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Rating: To tell the truth, I would have bet a few cents if the stakes were on his return to Italy. Better this way because I would have unexpectedly lost. Perhaps some faint hope could have emerged from the bag on the wave of some rumors that saw him in Naples in Piazza Plebiscito in a fantastic closing of the Piedigrotta Festival. Or at the Arena of Verona. Rumors extinguished by the winds of crisis that did not allow the regular conduct of the battered Neapolitan festival. Hopes defeated by the fanciful aspirations of fans in ecstasy. Then, in an inexplicable but perfect "muted" style, the corner of my eye falls on that headline on the fourth page swearing he will tread the parquet of Bologna and Milan in quick succession. Excitement.
Without thinking too much, I buy the ticket before the tickets are printed in copies. Bologna, closer, parterre practically obvious. A friend nicknamed "Skelter" joins in honor of the metal-piece of the "White Album." We plan the trip, hoping not to find fog between Barberino del Mugello and Sasso Marconi. Remembering past experience, every useful expedient is provided. Sandwiches, water, anti-inflammatories, a camera with double battery. Departure at four in the morning. Everything is normal, fog in the Florentine area, arrival in Casalecchio at 9:30. At the gates destined for the parterre, as demonstrated, there are already several dozen of onlookers. I hope to relive the same indescribable emotions as a decade and a half ago. He hopes he will at least perform "Drive My Car" and, aptly, "Helter Skelter," without imagining what he will be facing. People keep arriving.
The wait is sweet, mild temperature until 4 PM when the prick of cold begins to be felt on the bones. Conversations take place and a lot is shared with fellow adventurers from Venice, Catania, Bari, Madrid... The gates are scheduled to open at 6:30 PM, and from a quarter of an hour before, walking times are planned from the gateway to the first row of the parterre, barring any spectacular falls on the ramps leading to the entrance. Go! With a bit of luck, I leap over the police cordon unscathed for the routine checks and dash towards the entrance. There are 100 meters separating me from the already occupied first row. A few meters from the finish line, a fifty-year-old occasional runner stumbles over his raincoat and slips belly down like Fantozzi on soap in the opening of the Second Tragic. Beautiful. I grab the railing with satisfaction, waiting for "Skelter," who arrives a few seconds later. Now it's serious.
After a couple of hours, the lights dim slightly, and images begin scrolling on two giant screens placed on the sides, forming a collage of experiences. The arena is almost full, and anxiety begins to strangle the senses. At 9:00 PM, the images give way to stars joining in the Hofner constellation. The arena is full. It's the moment. Emotion.
Well, even though I have already had the honor of living the experience, I still cannot describe the emotional impact that can materialize in front of that vibrant English gentleman who had the crazy idea to revolutionize, with practical aid, modern music. A lump grips my throat, and my eyes moisten. Inevitably. In an elegant black suit among the joyous screams of 13,000 lucky ones, he picks up the violin-bass and assaults the crowd with "Magical Mystery Tour." From that moment, it's pure delirium. Junior's farm, All my loving, Jet... Paul warms up the audience and sheds the Korean suit, revealing elegant black suspenders over a white shirt. Maybe I'm amazed, And I love her, Eleanor Rigby, Paperback writer... The Gibson Les Paul decorated with flowers is also beautiful.
The moment of dedications is undoubtedly the most moving. The beautiful "Here Today" for friend John assumes a bewildering magical charge. Just a hint of that disarmingly sweet "...and if I say..." and the commotion is general. A girl next to me bursts into tears. She will cry for about twenty minutes, seriously worrying me. And she is not alone. Thirty-year-olds, fifty-year-olds, sixty-year-olds cry, and to my great amazement, even girls who still see adulthood from afar. And many of them. And all of this is beautiful. To our amazement, we realize that even He, who infuses magic like no one else, has tear-filled eyes at the end of the song. Not surprisingly, he breaks the emotional charge by picking up a mandolin for a hint at "'O sole mio," followed by "Dance Tonight." A few moments later, the dedication to George arrives, announced, as for John, in a humorous Italian. The ukulele caresses something ...something in the way she moves... until the interlude where the other members of the band re-enter, recalling the glories of the Beatles' version. Wonderful.
A day in the life/Give peace a chance, Back in the U.S.S.R., Mrs. Vandebilt, Let me roll it, Nineteen hundred and eighty-five, Band on the run breaking through like never before, a tribute to Hendrix with "Foxy Lady." It's useless to describe what that maverick dared to do in "Live and Let Die," not to mention "Let It Be" and "Hey Jude"... An amazing band always featuring Anderson, Ray, Wickens, and the very funny Laboriel Jr. An unexpected "Helter Skelter" catches my friend off guard, nearly causing him a heart attack. Unbelievable. I don't know what to say...
The closing features the final medley of Abbey Road, incredibly fitting. In the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make. And how can you argue with that? Sir Paul bid farewell to the audience with a "see you soon" as we were intent on gathering paper confetti in national tricolor tones. Unforgettable.
A bit of a queue to exit, and the "Gucciniano" end of the day at 1:30 AM in the only open bar in Borgo Panigale. Two 66-cl beers to ease the tension and the necessarily inflamed throat. Besides us, among those present were two prostitutes, a security guard engaged at the video poker, and a desperate man watching a movie on a TV glued high in a corner bitten by the dampness.
A warm greeting to the fellow adventurers: to the brilliant William and Samuel Denat brothers, to the Trinacria duo Marco "Heart of the Country" Prinzivalli and Matteo Scalia, a brainiac graduated in a complicated specialization that has to do with cardiology.
Thank you, Paul, always.
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