It was 56 years ago this January that The Beatles played their final ever show. In the seven years prior, they revolutionised modern music and crafted a legacy which remains unrivalled to this day. One member, though, never stopped going – still playing live and pushing boundaries over half a century later.

Just three days before Paul McCartney took to the stage for his second night in Manchester, I decided to check Ticketmaster one more time, hoping to snag one of the tickets that had passed me by upon their original release. This time, however, unlike my previous attempts, I was shown a ticket immediately and bought it without hesitation – without any consideration for logistics, and without any texts to fellow fans of the Fab Four.

“I’d always seen concerts as a primarily social event, and who we were seeing came second to the socialising that went before and after”

Taking to the stage without a support act, the 82-year-old Beatle played a three-hour set spanning the entire length and breadth of his career. Fan favourites and deep cuts were scattered amongst his catalogue of smash hits, no song deserving of a hurried toilet break or to be spent queueing for a £9 Asahi. Even his slightly more marmite recent work prompted loving singalongs from the audience, who he held in the palm of his hand throughout. Beginning with ‘Can’t Buy Me Love’ to a raucous reaction from the crowd, he played non-stop from then on – sometimes solo, sometimes with his band, and in one particular highlight, duetting with a virtual John Lennon. Turned away from the onlookers, it felt like the entire arena was intruding upon a private moment between the most influential partnership in modern music.

What made this such a special night wasn’t just the fact I spent three hours in the company of a Beatle. It was going on my own. Until this last year, I’d always seen concerts as a primarily social event, and who we were seeing came second to the socialising that went before and after. My most treasured memories of most concerts are the drinks on the tram into Manchester, the post-gig burgers, and the shouted conversations between sets. However, having gone to a couple of concerts alone this year, my perspective has changed. Going solo opens the door to a wholly different experience, with the opportunity to meet new people you’d normally pay no notice to.

“Singing and shadow drumming along to every song, Tony became a friend for the evening”

Sat next to me to see Paul McCartney was Tony, an 80-year-old Beatles superfan, who, in the two hours before the lights dimmed and the show began, regaled me with his various encounters with The Beatles – from Paul singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to his mother-in-law, to visiting his gran who lived on Menlove Avenue, just doors down from John Lennon’s childhood home. Singing and shadow drumming along to every song, Tony became a friend for the evening. Although it was his fourth time seeing McCartney – and having seen The Beatles in their pomp – his enthusiasm was undimmed, his excitement rivalling mine, a Beatles first-timer. It’s these experiences that make concerts so special: thousands of people bound by one common love, nothing coming between themselves and the music. They manage to be both deeply individual pursuits and the most communal activities. No moment embodied this sentiment more than the rapturous response to the opening refrain of ‘Hey Jude’, as the entire arena rose to their feet, all accompanying McCartney for a thousand different reasons, everyone connected to the song in their own unique way.

At any concert, football match, stand-up show, or theatre trip, you’re bound to meet somebody whose passion for whatever you’ve found yourself watching is unparalleled, and will paint your experience in an entirely different light, leaving you with a refreshed appreciation for shared experiences and their power. Although that may well be the last time I see a Beatle perform in the flesh, what I’ll primarily take from that night is the importance – and the fun – of going solo.

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