Open Letter To Paul McCartney About Hanging It Up!


Dear Paul,

First let me say that, though you're not my favorite Beatle (I'm a John guy), I have come to love you the same way I love the Johnny, Joey, Tommy, De Dee, Rick, Robin, Tom , Bun E., Russell and Ron.  You're not a big brother, not a father figure, just someone I have lived vicariously through since I saw how much tail you were pulling down.

As luck would have it, I was raised in a Stones household completely devoid of Beatles music.  Oh, my mom had every damn single Ricky Nelson ever put out, but had apparently been abducted by aliens the night the Beatles appeared on Sullivan.  As for my Dad, his love for the Stones, Janis Joplin, Dr. Hook and Canned Heat might lead you to believe he was one hell of a hippie, but, in fact, he was an ex-Air Force pain in my ass from the day I was born.

Long story short, I blew all my birthday money on The Beatles Rock & Roll Music album and, from that moment on, ours was a Beatles household.  Imagine being a kid falling in love with a band that you already know has broken up.  It's like starting a relationship knowing full well it'll end in tears and doing it anyway.

Of course, Wings were alive and kicking at the time, so my brother and I investigated your solo stuff and, as luck would have it, our Dad took to Wings like a duck to water.  So we were living in a Beatles household and riding around in a Wings automobile with eight-track stereo system.
So, that's how large a part you were in my life then.  Even now, your music is never far from my ears.


I just pulled out Back To The Egg the other day.  Yeah, I bought one.  I've bought all your crap over the years because, let's face it, your crap is better than most folks' best work.  I've seen many of my favorite bands stink up the joint at least once over the years, but you've always delivered the goods like the consummate pro that you are, with a minimum of glitter and bullshit.  Others need to tour with multi-million-dollar video rigs and truckloads of Autotune, whereas you and a piano is a recipe for a stadium-wide Bic lighter moment or three.

While I could give a fuck what goes on in the personal lives of most folks, I shed a heavy tear when Linda died and pounded the walls when you quickly remarried.  It was evident to everyone but you, it seemed that, compared to Linda, your second wife didn't have a leg to stand on.

Dunno about the third wife, yet, but seeing you last night on SNL's 40th anniversary celebration, I couldn't help think that you're starting to look every day of your 72 years and that the voice is almost gone, but I love your energy, your smile, and knowing that you're still the same fucking guy you've been my whole fucking life.

For anyone to expect you to be the same guy at the age of 72 as you were at 22, though, is out of their fucking minds and simply needs to be reminded that one day they too will be unable to "hit the high notes".  As for your tireless dedication to recording, and performing, and BEING Paul McCartney at this late juncture, I hope you never stop showing us all how it should be done when it comes to being a "rock star".

Having said that, if you're doing all of this for me, please know that I appreciate it, but, wow, it really isn't necessary at this point.  You're the biggest living legend of the rock & roll age and always will be.  There is no second place guy hot on your tail.  It's just you.  So if you wanna slow the pace, take a few nights off, spend a little time with the current wife, you won't be hurting anybody's feelings.

Superior St. Rehearsal Facility

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