Paul McCartney, somebody who cares.
My best friend I never met, or did I?
I was at his majestic house at Cavendish Ave London. Invited for tea and scones. Later we went to a local pub, just the two of us. We sat in a quiet corner drinking a pint of Guiness, talkin’ bout music and familys. The storys you told me are stuck in my mind forever.
Those days at the studio were amazing, again you recorded an incredible album. I sat in a corner absorbing it all. Later I joined you a couple of times on stage. I didn’t want to sing along, a tambourine was enough to satisfy myself. You smiled and joked around on stage. Spectator numbers varied, from a small venue to a huge soccer stadium.
You guessed it right, all in my daydreams.
It started 37 years ago, that first cassette. All the other Beatles songs I tried to listen through a transistor radio, countless hours searching for an unknown song. The collection grew, cd’s, singles, books, magazines, the lot.
The best songwriter ever. Recognition, always and in every way. Sometimes your cool, sometimes a bit lame. Your songs are my best friends. There’s a song for every mood I’m in. Deeper than friendship, the sound you provide through your instruments and your voice. Melody in all your veins I guess. Even your heaviest rock songs are pleasant to listen to.
Too much favourite songs. I love your weaker songs as well. You know, we are friends, we accept weak moments from each other. Comfort is easy to find. In a song, the deepness in your voice, a bass riff, a little line, guitar lick or solo, the warmth of you playing the piano.
A meeting, once? Perhaps better to leave it like it is. Listening to your music, on a daily basis, it goes on and won’t ever stop.
Thanx Paul, your a true friend.