Well, that was an hour of my life I’m never going to get back, an hour spent in the ‘Waiting Room’ on the AXS website in order to get tickets to see Paul McCartney’s show at the O2 Arena in December. In order to get tickets – yeah right. An hour to spend in the ‘Waiting Room’, followed by something along the lines of “We’re directing you from the Waiting Room to let you buy your tickets” only to be greeted by “Ha ha – tough shit. None left”. Am I gutted? Not really, no, not at all, because I’d seen what was happening at the Manchester shows, where fans were invited to spend at least £600 for a ticket somewhere adjacent to the toilets at the back of the hall. I was never going spend that kind of money and in my heart of hearts (what an expression: I’m not Doctor Who, you know) I was never going to get a ticket, either.
I know that Macca’s voice is not what it used to be – he’s 82 for fuck’s sake, so how could it be? – but he is, and will always be a Beatle and as my friend, the legendary drummer Joe Vitale once told me, “Without him, none of us would be here”. There are only two Beatles left so it would have been nice to have seen the one who wrote and co-wrote the greatest popular music of modern times, but it was not to be.
Seeing Macca would have been more of a bucket list thing than even the desire to hear the man play what was last year an extraordinary 36 song setlist, lasting the best part of three hours. But the list will remain in the bucket forever more, it seems.
By even considering buying a ticket for Macca’s O2 show was against two of my current music rules which are:
- Don’t bother with Arena or Stadium shows
- Don’t go to shows where the artists, or their ticketing partners, employ the use of rip-off dynamic ticket pricing
I just dislike the corporate nature of the big shows, which essentially render most shows totally impersonal, where artists such as The Eagle (lip-sync king Don Henley worth $250m is the only remaining Eagle), the supposed hero of the working man Bruce ‘The Boss’ Springsteen, worth $650m, and of course Macca, worth $1.3b, happily shaft their loyal fans by squeezing as much cash from them as possible. I attempted to abandon my rule this one time for what. It won’t happen again.
This, as Paul Weller put it, is the modern world and for as long as music fans are willing to tolerate and even be happy with being ripped off, I suppose we should just let it go. In the light of what I now know about what Macca is charging, I’d be far too embarrassed to tell you what I considered to be the most money I would pay to see him at the O2, other than it would have been a hell of a lot more than I’d ever paid before for a gig.
I grew up in an arena and stadium free era, where you could usually see the big stars of the day at your local hall and not need to sell a kidney in order to afford to. But everything changes and the legends can play where they want and charge what they want. And do you know what? I’m happy with that.
I’m happy with the small hall grassroots shows, right up to EFL Championship level acts, where I can be close or relatively close to the stage and see the artists without the benefit of a screen. If I want to see a band on a screen, I’ll watch a DVD at home thank you very much.
Sorry, Macca, you and I are destined never to meet. Our first experience together was when my mum bought me A Hard Day’s Night for Christmas 1964. John, George, Ringo and you turned me on to music and it would have been nice to see you just once. And despite this final setback, I still think you’re fab.
