Paul McCartney
O2 Arena, London, December 18, 2024
Shows such as tonight’s, featuring a legendary artist in what used be called the twilight years (Paul McCartney is 82), were once described as swan songs. It would be “the last chance to see…” such-and-such. Cautious curiosity would outweigh excited expectation in the motivations of ticket-buyers.
How things have changed. Nowadays, we expect way more of Paul McCartney’s foundational generation of rock’n’rollers, and notwithstanding a flutter in the vocal here and there, our expectations tend to be fulfilled, or in the case of McCartney on his current tour and very much so tonight, exceeded.
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Trim and dapper in waistcoat and collarless shirt (he removes his jacket and promises, “That’s the big wardrobe change of the evening”), he’s all business (“Let’s crack on…”) and despite the occasional unwelcome intrusions of hi-tech concert hoo-ha, this is a no-nonsense show: 34 songs in two and a half hours with no-more-than-regulation banter and no breaks for hydration or (unbelievable, at his age) micturition.
At every turn there’s a brilliant song, brilliantly performed. Got To Get You Into My Life is spine-tingling – the clashing guitars and horns generating Revolver’s lysergic flashes. Proving McCartney can still write a useful psych-rocker, it’s followed by Come On To Me off 2018’s Egypt Station. Let Me Roll It is even more masterly – its wonky riff is throttled out by McCartney on Les Paul as drummer Abe Laboriel Jr nails Macca’s original, highly eccentric drum part. The band segue info Jimi Hendrix’s Foxy Lady. Turns out they’re a smoking blues-rock combo too.
If the setlist has a narrative, it’s a story of relentless invention offset by a seemingly guileless, gut-instinct for feel-good vibes. Regardless of one’s feelings, generally, for Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da, tonight it brooks no opposition: it’s ridiculous yet ridiculously good. An inevitable Wonderful Christmastime is augmented, charmingly, by the Capital Children’s Choir, amid a dump of fake snow (“…Or is it dandruff?” jokes Macca).
Does McCartney lean into his most populist side? Hell yes. Earlier in the day an ultra-VIP, megaticket “soundcheck show” (MOJO not invited) was the deep cut showcase, where a blessed audience heard Ram On. A soupçon of this sort of thing would not have gone amiss in the main set tonight, although presumably few here shelled out expecting Kreen-Akrore.
McCartney’s skill – likely honed as a sanity-preservation system in the teeth of mega-fame, but also something he seems to have had all along – is to make things seem a little smaller than they are. It’s in his habitual description of the Beatles as a good or great “little band”. Sometimes it can grate, as when tonight he describes both Liverpool and Jacksonville – the most populous single city in Florida as “little places”, or when he follows a version of Blackbird – solo, on top of a rising platform panelled with video screens – with a story about the Beatles refusing to play a segregated gig in the South which verges on a claim to have defeated Jim Crow single-handed.
But what’s remarkable about this talent for bringing big things down to a manageable scale is how intimate this arena mega-show often seems. Yes, there’s a preposterous Live And Let Die (Live And Let Die has to be preposterous) with face-melting pyro and weird video graphics that show the Houses of Parliament exploding (what are they trying to say here?) but then there’s Let ’Em In – which seems more than ever an invitation for all to join him in the parlour with Phil and Don and Auntie Gin. It encapsulates the generosity of spirit which is, surely, the Macca Manifesto. Halfway through a skiffly In Spite Of All The Danger, he plays a something less than fluent solo on acoustic. Afterwards, he turns to guitarist-bassist Brian Ray and mouths, MOJO swears, “That was crap!” Which is fine – welcome, even – there were never any illusions of infallibility around Paul McCartney.
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At another highpoint, as Maybe I’m Amazed’s prog-soul changes climb to the rafters – the screens show pictures and film from his _McCartne_y-era Campbeltown retreat: chubby and bearded, with baby Mary hidden in his sheepskin coat. A song about needing help, and accepting it with wonder, does not lose any of its life-blood vulnerability on this stage.
It’s a fool who plays it cool. And Paul McCartney is no fool. Ending the main set, naturally, is Let It Be. Naturally, too, he turns the na-na-nas over to the audience, who are swept by cameras and beamed onto the screen. MOJO spots Giles Martin, baying along joyfully. Moments after, to our chagrin, there’s your correspondent, on the screen, *literally* stroking his chin. Well, what else is a rock journalist meant to do?
Topping that for an encore would faze most artists, but not Paul McCartney. In I’ve Got A Feeling – surely one of the reputational winners of the Get Back TV fest – McCartney turns to the screen to watch rooftop John sing his bits. It’s very moving. The Sgt. Pepper theme segues into a metallic Helter Skelter. Then the last three sections of the Abbey Road medley close us out. How else to end but with The End?
But is it, actually? There’s a fellow in the crowd holding up a sign: it simply says “135”. Macca points him out: “This guy’s seen us 135 times! Bit extreme…” Presumably, the night after, he’ll be here with a new one: 136.
Macca’s final sign-off suggests anything but finality: “SEE YOU NEXT TIME!”
Looks like someone’s going to have to write more signs.
SETLIST
Can’t Buy Me Love
Junior’s Farm
Letting Go
Drive My Car
Got To Get You Into My Life
Come On To Me
Let Me Roll It
Getting Better
Let ’Em In
My Valentine
1985
Maybe I’m Amazed
I’ve Just Seen A Face
In Spite Of All The Danger
Love Me Do
Dance Tonight
Blackbird
Here Today
Now And Then
Lady Madonna
Jet
Being For The Benefit Of Mr Kite
Something
Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da
Band On The Run
Wonderful Christmastime
Get Back
Let It Be
Live And Let Die
Hey Jude
I’ve Got A Feeling
Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band / Helter Skelter
Golden Slumbers / Carry That Weight / The End
Picture: Jo Hale/Redferns.