I Paid $1500 for a Paul McCartney Soundcheck
For the true VIP experience, all you need is love — and cash
I’ve loved Paul McCartney for over 50 years. I saw the Beatles twice in the 60s, and four McCartney concerts from 1990 to last October. My interest and love for the Beatles is personal and professional — I teach a class called “The Beatles and their Times” at my university. As a sociologist, I discuss the culture and social context of the Beatles while my colleague in history deals with the details of the groups early days, recordings, and demise. It’s a fun class and has touched many students with the spirit of the 60s and how the Beatles were such an important part of it.
Last March, we hosted a tour of the Beatles’ Liverpool and London, and had the heady pleasure of standing in John’s foyer and sitting in Paul’s living room and touring the Casbah where the band played in the early years. As close as these experiences have brought me to my idols, I have never met them. So when the opportunity for a close-up experience came my way, I bit the bullet and paid $1500 for the VIP “Hot Sound Package” at a McCartney concert last June in Philadelphia.
The Hot Sound Package included attendance at the hour-long soundcheck; a vegetarian meal with an open bar, souvenir backpack and program, and fantastic fifth row center seats. The directions explicitly stated that there would be no meet and greet or autograph signing opportunities, but I brought my sharpie just in case. And my sign: “Waiting 50 Years for a Kiss.”
The instructions said that VIPs need to check in precisely between 4:30 and 5PM and there would be no one admitted late. I arrived at 3:15. Not sure where to go, I walked around a bit and saw a pair of men wearing Macca t-shirts — so I approached and asked them if they were with the tour. No, they were fans also for the Hot Sound Package — but their shirts told the story, a father/son duo from Long Island with a long history of Macca concerts: “Every tour since 1976” on Dad’s; “Every tour since 1989“ on the son’s. At some point Paul had called them up on stage and they had their shirts signed. Tom and James were very kind to me as a first-timer, allowing me to tag along and meet some of the regulars and know where to be for the best experience.
And there were regulars — one guy was at his 99th Macca concert, some had just attended the concert in Liverpool, they knew each other and shared tales of Macca world — how close they were, their knowledge of the inner circle of staffers, comparisons of food and swag at different venues. Given the cost of these experiences, for me this was a once-in-a-lifetime event; not so for the regulars. Many had been to numerous soundchecks often involving travel, hotels, taxis, and other expenses. My $20 cab ride from my dad’s apartment was a bargain.
Were these wealthy people? Hardly. Teachers, retired folks, office workers — not at all a ritzy crowd. One married couple told me that Macca was their passion; other people played golf, had fancy cars, whatever, but they put their resources in Paul. In fact, the vibe I received was more working class than the 1% — these were people who made Paul their hobby, devotion, and community. Waiting in line I learned of the “Macca report” blog where they communicate with each other, fan sites for insiders, and of the borderline mythical fans who turned up at every show. “There’s Dan!” “Hi, I’m Karen — remember me from last year?” I mentioned I had seen Paul last fall in Greensboro and a woman had him sign her feet. “She’s here,” said James. They call themselves “Fans on the Run” and have their own Facebook page. Despite it being my first time as a VIP, having seen the Beatles twice gave me a bit of street cred with this crowd.
At the appointed hour, a McCartney staffer named Ali came through the line checking ID’s. In order to attend the VIP event, the name of the ticket buyer must match your ID. We were certified soundcheckers.
Then we were escorted in single file into the Wells Fargo Center — through the main floor and down the stairs to the VIP reception area, along the way collecting our swag (a cool computer backpack with OUT THERE and Paul’s name embroidered on it, a water bottle, and a tour program.) Each of us was also given a VIP laminate badge on a lanyard so we could easily be identified. It was now about 5:15 and the dinner buffet was ready. All veggie, and quite good: salad, eggplant parm, pasta, veggies, and cookies and brownies. No meat, but pretty high carbs! Most of the VIPs made considerable use of the open bar, and as far as I could tell, they were big tippers. Tom and James started to move toward one end of the room, and I followed. They knew the drill. The handlers made the announcement to get into another single-file line and walk into the arena for the soundcheck. A private rehearsal amounting to an hour-long concert for the VIPs only. OMG!
Sticking close to Tom and James, I wrangled a front row position — or at least as front as we were permitted to be — about halfway back on the floor. The band was assembled on the stage and tuning and jamming, and finally Paul walked out. After a cheer from the soundcheckers and a brief acknowledgment from Paul, he huddled with the band for a bit. Paul then explained to the crowd that as a soundcheck, he’d be playing all the instruments to test them out. Launching into a version of “Matchbox,” Paul seemed relaxed and confident. He went from old standards, to free-flowing piano riffs, to Beatles classics like “Eleanor Rigby” and “Lady Madonna,” and a Wings rendition of “Bluebird.”
For an hour we were treated to Paul and the band. The tour photographer came along and snapped each of us with our signs — maybe they would select the lucky fan to come up to the stage? The woman next to me had her daughter of about 11 who had a sign with a stuffed animal as a gift for Paul. A local Philly woman named Carol carried flowers for Paul and a huge check for charity she would donate if Paul signed her on stage.
Paul’s security guy Brian, who was well-known to the regulars, came by, saw my sign, and gave me a kiss. Oh well.
High from the soundcheck, we were escorted back to the VIP section, where more food and drink awaited. As the venue opening time arrived, we were released from the VIP area to the general arena. First stop, souvenir stand. I sprung for a $40 tour t-shirt and a key chain. Tom and James bought over $120 worth of stuff. They had also invested in front row seats at the concert — for an extra large chunk of cash.
As I found my seat on the fifth row, dead center, I did a crazy happy dance. With no one else around yet, I could imagine how close Paul would be and what a great view I’d bought. My daughter Allie arrived on her own to a seat which cost a mere $300, just 10 rows up the stands on the side of the stage. I went to greet her, and when I returned to my seat, I was devastated. A man the size of a refrigerator was seated directly in front of me, totally blocking my view. Then a guy even bigger sat next to me, so I had no wiggle room. On my right, a nasty Philly woman arrived with huge packages and an attitude. Two rows in front, a woman danced with a huge banner and a feather boa, waving each frantically — additionally wrecking any view I could eek out.
Enjoy the moment, I told myself. I had already decided to take just a few photos and totally focus on the concert — my special one-time splurge. Get Zen. Live in the present and don’t let these huge nasty people ruin your experience. Good luck. The woman on my right spent the entire concert with her elbows in my face looking through her stupid phone, recording the action despite explicit rules not to do so. A guy two rows in front of me, in the only tiny space I could see through, kept his phone directly in my view. I finally put my head down and wept. Lee, a professional photographer sitting behind me took pity on me and offered to share some of his photos, which he did and I am grateful . “Next time,” he said, “bring a block to stand on.”
The concert itself was amazing. Paul played for almost three hours without a break or even a sip of water. How does this guy of 73 do this? During “Blackbird” he took a step forward to a rising platform and I could see him so clearly. I swear I did make eye-contact with Paul for one fleeting second. As the cameras panned the crowd, I saw my face on the big screen during “Oh Bla Di Oh Bla Da,” and immediately got a text from Allie saying she saw me on screen. I felt the heat intensely during the pyrotechnics in “Live and Let Die,” and I waved my light during “Let it Be.” Maybe a little bit Zen.
The typical M.O. is for Paul to call an audience member up to the stage during the first encore. This night, there were three: a woman with a Panama hat as a gift; Carol with the charity check, and damn if the dancing boa didn’t get up there — her second time! She already had a tattooed signature on her back. Is that fair?
I think I will retire my sign and put McCartney concerts in the memory category for the future. Tom and James and Karen and the 99 guy (now over 100) will continue to meet the “Fans on the Run” on the road and in various venues. The fan culture and community continues online as the regulars continue to establish their personas and identities as Macca followers. I loved being part of it for one night. But at $1500 a pop, it takes more than love, it takes cash.
