By Lisa Morgan
It was October 12, Wednesday night. My phone started buzzing with texts and voicemails. Not an unusual occurrence for me; I keep myself a little busy with a full time Job at a busy Palm Desert marketing company, my coverage of local music as CV Weekly’s Head Music Writer, and my own small business (booking and promoting bands, including my own). I am also one of the fortunate people who get to guest host Pappy and Harriet’s Open Mic on occasional Mondays. I say all this to make a point – in spite of my involvement with Pappy’s and the local music scene, when I started getting panicked messages like, “Call me!” “Have you heard about anything going on up at Pappy’s?” “Is somebody from Desert Trip going to play at Pappy and Harriet’s?”… I had heard nothing. I snooped. I prodded. I checked all my inside resources. If anyone knew anything, they weren’t letting it slip. Something was up. If there were loose lips, I would have hunted them down and made them talk!
I found out along with everyone else the following morning, when Pappy and Harriet’s nearly broke the internet announcing that Paul McCartney would be doing a pop up performance at the venue whose stage had already bore the presence of greats like Robert Plant, who showed up unexpected for Teddy Quinn’s Open Mic one night. Vampire Weekend, Leon Russell, Sean Lennon and Arctic Monkeys have shown up at the place. The walls at Pappy and Harriet’s Pioneertown Palace are marinated in music and good old fashioned community love. But this…THIS was beyond anything that had happened there before. Sir Paul McCartney had chosen this town, this community, this magical place to do an intimate and up-close show. “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world,” he walked into ours.
There were thousands lined up hoping to get in. It was all hands on deck for those who have regularly worked at Pappy’s, parking, loading, setting up and working security. The big trucks that obviously carried Paul’s gear from Indio to Pioneertown were backed in, and his bus was there. Everyone had been on site working for hours already. As the good men who regularly work security approached the place in the line that would be cut off, sending thousands home, my heart sank. The gift and opportunity I had been granted by my publisher who had chosen me to represent CV Weekly, one of only five members of the media, weighed heavily on me.
Entering Pappy and Harriet’s after checking in on the guest list, I found prime real estate at the very front of the stage, just left of center. It was 5:00 and he wouldn’t be performing until 8:00. I stayed put. Fortunately I was surrounded by equally grateful and cheerful people, and the camaraderie we shared was instantaneous. The time flew as we waited like excited school children. Josh Homme from Queens of the Stone Age was there with his mom. Brandt Bjork, Victoria Williams and other desert legends were in attendance. Even Miss Harriet, the original owner was there.
“When Paul arrived on the property, you felt a presence,” shared Pappy’s long time security man, Dave Johnson (aka Big Dave). “His staff was top notch and fun to work for. Paul warmed up in the liquor barn that Pappy’s renovated recently, then he came to the little house for a while and changed. On his way to the stage he had a huddle with the band. They broke the huddle with a yell like a football team.”
There was no drum roll preceding his entry, but it felt like there was. Those of us waiting stage side could feel the energy build as McCartney drew close; we could see commotion behind the door to the left of the stage. With no big announcement, fanfare or formal introduction, Paul McCartney stepped onto the stage followed by his band mates. With big exaggerated steps and arms wide open, he was greeted by the loudest crowd I believe to ever roar under that old roof. Before us, on that simple, beautiful little stage, was a man, knighted by the Queen of England, who had written more history making music than anyone. But here, he was that kid from Liverpool, taking great joy in making noise for an adoring crowd.
“Good evening everybody. Welcome to Pappy and Harriet’s,” he shouted after he was suited up with his guitar. “This is the biggest gig we’ve ever played.” The crowd laughed and cheered as he proceeded to tear into a set list that would be engrained, now even more deeply than ever before, into the soundtrack of our lives.
Save Us, Junior’s Farm, Can’t Buy Me Love, Let Me Roll It, I’ve Got a Feeling, My Valentine (dedicated to his wife who was in attendance for their anniversary), 1985, We Can Work it Out, I’ve Just Seen a Face, Love me Do, Queenie Eye, Lady Madonna, Day Tripper, Obla Di Obla Da, Band On the Run, Back in the USSR and Hey Jude. Consummately aware of his surroundings, realizing he would be even harder to see as he moved to his keys, he asked the crowd in front if they’d sit down for a song so those in back could get a better view. As awkward as it was, packed like sardines, we did our best to oblige. Hell, we’d have broken our necks smiling if he had asked us to do a back flip.
I studied every expression and gesture of Paul McCartney and his a-MAZING band (Brian Ray, Rusty Anderson, Paul “Wix” Wickens and Abe Laboriel, Jr.) who have played with McCartney since 2002 (longer than the Beatles or Wings). It appeared that the “boys” were having an entirely new level of fun together. McCartney is a man more comfortable in his own skin than any I have ever witnessed. Warm and down to earth, he was very much in charge, not because he’s famous, but because he is a leader and a master of the craft that he loves. He absolutely loves playing with this band. Every minute of this show reflected that, and it is mutually reciprocated. You might say to yourself, “Well, of course they love playing with him, he’s Paul-freaking-McCartney!” It appeared to be much more than that. The same could be said about his security and stage staff.
The show went off without incident for the most part. There were a couple of minor issues in the crowd, but it was handled with stealth and without escalation (an art within itself). As someone towards the middle of the audience held up their phone recording with the flash on, continuously pointed at McCartney’s face, I saw McCartney’s personal security man, Swallows, gesture at the guy to turn it off. With Swallows stuck on the stage side of the barriers, the guy chose to ignore him. I saw Paul look at Swallows. Oh, that look! That one look – not angry, not annoyed, but a focused look that spoke volumes. Even I felt like I should respond somehow. In a fairly graceful flash, Swallows, from Scotland, was leaning over the top of the barrier, pointing out the annoying fellow with his flashlight. Like a super-hero, big Dave Johnson, our gentle Desert Yeti and Desert Storm Veteran, swooped in and grabbed the phone away from the guy and controlled the situation. Big Dave had come to the rescue of some girls, moments before by removing a guy from the area who had pushed them. Other than that, the show went off without incident thanks to the stellar staff and organized leadership on both sides of the stage. Later, Big Dave shared that McCartney gave him a hug and he got big kudos from McCartney’s staff.
McCartney engaged with the crowd by having them sing along, sometimes just the guys, then the girls, then back of the room, then the front of the room. It was a sing along throughout, proving that, in the words of local staff member, Chris Unck, “Beatle Mania is alive and well.” At one point, McCartney asked the audience, “How many of you live here in Pioneertown?” The crowd responded accordingly. “How many of you are not from Pioneertown, but from around the desert?” The crowd responded much more loudly. “How many of you are from a long way away?” The crowd response was light. “Ok,” said McCartney. From behind the drum kit, Abe laughed and said, “It worked!” McCartney‘s intentions were clear; he wanted very much for this show to be a gift to the local community. In that respect, it most definitely was. The depth of that gift is still being felt to this day and will live on forever in those precious walls. And for all the hard work and sacrifice over the years that those two crazy girls from New York poured into the place to keep the magic of Pappy and Harriet’s alive on the heels of 9/11, there may not be a greater pay off, or a more deserving one.
