Paul played a pair of shows earlier this week in Buenos Aires, Argentina, and one of them triggered a kind of spiritual ecstasy within Pablo Toledo, a journalist for the Buenos Aires Herald. Go here to read his review, which bears the rapturous headline, "My eyes have seen the glory of the coming of Sir Paul."
It was like watching Michelangelo take a large blank canvas and repaint his masterpieces with the wisdom gathered over the years.
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But the key were the songs: McCartney wrote or co-wrote the soundtrack of many lives, of several decades, perhaps of a whole century. Every pair of ears in the audience had gone through them a few thousand times before, and yet they hit just like the first time, perhaps more so from all the bundled personal history – a first kiss, a breakup, a hard time, a happy day. Like Hey Jude, which he wrote on a car to comfort Julian Lennon when his parents were breaking up and now gets stadiums full of people chanting its endless finale in a state of bliss. Like Helter Skelter, once claimed by Charles Manson and now the hardest rocker of the 1960s.