I am in a 1990's mood, so this story from the Winter of 1992 issue of Good day Sunshine fits the bill. I would have loved to have seen one of Paul's "secret" gigs in the early 1990's. They always sounded so amazing. Plus I wish I had seen the 1990's line up of band members. This story was written by Leslie McCutcheon
Mean Fiddler Macca Miracle
By Leslie McCutcheon
“Who will meet you at the airport?” I was asked over and over by my friends and
family members when I announced that I had decided to move to London for half a
year of work. “Nobody,” I would reply
simply, rather enjoying the somewhat shocked reactions I was receiving when I
announced my plans to move to this enormous city half way across the world; a
metropolis where I knew nobody, had nowhere to live and, most pointedly, where
I had no visible means of support. Most
amusing was that everyone else’s main concern was who was going to meet me at
the airport – the least of my worries.
So what on earth possessed me to embark upon this rather unusual
venture? I will be the first to admit
that my love and insual body, had nowhere to live and, most
pointedly, where I had no terest in the Beatles and the Rolling Stones
had sparked my initial fascination in England long ago. When I first visited Britain three years ago,
I was immediately captivated by the city and simply knew I’d be back
someday. Never would I have expected to
be moving there. I had six months to
live and work in the city of my dreams.
My first two weeks were hectic and stressful. However, I was very lucky to have met up with
four other girls who were going through exactly the same thing, so we (helped)
each other through those initial hardships. By the end of my second week there, I landed
two jobs! My main job was as
receptionist in an estate agency just down the block from 94 Baker Street,
where the short-lived Apple Boutique attempted to flourish, and also just a
short walk to Ringo’s one-time flat on 34 Montague Square. As a matter of trivia, it just so happened
that our office was marketing this very flat
At the same time, 57 Wimpole Street, where Paul had lived with Jane
Asher’s family was up for sale as well.
My other job was as an usher at the Hammersmith Odeon, where
the Beatles 1964 and 1965 Christmas Shows were held (and where George and Eric
Clapton first met!). It was this job
that provided me with some of my most memorable experiences during my tenure in
London.
The first major concert I worked was Bob Dylan, in which I was fortunate enough to catch his sound check.
At the end of his final show there, George Harrison and Ronnie Wood ran
up and showered him with flowers. Sting
played 5 nights at the venue, and I once had the privilege of seating Eric
Clapton in my section.
So where do the Beatles fit in to this story? Well, a few days after Sting’s concert in
April, my friend Katie came from the States to visit me. I took her on a tour of all the notable
Beatle sights in London and we spent three fabulous days touring
Liverpool. Back in London one afternoon,
we wandered up to Paul’s St. John’s Wood home, where a young woman emerged from
the imposing gates announcing to us, “they don’t live here any longer.” Our initial guess was this was one of Paul & Linda’s daughters, saying what
would be a rather obvious remark t those inclined to hang around outside. Why would he have sold the house which he’s
owned since 1966?
On Tuesday, May 7th, when I returned home from
work, Katie anxiously announced that she had heard on the radio that afternoon
a scoop: Paul was to play a “secret” gig
at a small cub in North London.
Unfortunately, the tickets had sold out within 30 minutes, around noon
that day. Well, we were in no state to
give up that easily. The following
morning I phoned around to give or so radio stations inquiring about this
gig. No one had any clue as to what I was
talking about. The BBC was stumped and
even MTV Europe, who proved most helpful as far as actually looking into the
possibility that I say perhaps have been onto something that they didn't even
know about, had not heard a thing about any supposed “secret” McCartney
gig. Finally, Katie figured out that she
had heard the announcement on Capitol Radio, so I immediately phoned them and found
out that our destination on Friday, May 10th, at 8pm, would be the “Mean
Fiddler” in Harlesden.
I managed to get off work at 3:30 that day and arrived at
the Mean Fiddler with Katie at around 4:30, about one hour too late to see Paul
arrive for the sound check. We waited
outside, and after a while, Paul’s band members emerged from the alleyway
alongside the club. Before we knew it,
Paul and Linda appeared. Everyone who
was in line with tickets for the gig went crazy snapping photographs. Since we didn't have to stay in the line
(since we didn't have tickets), we were able to get right next to Paul as he
was escorted into his car. He was very friendly
and waved to the crowd of adoring fans.
Katie took a classic close-up photo of him in the vehicle. I stood there as the car pulled away with
tears running down my eyes. We were
absolutely beside ourselves with excitement.
Though this would have certainly been enough to keep us
happy, we still opted to hang around longer, just in case the club would take
pity on us and let us inside after all.
At around 9:20, after the line of ticket-holders was admitted, we were
informed that we could actually go in, for only ten pounds (about $17). We were shaking with delight. I can still recall that intense feeling of
excitement, disbelief and utter relief as Katie and I were handed our tickets
and as we entered the tiny, jam-packed club.
The second we stepped inside I felt as if I had slipped into
a dream. It didn't seem real. It was evident that we would not have a
chance to see anything from floor level, so we hurried upstairs to a small
balcony where I miraculously secured a couple of positions on top of a small
bar stool. From where we stood, we were
elated to discover that the band was directly below us and we had a perfect
view of the entire band! They were
squeezed onto a tiny stage not more than 20 feet wide. The club’s capacity was around 600
people. We knew that this was indeed
something very special.
Once Paul took the stage everyone went wild. He was not more than 15 feet from us, and we
made eye contact with him and Linda several times. Paul was instantly at ease with the warm,
enthusiastic crowd, constantly joking and chatting with audience members. The crowd chanted, “Gertrude! Gertrude!” when Paul got to Linda as he was
introducing the band. When asked for an autograph
by someone in the crowd, he responded, “as if I haven’t got anything to do up
here.”
The first half of the show was “unplugged.” And the second
half was the “plugged in” set, with Paul playing his old Hofner bass (the one
with the original 1966 playlist taped to the side). It was the most amazing concert I have ever
seen, and as close as one could come to feel the excitement of seeing the
Beatles at the Cavern. The atmosphere
was so intimate yet electrifying; nearly nine months later I still savor the
thrill of it. And had Katie not been
listening to the radio at that exact moment, we would never have been
there. It had to be fate.
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