The first thing we did when the concert was uploaded was look for ourselves in the crowd. It was a surprisingly stressful experience for many of us, the cameraless fans who were suddenly in the presence of Paul McCartney in Studio Two of Abbey Road Studios. Yet, the fans made sure to link up with one another, to add and follow and like each other after the show. That night, we gathered up whatever photographic evidence we had: the crumpled setlist, the sweaty green wrist band and the poster of Egypt Station and we made sure we posted all we could to the socials. I uploaded a screenshot from the Abbey Road webcam, captured by my brother, Andrew, diligently spying from his computer in Melbourne. I didn't tell him where the show was, but I gave him a very firm tip off.

I was on limited data on a primitive replacement phone when the Spotify gig was finally released, but I made sure to watch the show as soon as possible. "The Green Wristband Bunch" memorialised the show in degraded screenshots of us euphorically singing, smiling and grasping each other. During the show itself, I had no particular sense of anybody else around me. I was entirely focused upon what was going on the stage. At times, the girls around me would reach out to touch my arm and ask if I was OK. I assured them that everything was fine but then, there were times when I was visibly shaken. I had to embrace the sheer euphoria of it, to be in the room where the Beatles recorded, with a Beatle performing a few feet in front of me.

I had recorded a video of myself before I set off to Abbey Road, privately acknowledging what this show actually meant. Much of my musical life is preoccupied with Beatles research, whether it is reading books or watching documentaries or just seeking out photos of the Fab Four with teacups in the background. The fascination exists an escape valve and I relish how much we all seem to know about John, Paul, George and Ringo. I live so much more in every conversation where we can contribute an insight or a feeling about the Beatles. There is such purity in that love that we share, yet when I am forced to qualify my place as a "true" fan, I feel completely inadequate.

My guilt about winning that place to see Paul led to discussions with friends about the hierarchies which fans impose to determine the sincerity of other fans. That pressure to be a musical expert undermines my desire to publish anything, particularly on C&CM. Despite my neverending research, I feel that I will never know enough to tell you about it authoritatively. In a material sense, I have no shrine and I have no tattoos and yet I still think about them more than most things. I think about the competitive nature of their creative partnership and I think about how we can characterise and identify Paul's songs as opposed to John's. I think about them so much of the time, because I'm still learning about the Beatles.

Thank you to Shot97 for beautifully crafting this gif...

When I look back at that show, I feel that there is something so incredibly pure in those intermittent shots of my friends in the crowd, particularly with Jon and Mel freaking out together. At an early point in the show, Paul was describing the first time they entered Studio Two, being "little Beatles" who were only allowed to enter only the tradesmens' entrance. Paul described George as having a black eye as a result of a fight at the Cavern. At that moment, the camera cut to me, with smudged black eyeliner and tears streaming down my face. I suddenly felt so overwhelmed to hear one of those whimsical stories I had been collecting for decades. The casual nature of it broke my heart.

I didn't feature predominantly in the show, but I was grateful that they captured that particular moment. It was the moment that I felt the most love and awe, the most gratitude and sadness. I'm not embarrassed to admit that it was a kind of existential grief, one that owed to the fact that despite all our love, that moment had to pass. As fans, we can dwell and we can document. We can retreat and virtually live in a year that predates our birth by two decades... but it's all so ephemeral. Nothing can ever contain that awe or gratitude we carry. We just have to find a way to feel it. We just have to find a way to learn to be thankful for the way such moments materialise.

Consequential Lyrics #2: The Beatles

It's important to be among friends who view Beatlemania as a completely appropriate and reasonable reaction to the Beatles. In truth, my friends and I often stress to one another that if had we been at the taping of the Ed Sullivan Show or in the stands of Shea Stadium, we would have screamed (and possibly fainted) more dramatically than any of those hysterical girls on film. It's nice to acknowledge that, occasionally. It's nice to agree that the same breed of insane love manages to live on perpetually inside of us.

It's a powerful thing, that we should know all the albums, all the songs, all the lyrics, all the meanings. We know their story back to front and yet, we are still coming up with new bits of information to share with one another. I love the sheer expanse of what there is to know, the fact that they are still making radio documentaries about when The Beatles visited some little city in Wales. I love that there is an upcoming Coursera subject covering The Beatles' music. I love how it all inspires such a feeling of familiarity within us. We now speak about John, Paul, George and Ringo as if they're old friends of ours.

In making the Beatles episode of Consequential Lyrics, I wondered whether it was ever really possible to divorce a song from its historical context. After all, we have books like Ian McDonald's Revolution in the Head which document the circumstances under which every Beatles song was conceived, written and recorded. Even without the books, stories behind these songs are relatively common knowledge. What I'm curious about is whether that common knowledge affects the way we invent private meanings. Can ever really make this music ours, when we know what the artist really meant?

It's a curious term to use, ours, especially since friends have a particularly personal and purposeful approach in dealing with their musical legacy, meaning we often assigning albums and songs to one another. Saying that, for me, it's extremely unusual to take ownership of a Beatles song in a strictly emotional sense. I've only ever done that in two instances: For No One and Crying, Waiting, Hoping (which isn't even a real Beatles song, it's a Buddy Holly cover). I listen to those songs and their personal consequence seems to trump their historical context. Perhaps the associations are too painful or the official meanings are too indistinct, I'm not sure. I just know they're the only Beatles songs to take on that uniquely personal dimension.

Otherwise, these songs form an integral part of that narrative that we're constantly familiarising ourselves with. Obviously, incidental personal associations come about, lyrics often remind us of important places and moments. I've been fortunate in that many of those associations have to do with these Beatlesque-friendships, discussions with these very people who shared that insane love for the Beatles. The consequence was drawn from our fantastic imagining of the Beatles' history, but it was also drawn from this enormous relief that someone gets it: we've finally found someone who shares that intense fascination.

After I made this episode, I kept thinking about the white wall of Abbey Road Studios, crowded with messages of love. It was enchanting to see those Lennon/McCartney lyrics I loved, quotes from I've Just Seen a Face, Blackbird, The End and countless others. Why quote song lyrics? And why quote these song lyrics in particular? Perhaps it's an inscription intended to honour, ultimately designed to provoke a tug of recognition in whoever sees it. Perhaps it's a declaration of affinity, a handwritten sign that says these are my lyrics of consequence. Whatever it is, I can't help but be moved by it. Like those girls screaming in the stands, it's just a comfort that the hysteria is still going on... and it will likely continue on forever.

Consequential Lyrics #2: The Beatles
Eleanor Rigby
Don't Let Me Down
I'm Happy Just To Dance With You
You've Really Got a Hold On Me
All I've Got To Do
Wait
Anna (Go To Him)
For No One
I'm Only Sleeping
Free as a Bird

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