You encounter someone like Paul and you wonder how close you can be to someone like that.” Still, Joel told me, “he’s a Beatle, so there’s an intimidation factor. Billy Joel, who has sold out Madison Square Garden more than a hundred times, has spent Hamptons afternoons over the years with McCartney. This effect extends to friends and peers. There are myriad ways in which people betray their pleasure in encountering him-describing their favorite songs, asking for selfies and autographs, or losing their composure entirely. McCartney greets his guests with the same twinkly smile and thumbs-up charm that once led him to be called “the cute Beatle.” Even in a crowd of the accomplished and abundantly self-satisfied, he is invariably the focus of attention. Would he like one? He narrows his gaze, trying to decide then, with executive dispatch, he declines. Bloomberg nods gravely at whatever Shevell is saying, but he has his eyes fixed on a plate of exquisite little pizzas. A slender, regal woman in her early sixties, Shevell is talking in a confiding manner with Michael Bloomberg, who was the mayor of New York City when she served on the board of the Metropolitan Transportation Authority. Their hosts are Nancy Shevell, the scion of a New Jersey trucking family, and her husband, Paul McCartney, a bass player and singer-songwriter from Liverpool. Through the gate, they mount a flight of stairs to the front door and walk across a vaulted living room to a fragrant back yard, where a crowd is circulating under a tent in the familiar high-life way, regarding the territory, pausing now and then to accept refreshments from a tray. They all wear expectant, delighted-to-be-invited expressions. And out they come, face after famous face, burnished, expensively moisturized: Jerry Seinfeld, Jimmy Buffett, Anjelica Huston, Julianne Moore, Stevie Van Zandt, Alec Baldwin, Jon Bon Jovi. At the last driveway on a road ending at the beach, a cortège of cars-S.U.V.s, jeeps, candy-colored roadsters-pull up to the gate, sand crunching pleasantly under the tires. The surf is rough and pounds its regular measure on the shore. You can watch the performance in the video below, or revisit everything we learned from watching Jackson’s lengthy The Beatles: Get Back documentary here.This content can also be viewed on the site it originates from.Įarly evening in late summer, the golden hour in the village of East Hampton. “He says, ‘We can extract John’s voice, and he can sing with you live,’ and I thought, ‘Why not?’” “So Peter Jackson, the director of the Get Back film, he texts me one day,” McCartney told the crowd in Spokane after finishing the song. The result is a surprisingly touching “reunion” between Lennon and McCartney that never crosses over into the exploitative, icky realm of a hologram. When it was time for Lennon’s verse (“ Everybody had a hard year, everybody had a good time…”), the screens behind McCartney projected video footage of the late singer while his isolated vocal tracks played. McCartney sang his portion of the song live to kick off the encore of his show in Spokane, WA, during the first night of his current American tour. But Paul McCartney has come up with a tasteful alternative to a hologram to reunite with his late bandmate John Lennon during his live shows on Thursday night, McCartney sang along with video footage of Lennon performing “I’ve Got a Feeling” during the Beatles’ 1969 rooftop concert. It almost always feels ethically dubious, and it’s usually pretty unsettling to witness. In recent years, a surprisingly large number of dead musicians ranging from Whitney Houston to Tupac have been reanimated in concert settings via holograms.
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