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A Day in the Life
New York City. August 7, 2009, 11:45 am - today I’m tired as hell
(probably a temporary food coma occurrence from a late breakfast). We played at
Fenway Park last night and the night before. What a cool, antique atmosphere
that venue has. A friend of mine was jealous that we were playing there
strictly because he's such a Red Sox junkie. I’m still trying to identify that
particular shade of green - I guess that would be Fenway green! Paul was in
great voice last night. The high C he belted out on the last note of the last
song made everyone in the band look up in amazement.
It appears that I’ll have to try and switch rooms today because my
hotel rule of staying away from construction, elevators and babies whenever
possible has now been amended to include no intermittent internet and/or phone
reception (ah, the digital age!).
I have the next few days off, which is a welcome chance to gather
a little moss after a relatively intense grouping of shows, travel and long
sound-checking (I even have a chance to write this!). Yesterday I woke up in
Boston, got a fantastic, painful & long overdue deep tissue massage. Years
of slinging a guitar over one's shoulder has its repercussions. Peter Frampton
,
who I saw at a show a few years ago (I’m a big Humble Pie - Rockin’ the
Fillmore
fan), told me he did some sort of traction therapy employing a
doorway and a water bucket all because of his 50's, black, 3 pick-up Les Paul
custom.
Anyway, after the massage I took a shower, packed up my bags and
met the gang in the lobby. I spy my band mates (Abe, Brian and Wix) as well as
the fantastic team of seasoned professional tour managers, travel managers,
security, etc. - I suppose it's a reflection of Paul’s awesomeness that
everyone's happy to be there and rock ready. I also just finished reading
Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath and I must say I feel extra-incredibly fortunate to
be playing music for a living, much less with Paul McCartney!
We get into a few black SUV thingies and drive a short distance to
the stadium. Fenway Park, built in 1912, is different because it's right off of
Boylston Street, a main drag in Boston, and you have an historic area with
shops and bars right next to the venue as opposed to the standard industrial
environment set up for 18 wheel trucks, lights PA systems, etc. We drive past
the super-fans trying to look thru the tinted windows to see who's in there.
We'll usually say hello if it feels right.
We drive in, greet many friends and colleagues (as you could
imagine it takes a small high school of people to run a show of this size),
find the band dressing room, set our stuff down and go to catering. As
tradition dictates, this is pretty much the most social area - even for
accountants, lighting screen genius inventors and semi-reclusive musicians such
as myself. The food is all
vegetarian and it's fantastic. Kate, the server and sometimes chef is a
wonderfully fresh-faced Scottish lass - the perfect interface for "Eat
Your Heart Out", the catering company.
I lollygag my way up to the stage and find the band there fiddling
about. Sometimes we have a freeform jam, which is always a gas, and sometimes
Paul gets there before we initiate improvisation. If I remember correctly, we
did have a jazzy jam that morphed into the delta blues. Paul showed up and we
hugged and chatted a little as usual. He likes to warm up with a bunch of songs
that we mostly don’t do in the set to keep it fresh… testing and getting a
sound on all our instruments (basses, drums, electric guitars, acoustics,
pianos, etc.).
Except for the sun glaring at us (I’m a bit of a cockroach and
prefer the dark cracks and crevices to direct sun) it was a fun and productive
soundcheck, as usual. We then went our separate ways. But always seem to find
each other in catering (one must be careful not to eat much before a show - in
fact Paul doesn’t eat after breakfast on show days!). In most big cities, like
Boston and New York, we all have friends and family lurking about that must be
tended to. In this case it was one of my best friend’s sister and her man. We
hung out a bit then I snuck in a chance to watch MGMT, the opening act, from
the stage. It was great chatting
with them the day before…a great bunch of guys. I probably ended up speaking
with Ben the longest - being that he is a keyboardist and into FX pedals we
bonded over the joys of electronics. Their set was really great. I’m a big fan
of their songwriting and it was interesting to hear a more guitar-y approach to
the tunes. I thought it had more of a sixties vibe then their record.
After catching most of MGMT's set I ran back thru the crowd to
stretch out and get dressed. We have our little rituals of tea and wine and
whatever else. We do some vocal warm ups and Paul comes and joins us at some
point. This time the stage was light years away from the dressing rooms so we
sing and walk our way to the SUV. As we get in the vehicle the gate opens into
the street and I see a girl walking and sort of pretending not to look in. And
we hear her say, “I saw him! Oh, my god that was him!”
We’re around Paul so much that we sometimes forget the effect he
has on people that have never met him. We drive to the stage and get out, walk
up the black wooden stairs to the back of stage left. We assume the huddle
position - arm over arm - and Paul leads us thru a homemade prayer. I can’t
speak for Paul specifically but I would say that none us are particularly
religious. Having said that, this ritual has become very important as it aligns
us to a higher power and with each other. When Scott, the stage manager, gives
us the signal we walk up yet more wooden stairs onto the stage, into the lights
and a bunch of screaming concertiers.
Space-time is now altered for the next 2.5 plus hours. I’ve been
playing with Paul now since 2001 so part of me is used to this … a stadium full
of screaming people, a small club full of screaming people or hundreds of
thousands in front of the coliseum (or wherever) screaming. It’s an experience
unlike anything else I could imagine, and, believe it or not, part of me is
still back in catering talking to the NRBQ guys about cats and Phoenix,
Arizona.
Any performer doing big gigs will start to notice that it's sort
of a schizophrenic existence because of the drastic energy shift of going from
relative isolation to a huge crowd. Paul counts off the first song, “Drive My Car”
- Brian and I play the opening guitar riff in unison, Paul joins in on bass,
Abe fills and we're off! Wix is playing the cowbell with his foot; Paul and I
sing the verse...the tempo's feeling great. I hear Abe and Brian singing on the
chorus and Wix's piano riff - it's that great rock and roll feeling. Somewhere
in the second song I notice that my mind is getting stuck in tangents. Does
that ever happen to you? Sometimes I am 101 percent in the moment like the
previous night. Tonight I start to get a little lost in my head. Making eye
contact with everyone in the band then grounds me and I’m back in my skin... a
great place to be.
The night goes on in good form. Having this caliber of people to
work with is such a pleasure. We play some new songs, some old songs, some new
old songs. Nice work if you can get it, I must say. Playing music in a band is
like making love - it's active and reactive. When the elements are right it's
magnetic and everything else disappears into a state of rock and roll bliss.
One thing I’ve noticed is that the explosions and sparks keep
getting bigger! After “Live And Let Die” has ended, my adolescent pyro desires
are fully quenched. Shakey, the pyrotechnician has outdone himself once again!
Fortunately, there was a nice cool breeze after that one and we can breathe
again!
As usual, there were lots of signs in the audience. Anything from
"my mom saw you in 1964" to "Paul, please sign my bleep".
Also, shout outs to band members - tonight I saw an ego-stroking "Rusty
rules" sign. Part of me is still thinking about the Grapes of Wrath...so
many different perspectives to have, and sometimes all at once!
After the third encore and Paul’s stellar vocal climax, we head to
the bus, high-five the best crew in the universe and begin the cardio-slow down
process. Mike and John pour the champagne/margy/etc. and we toast and enjoy the
magic rock and roll moment along a few significant others. We stop at the
airport. Wix and Abe stay in Boston for a few extra days. Brian and I go with
Paul and make our way to New York City in the private jet. The sick thing is -
part of me is used to all this and part of me wonders - how in Santa Clause's
name did I end up here?
- Rusty Anderson