Tonight we saw Paul McCartney at the State Farm Arena in Atlanta. He delivered. Now 83, McCartney played for two and half hours, something like 35 songs, starting with “Help” and encoring with a medley from “Abbey Road.” Not every 
song was great, not every song was a favorite, but every song was connected to a moment, a person, a memory—talking about the Beatles with Beverly Brent and the other girls during fifth grade, reckoning with the Paul Is Dead evidence in Paul Ray‘s basement, opening the Sgt Pepper’s album with my sister in 1967, listening to Mr. Karpovich sing “Ju-ju-Judy Judy Judy” in high school, hearing “Live and Let Die” while visiting Ginny in Wyoming, hearing “Come On to You” while riding past Law Park. high school. So many people, so many now gone, conjured to life a thousand miles from where they once lived. It occured to me: McCartney is the author of the soundtrack of my life. Pictured: “Help!”; “Drive My Car”; “Maybe I’m Amazed”, “Blackbird”, “Let It Be” and “Live and Let Die.”
