On a personal level, I have to now contend with a half-dead scarecrow with dormouse droppings for vocal chords, frightening away the few remaining memories I have of a band that meant a great deal to my angst-ridden teenage self.
It’s bad enough that Sir Paul pops up like a pile at the arse end of every big London concert– Neil Young, Springsteen, the Olympics – now he’s attacking memories. I’m all for leftfield collaborations, genre-hopping hook ups, even all-singing all-dancing zombie holograms, but this post-modern play has gone too far this time. I mean what the fudge were Krist, Dave and Pat thinking?
Polly turned into some Hey Jude warble-along. Something In The Way reimagined as Mull of Kintyre complete with frickin’ bagpipes. He’ll probably even mutate Heart Shaped Box into some cod-reggae pastiche. It’s inevitable that Smells Like Teen Spirit will be played too, Kurt’s vocals that once threatened to buckle under the weight of Generation X’s apathy and despair replaced by a geriatric croak, a reptilian fart.
It also threatens to start a vicious circle, some philanthropic Groundhog Day where a charity event organised for victims features a performance so harrowing that it creates new victims who in turn will require another charity concert.
And it’s a slippery slope. What next? Cliff Richard to front Snot; Tina Turner to stand in for Lisa Left-Eye Lopez. This has to stop. Now and forever. Heed your own words Sir Paul – Live and Let Die.
Words: Tom Spooner