The month of May was an absolute rut for me. Depression and writer’s block snuck up and destroyed me inside and out. Per the advice of Dan Levy (public, not personal), I planned a trip to let loose a little bit. It was bound to happen no matter the state of my mental health, but by the end of it all, I felt like a new man.
In February, I bought floor tickets to see Paul McCartney’s newly announced “Got Back” tour in Orlando on May 28. There was no Tampa date announced, and Macca is one of a handful of artists I’d travel to see live. The only other ones I can think of are Bruce Springsteen, Green Day, and of course, whichever concert series coincides with the current festival at EPCOT. There may be others, but in this day and age, if you have the opportunity to see a Beatle live, you snatch it.
Before I knew it, I was packing clothing, my camera, and my toiletries. I wasn’t just going to drive home for two-and-a-half hours while exhausted from a surely euphoric live experience. While I was packing the night before the show, I made a spontaneous decision to make tomorrow a bigger adventure than I had originally anticipated.
A week beforehand, my brother and I were in Orlando for MegaCon, which had the reunion of the four Hobbits (Elijah Wood, Sean Astin, Dominic Monaghan, and Billy Boyd), and while we were away, our parents ventured out to an indoor antique mall in Lakeland—not far from Disney World—which was said to be selling actual pieces of Disney history, and things used in the theme parks.
As a lifelong Disney kid, how the hell do you say no to something like that?
So on the morning of May 28, probably around 10:15, I bid my family farewell, got in my car, and started driving. After stopping at Starbucks for my chocolate cream cold brew and double-smoked bacon, cheddar, and egg sandwich, I headed for Lakeland on the same road I usually take to Orlando: I-275. Oy, pray for me.
Literally half a mile away from the exit from I-4 (which I-275 turns into) to Lakeland, I came up on some traffic—naturally. It only took a few minutes to get out, but I couldn’t help but wonder how much longer it would have taken, had the exit been a few miles ahead. I might just be getting out of the antique mall right now!
I found the mall, and pulled into the parking lot. One of the first things I saw upon entry was Alice Cooper’s Dirty Diamonds on vinyl, a mega-rarity. I was amazed at how quickly I had stumbled across one of the vinyl sections. There were definitely some interesting picks in there, including a copy of the Mary Poppins Returns soundtrack, which I held in my hands for about 20 minutes before putting it back. It was available for cheaper elsewhere.
I came across a whole section full of old toys of all brands, from Hasbro to McDonald’s Happy Meal. All I could think about searching for was a toy that one of the fast food places had like, eight years ago: It was Manny the Mammoth from Ice Age—voiced by one of my all-time favorites, Ray Romano—rolled up in a snowball. It’s literally the photo that my best friend uses on my contact page on his phone. I couldn’t find it, so I moved on, to find a section that had a small rack of shirts, one of which had some Lego bricks on it, and said in the proper font “Another Brick in the Wall.” And as luck would have it, the shirt was in my chunky XXL size. Sold.
I finally came across a section in the back that had some theme park memorabilia. The first few pieces I came across were signs from events having taken place at Universal primarily (one of which said “media entry,” which I very nearly purchased, had I known where in my bedroom to put it). Not to mention all the “Shrek” related standups, such as the $800 Great Moments with Lord Farquaad one. There were a few traces of Disney props around there, though, which served as my sneak peek at what was to come. For sale were some drinking glasses from Disney’s Polynesian Resort, and a few small things guests could find at the Grand Floridian, a hotel I’ve always wanted to spend a night at.
I kept moving towards the back of the store, and that’s where the magic began.
After I came across a whole jug of Shrek 4D glasses from Universal, I came across a massive, sun-bleached “Oliver & Company” poster that may have been used on Disney property when the movie came out. I didn’t buy it—mainly due to bedroom spacing—so I found the next best thing: A dark blue blazer that a Disney cast member would regularly wear, for $20. I’m still trying to find out what it was used for, but all in all, it’s a nice blazer anyway, so I’m really not that concerned about whether or not a cast member really wore it.
It would take me a whole other blog post just to explain how gnarly this place really was: There were hotel lamps, used-in-park Christmas ornaments, props going back to the 1930s, Funko POP!’s, you freakin’ name it. Though nothing I purchased was really antique-worthy, I’m already jonesing to go back.
Around 2:10, I remember that I still have another hour worth of driving before getting to Orlando. So, after I check out and take a potty break, I map out my route once again. I really didn’t want to get back onto I-4, because even though there were still six hours before Macca took the stage, I didn’t want to risk missing a second of the show, so I decided to take a backroad.
Truthfully, it was the best decision of my life.
I haven’t spent much time in Lakeland, having grown up in the old-folks home known as Palm Harbor, so when I got to drive down a two-lane road for about a half-hour, it was exhilarating. The only thing I could see on my sides were the woods, farmland, and the occasional horse. I was enthralled. Just driving down this road, with my McCartney music playing was one of my favorite moments I’ve ever had behind the wheel.
Before long, I was once again surrounded by tourists and residents with cobwebs on their turn signals. I had arrived in Orlando. A little bit before 4:00, I checked into the Buena Vista Suites and Resort, a longtime favorite hotel of my family’s. I didn’t care too much about the price (which in February, wasn’t that much to begin with)—I had picked this place to stay because not only do they cater to those under 21, but there’s also a complimentary breakfast buffet. Those who know me are well aware that there’s nothing I love more than breakfast buffets. All the bacon in the world? Um, yes please!
Speaking of bacon, I had one more stop to make before hitting Camping World Stadium.
Once I did my hair, got my sweatbands on, and took one more potty break, I headed for my obligatory pre-concert dinner stop: Giordano’s.
Possibly for the best, we don’t have Giordano’s in Tampa, so stopping here has become a special occasion for the most part. I’ve stopped in here after conventions, and before my brother and I caught Billy Joel back in March, so I’m no stranger to the joint. I ordered some mozzarella triangles, and my regular: A small deep-dish with bacon, chicken breast, and jalapeños. Call me psychotic, but it’s what I’d put on my flatbreads at my old job!
Around 5:30, I got back in my car, turned on my McCartney playlist, and finally, headed towards the stadium that currently encased the Beatle.
Traffic near the stadium—and parking—was the furthest thing from fun, but the good news was that I had pre-purchased onsite parking in advance, so it was zero trouble getting from my car to the stadium itself. I was starting a brand new section of the parking lot—naturally—and I had no idea which way to position my car. The traffic attendants yelling at me didn’t help, but once I did it right, all was forgiven, I guess.
I grabbed my camera, locked the car, and headed right across the street. I got in line, hoping that the camera wouldn’t be a problem, which it wasn’t. To quote the security guard that totally didn’t give me an ounce of sassy lip, “nobody asked about the camera.”
My digital ticket (which I still fucking hate) was scanned, and I was in. The first thing I saw was a bulging line for merchandise, which made me a little dizzy. Luckily, having purchased a floor seat, there was a separate merchandise booth in that section itself, which is where I headed straight for.
I got in line, and heard a voice calling out my name. It was Randa, a friend I had known through our mutual love of Tom Petty. We had been in each other’s presence many a time before, whether we met up or not. I can think of at least five or six shows we had both attended besides this one. Randa and I chatted for about two minutes (from slightly afar), and after waiting in line for what felt like a half hour, I purchased a green t-shirt that contained the design seen on Paul’s current tour poster. It was basically a drawing of Paul walking out to a river of sorts, and a path is forming underneath him, as he walks.
I wanted that poster, I really did. But for one thing, I couldn’t fathom spending $50 on another poster. I did just that for the Rolling Stones in October, and because I already have a glorious print I bought at Paul’s “One On One” tour from 2017, there’s no need for another one. Plus, God forbid it rained again. That’s $50 down the drain.
I got to my seat, and took some pics of the stage, and was incredibly anxious in the best way possible. Ever since the tour started the month before, I had intentionally avoided any and all spoilers about the show. The only things I knew were that Paul would open with “Can’t Buy Me Love,” and that he was going to do a virtual duet with John Lennon on “Don’t Let Me Down.” I couldn’t wait to hear what else he was going to throw into the mix.
Then, at 8:22, it happened. The lights onstage dimmed. The remix of the ending of “The End” blared through the speakers, and the Hofner basses displayed on the two jumbo sidescreens fronted some fireworks. The screens went black.
Ten seconds later, the crowd went wild. Fucking wild.
Paul—holding his Hofner—waved, pumped his fist, and as promised, opened with “Can’t Buy Me Love.” I’ll be straightforward: It wasn’t a smooth start. Paul’s getting older, I get it. He’ll be eighty fucking years old this month. But the voice is gone, and at this point, you’re seeing a living legend. That having been said, I’d far rather pay big bucks to actually hear him sing than to watch him lip sync, (looking at you, KISS. You too, Frankie Valli) because when it comes down to that, the singer becomes a prop. A piece of history slowly being whittled away.
But not Paul McCartney. NEVER Paul McCartney.
Much of the setlist was the same as when I saw Paul five years ago in Tampa, but there were a few tunes that took me by utter surprise. For one thing, the cover of Wings’ “Let ‘Em In” was a great touch, and featured Paul at his grand piano, while videos of parades and protests scrolled behind him. Right before that was “Getting Better,” a song I knew before I knew The Beatles. Thanks, Smash Mouth. “I’ve Just Seen A Face” was another banger that Paul threw back into the mix recently. I remember hearing a live version of it on YouTube with Paul Simon singing opposite to Macca. Talk about a superduo.
“My Valentine” is always played sometime during Paul’s set, but these days, its presentation means a lot more. The music videos featured Johnny Depp and Natalie Portman, and if you’ve been paying attention to the news…yeah. Poignant as hell.
A just-as-modern song, “Dance Tonight,” featuring Paul on mandolin, and drummer Abe Laboriel Jr. dancing around, was presented, right after Paul asked the girls in the crowd to give off a massive “Beatle scream,” which they did. I couldn’t imagine paying what I did for this show, just to have that scream be all I heard, so kudos to whoever caught The Beatles play live in the ‘60s. Oh, and “You Never Give Me Your Money” and “She Came In Through The Bathroom Window” were great touches, too.
I like to think that I’m not too much of a cryer, but I can safely admit that I cried thrice during the show, mainly towards the end. The first time was during “Let it Be,” not only because it’s such a gorgeous song. My grandmother—who had passed away a year ago two days prior—adored a Hebrew retelling of the song, “lu yehi,” and she used to sing it around the house when my mother and uncle were kids. I couldn’t help but think of her throughout it, but knew that she was there with me.
After Paul and his four-piece band lead Orlando through the “na-na-na-na’s” of “Hey Jude,” they left the stage for a few minutes, just to come back out with five flags: American, U.K., LGBTQ+, Florida—right next to the Pride flag, appropriately—and waved by Paul, the Ukrainian flag. This happens in every Macca show, but is always such a glorious reminder that Paul loves all.
Some more waterworks went off on my end twice during the ending medley, once during “Golden Slumbers,” and during the very last segment of “The End,” as Paul was finishing the lyrics. Thank God for sweat rags. Or in this case, tear rags.
“I guess there’s only one thing left to say,” Paul began his final remarks with. “We’ll see you next time.” Right after that, the stage filled up with smoke, and confetti filled the sky. I managed to snag a few pieces both from out of the sky, and on the ground. I actually keep a piece or two in my phone case, along with some Green Day confetti from earlier this year, that way Paul is with me wherever I go, in a sense.
As I sat in my car for an hour, waiting for the traffic to clear, I scrolled through the million and one photos I had taken in two and a half hours, while munching on a piece of leftover pizza. I didn’t get back to my hotel until about 1 a.m, and though I passed out pretty quickly, I remained pretty euphoric into the morning.
The days like May 28 remind me just how beautiful life is. Hopefully, next year when Springsteen comes to town, I’ll be able to relive bits and pieces of this day.
May you remain adventurous into your old age, and your inspiration, long may it last.
Josh Bradley Live 