendition of "Mrs Vandebilt" that finally broke my spirit and sent my brain scrambling to figure out a delicate way to call the legend a disappointment, but it turned out he was just being coy. Once Paul rounded the midnight corner, there were fireworks both literal and metaphorical, and I'm gonna have "Get Back" stuck in my head for days..... [image: Paul McCartney]Mario Anzuoni/ReutersPaul McCartney performed on the first day of the Coachella Music Festival in Indio, Calif., on Friday night. Finally, we'd reached the holy land, and McCartney was to come. The rumor mill had been swirling apace since the morning, and was now up to the following: Not only was Ringo going to sit in on drums, but Michael Jackson, the Foo Fighters, and at least one member of Michael Franti and Spearhead were all scheduled to make guest appearances. There was no way any human being could meet those expectations. And so for the first hour and a half of his set, Macca kind of didn't try. He opened with "Jet" -- his still impish form projected huge on two long video screens that flanked the stage -- and you could feel the hopes of everyone who doesn't know/get Wings die a little. Then he launched into a spirited "Drive My Car," and the energy picked up. ("Paul McCartney was in a band before Wings?": Quick, name the movie.) Yet people were not going "off" as I expected they might when in the presence of an actual living Beatle, and McCartney's mood seemed weird, too -- he kept talking in a strange reggae sort of voice, and not really saying anything real, just stuff like "COACHELLA!" (*Wooo!*) By the time "Got To Get You Into My Life" used synth horns instead of real ones (dude, someone call El Gran Silencio), I'd started to get testy. And when "The Long and Winding Road" came complete with high-def video footage of inspirational mountains and sunsets, I started to roll my eyes like a bratty kid. That behavior came to a dead screeching halt the minute McCartney confessed that today was the 11th anniversary of Linda's death, and dedicated "My Love" to his late wife. Then he played "Blackbird," which he explained he wrote during the civil rights era (insert Obama shout-out here), his voice straining to find his higher register. Then he played "Here Today" and, of course, dedicated it to the late John Lennon. Everybody was dead here for a while, including the crowd. My festival buddy Josh and I bailed at the end of the world's most somber rendition of "Eleanor Rigby" and checked out some of the Crystal Method in the dance tent. (We got there for "Don't Stop." We will never again underestimate the power of Daft Punk's robot suits.) Then we felt bad for leaving the memorial service -- walking away from a *Beatle* -- so we went back. McCartney was playing "Something," which he dedicated to the wife of the late George Harrison. The crowd seemed thinner than ever before. I thought about going fetal on the ground. But you don't get knighted for nuthin', kids, and the ability to build a set list ain't nuthin'. Macca tossed off a fun "Paperback Writer," then spoke a bit more about how today was an "emotional day" for him, and I braced for the worst -- but instead he did a sort of "Day in the Life/Give Peace a Chance" medley and moved to the piano for what I secretly hoped would be a set-closing singalong of "Hey Jude." Instead, he started into "Let It Be," and I don't know if it was the song or the man or my memories or all three, but I started to melt. And then the last chips of ice were completely obliterated by "Live and Let Die," which was totally Bondlicious and accompanied by fireworks that put Roger Waters and his pig to shame. "Hey Jude" was inevitably next, and I belted every last *na-na-na naaaaaaa* (much to Josh's chagrin, but come on, I'd been looking forward to that for months) and readied myself for the walk to the car... ... Except the man was nowhere near done. Two-encore set list: Birthday / Can't Buy Me Love / Lady Godiva // Yesterday* (*synthed strings forgiven in light of loveliness) / Helter Skelter / Get Back / Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. And just like that, a set that started as the most unendurable of eulogies had transformed into a celebration of being alive, and I found myself grinning like a fool at the teenaged girl in the hippie headband boogie-ing her butt off next to me, and felt my heart soar to realize that these songs I fell in love with when *I* was a teenager are still a vital and celebratory part of the human condition, not just for my parents' generation, or mine, but even for the (occasionally horribly misguided) generation that's finding them right now, and probably all the generations to come. As a good friend of mine always puts it, the Beatles were the original indie rock. They led us here. Paul McCartney *does* have a place at this festival, and I was glad I got the chance to partake in his emotional night, and I thank him for unexpectedly and beautifully giving me one of my own even when I was hellbent against allowing that to happen, and as it turns out I don't have to be so crabby about everything all the damn time.-- spanx' blog: http://spankyenriquez.blogspot.com/ --~--~---------~--~----~------------~-------~--~----~ You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups "gimik" group. To post to this group, send email to [email protected] To unsubscribe from this group, send email to [email protected] For more options, visit this group at http://groups.google.com/group/gimik?hl=en -~----------~----~----~----~------~----~------~--~---
