"I've seen the lights go out on Broadway. I watched the mighty skyline fall. The folks were waiting at the Battery. The union went on strike; they never sailed at all. They sent a carrier out from Norfolk and picked the Yankees up for free. They said the Mets could play for one last game at Shea and sank Manhattan out at sea." -- Billy Joel on 7/18/2008I'm sure you've heard the praise, the acclaim, the media fawning over William M. Joel's history-making series of concerts at William A. Shea Stadium this past week. I was there for the last show, and though I don't know if I can rave about the performance more uniquely than some others have already raved about it, I'll put my thoughts out there anyway.
I started taking dance lessons when I was in Kindergarten. My mother didn't see the point of jazz dance, so while all of my friends pointed and kicked and grapevined, I tapped and flapped and shuffle-ball-changed. Their jazz class ended five minutes before my tap class started, so I would watch them as I put on my shoes. Their recital routine was choreographed to "Uptown Girl" that year, and the song fast became my obsession.
My parents gave me the two-CD set of Billy Joel's
Greatest Hits for my sixth birthday and made the mistake of teaching me how to use the "replay" button on our stereo. I probably listened to "Uptown Girl" for two months straight before my father gently suggested that I try out the rest of the album, too. I did, I appreciated, and by the time
River of Dreams was released in 1994, I owned every album Billy Joel had ever released.
I listened to Billy's music so much that I was soon able to recite every word to every song on every album. And when I say "every word," I
mean every word. Of course I knew "Piano Man" and "We Didn't Start the Fire" and "Scenes From An Italian Restaurant," but I also knew "Falling of the Rain" and "Zanzibar" and "Scandinavian Skies." I could never give a straight answer whenever anyone asked me to name my favorite Billy Joel song, so I came up with a Top Five list:
1. Miami 2017 (Seen The Lights Go Out On Broadway)
2. Angry Young Man
3. Summer, Highland Falls
4. The Ballad of Billy the Kid
5. Shameless
It's a weird selection, but it hasn't deviated in over a decade. Because it's a weird selection, though, I didn't get to hear any of my favorites when I saw Billy in concert for the first time in 1996. I got to hear him play "Miami 2017" live in 2001, but since that performance was part of
The Concert for New York City, the experience was more sorrowful than satisfying. Six and a half years passed, and though my musical tastes expanded, my appreciation for the genius of Billy's songwriting only grew. When I heard that he was playing at Shea Stadium this July, I expressed interest in going but never thought that anything would come of it. On Thursday I got a call that a ticket was waiting for me, and on Friday night, I found myself sitting in a Shea Stadium field box to the right of the stage.
Oddly enough, the crowd seemed more enthused about the concert's rumored guest stars than the Piano Man himself. Garth Brooks, Elton John, Aerosmith, Keith Richards, Roger Daltrey, Bon Jovi, and Paul McCartney/Ringo Starr/Julian Lennon/Dhani Harrison were all mentioned by various patrons before the show, and people speculated that the previous concert's guest stars -- Tony Bennett, John Mayer, and John Mellencamp -- would return for this performance. The general lack of enthusiasm for Billy Joel at a Billy Joel concert made me think of Robert Plant famously stating that his band's concerts were worthless because Led Zeppelin had become a Led Zeppelin tribute band. I wondered if the same had happened for my Billy, then prepared myself for the worst when he waddled onstage sweating and looking older than I ever thought possible.
I should have known better. He sat down at his piano without uttering a word to the 65,000 people filling every corner of Shea, sang the national anthem in a surprisingly agile voice, and plunked out the opening notes to "Miami 2017." He followed that song with "Angry Young Man" plus its complete prelude, and only after that did he greet the audience. He revealed that the badge pinned to his suit jacket was worn by Ringo Starr when the Beatles played their legendary concerts at Shea in 1965, which caused my father (who was holding out hope for the speculated quasi-Beatles reunion) to raise his eyebrows in my direction.
Billy Joel played for close to four hours, and he in no way resembled a Billy Joel tribute band during that time. Sure, he played the hits, but he mixed them up with enough little-known material to present a totally unique show. He played "Zanzibar," he played the instrumental "Root Beer Rag" from his second studio album, he played a ballad with a hook stolen from Beethoven called "This Night," he played rarely-played-live songs like "Keeping The Faith" and "The Downeaster Alexa." My Top Five were all played, and he even prefaced the cinematic "Ballad of Billy the Kid" with a piano rendition of the main theme from one of my favorite films,
The Magnificent Seven. He also mixed up some of his more popular songs a bit, pausing in the middle of "River of Dreams" to sing "A Hard Day's Night" and hitting high notes in "An Innocent Man" that he wouldn't even attempt twenty-five years ago. The light show ranged from fantastic (when a photograph of every person, object or event mentioned in "We Didn't Start The Fire" flickered onscreen as he sang) to abysmal (like the Windows Screensaver-esque psychedelia projected during "Captain Jack"). Billy even redeemed my least favorite part of his live performances -- the military veterans singing the chorus of the Vietnam tribute "Good Night, Saigon" -- by including New York City firefighters and police officers alongside his usual lineup of army, navy, and marines representatives.
Another part of Billy's stage shows that I don't usually enjoy was also redeemed in a pretty remarkable way. Call me a fool, call me un-American, but I don't like the way "New York State of Mind" sounds when it's played live. Not sure why, but I can't stand it and I never have. On Friday, I rolled my eyes when its first chords played and listened politely during the first verse, then Tony Bennett walked onstage to sing the second verse. Like any self-respecting Astoria girl, I worship the ground Tony Bennett walks upon, and even at the ripe age of 82, he's still in remarkable voice. Despite their song choice, Billy's and Tony's duet was one of the highlights of my evening.
Tony was the first guest star, but certainly not the last. Garth Brooks joined Billy on "Shameless," adding a beautiful vocal to what I consider one of the most beautiful songs ever written. Steven Tyler, as outrageous, commanding, and ageless as always, delivered "Walk This Way" with Billy singing backup and playing guitar. (This, incidentally, was the only song I didn't sing word-for-word all night.) Billy again sang backup and played guitar for Roger Daltrey on "My Generation," and in proper Who fashion, he smashed his guitar at the end of the song.
Billy ended the show, then came onstage for an encore of "Scenes From An Italian Restaurant" and "Only The Good Die Young." Between those songs, a stage manager ran out and whispered something in his ear, something which Billy whispered to the rest of his band. They all came out for a second encore, started playing the opening notes to "I Saw Her Standing There," and out strolled Paul McCartney, guitar in hand, resplendent in a white Oxford shirt.
No Ringo, no Julian or Dhani, just Macca. And honestly, you didn't need the others. The stadium was
shaking in a way I haven't felt outside of the Yankee Stadium upper deck during the World Series. He came, he saw, he conquered, then he left after a very lengthy curtain call. Billy then delivered his three concert-enders: he played "Piano Man," let the crowd sing the last verse to him, told us not to take no shit from nobody, and tried to walk offstage.
The stage manager blocked his path and, once again, whispered something. Billy turned around, walked back onstage, past his piano, past his microphone stand, and welcomed back Paul McCartney. Macca gave a wave, sat down at Joel's piano, and played "Let It Be." The crowd was silent, contemplative. I can count on one hand the number of times I've ever been conscious of history being made. That was it.
Paul McCartney playing a simple, beautiful song was the real ending of Billy Joel's show, this loud, obnoxious, kickass rock concert, the last concert ever at Shea Stadium, and Billy had close to nothing to do with it. He sang a little back-up on "Let It Be," but he spent most of the song watching McCartney play from a seat atop the baby grand's lid. At first, I pitied him for not getting the last word at his own show, but I can't think of a better finish for Shea than having it opened and closed by the Beatles. As a New Yorker and Beatles fan himself, I'm sure Billy would agree.
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