One of the interesting things about true, generational artists is that they don’t need to prove anything anymore. They’ve already done every version of success. So when they make a move that’s out of the ordinary, it’s usually worth paying attention.
Seeing Paul McCartney live in such an intimate space like the Fonda was maybe the greatest night of my life. When Grimy Goods’ editor, Sandra, asked me if I wanted to review the show, I felt like Charlie winning that golden ticket to Wonka’s Chocolate Factory.
To say I am a The Beatles obsessive is not heavy enough. When I was 12, the way I coped with massive grief was by obsessing over The Beatles so hard that my teachers sent notes home like, “Please make him stop talking about The Beatles.”
I was sent to a child therapist whom I cussed out and was sent home for not understanding my relationship with them. I even went to Rishikesh, India, and slept in the ruins of their ashram to follow their literal footsteps. Half my tattoos are Beatles lyrics.
On March 28, 2026, Paul f*cking McCartney played the Fonda Theatre for a second night. This is a man who spends most of his time playing to the population of small cities. The Fonda holds about 1,200. McCartney does small shows, the way comets pass by Earth: briefly, unpredictably, and with just enough warning to make you feel like you might miss it forever.
This time, there’s context. Earlier this week, Paul McCartney announced The Boys of Dungeon Lane, his first solo album in over five years. So this didn’t feel like a stunt. It felt like positioning. Not a comeback, McCartney’s been here for years.
His trusty band—Rusty Anderson, Brian Ray, Abe Laboriel Jr., and Wix Wickens—has been together for two decades now. They don’t just know the songs—they know how they breathe. And that understanding especially matters in a room like this, with a living legend like McCartney.
The Fonda was packed with fans. Whether famous or not, everyone here loved Paul and The Beatles. It was really clear that the people working at the Fonda knew just how special this show experience was gonna be for everyone (similar to when the Rolling Stones played the Echoplex), because they kept checking in on you in line, and would spark up small talk like, “Big night tonight, huh?” or “You look so excited for the show.” I don’t ever recall staff initiating as many interactions with attendees. There was a warm feeling throughout.
The show opened fast: “Help,” “Got to Get You Into My Life,” “Let Me Roll It,” stretched into a loose Hendrix-style jam that immediately signaled this wouldn’t be a paint-by-numbers run-through. From there: “Getting Better,” “Let ’Em In,” and a softer new “My Valentine.” Then the density kicked in. “Nineteen Hundred and Eighty-Five,” “Maybe I’m Amazed,” and “I’ve Just Seen a Face.”
From there, it was almost unreasonable: The Beatles classics stacked on top of each other—“From Me to You,” “Blackbird,” “Lady Madonna“—there was no filler. It was just song after song that everyone in the room already knew by heart.
Let’s also say the other Beatles were in the room. McCartney came out alone on ukulele to pay tribute to George Harrison, talking about George’s love of the instrument, gently working through “Something” before the band kicked in mid-song. It turned into one of the biggest sing-alongs of the night. He also played “Every Night”—his song for John Lennon—which landed especially hard in a room this small (edit note: this song was previously misidentified as “Here Today”). It didn’t feel like a tribute. It felt like a conversation. And of course, Ringo was literally in the room, in the front row of the balcony, and he waved and gave peace signs to the general admission audience down on the floor for multiple ovations.
And then it just kept going.
“Band on the Run,” “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” (loudest crowd of the night, even unprompted), “Get Back,” Let It Be, “Hey Jude” …
At some point, you stop evaluating and just accept the absurdity: this might be the most famous run of songs ever written, delivered back-to-back.
You may have also noticed I haven’t mentioned that McCartney is 83 years old; here’s why: there is no way you would have ever known it. His banter was sharp and clever, and he played challenging bass and guitar parts WHILE SINGING. No tracks, no safety net. He was ripping the main guitar part in “Let Me Roll It” at an age when most people aren’t allowed to drive.
Jeez, Louise.
Maybe that why he’s the most famous musician in the history of the world.
The encore sealed it. The Abbey Road medley—“Golden Slumbers” through “The End”—with all three guitarists trading solos exactly like the record, pushing each other, loud and locked in. A true showman, McCartney left us all, like he always does, with “And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.”
Words: Stephe Sykes — Stephe is a downtown L.A.-based musician and a longtime Beatles fan.
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Paul McCartney Setlist: March 28, 206
Help
Coming Up
Got to Get You Into My Life
Let Me Roll It (Hendrix-y blues jam)
Getting Better
Let ’Em In
My Valentine
Nineteen Hundred and Eighty-Five
Maybe I’m Amazed
I’ve Just Seen a Face
Every Night
From Me to You
Blackbird
Now And Then
Lady Madonna
Something (ukulele intro → full band)
Band on the Run
Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da
Get Back
Let It Be
Hey Jude
Encore:
Golden Slumbers
Carry That Weight
The End
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