Nostalgia: it takes you back. To times that were innocent, simple and good. Times that can never be again.
There was a time when Paul was ridiculed for overt sentimentality and wistful longing in his live performances. When he appeared to dwell primarily in the past, lamenting the loss of his dearly beloved. When his refrain seemed a dirge of 'If Onlys' - for Linda, for John, for Hamburg, all the way back to childhood Liverpool, most of a century ago, when the Beatles dream was but a ripple in a stream of embryonic ambition, when the four were little more than fans themselves. When it was all about the music.
So it is again. Finally. No more lonely nights, thanks to exquisite now-wife Nancy. Whose hand, he says, he will want to hold forever. Like that. No more bittersweet yearnings for the gone years, the places and faces that can never return. Paul has found the plot. He celebrates and acknowledges all that he came from, but he is rooted firmly in the now. Working on the future. Making it count.
So the voice gives a little, halfway through. So what. Show me a septuagenarian in as good a shape as he's in, with his effervescent energy and verve. What we're hearing may well be the voice of yesteryear. What we see defies description. He's Macca. He's ours.
This was the first time I was able to take my younger two children to see and hear for themselves what I've been banging on about all these years. They got it. Joy.