Breaking into Paul McCartney's Dressing Room.

Yes, you read the headline right. I broke into Paul McCartney's (yes, the Paul McCartney) dressing room. At least, that's what the Riverside County Sheriff's Department deputy said that I did, or that we did, as I was with two buddies at the time of the incident. I have done many unusual things in my life, and, well, I guess this was one of them.

Coachella. Photo Credit CBS

First a little background. When I was living in L.A., for many years I was in the bar business, and operated a couple of cool spots over the years. The last place I owned was a bar on the outskirts of Los Angeles County, at a live-music venue called The Glass House. My partners were two brothers, Perry and Paul Tollett, who founded the venue years before I became involved. Perry has a side business that builds and supplies outdoor stages and barricades for concerts, and Paul is the president of Goldenvoice Entertainment, one of the most well-known concert promoters on the west coast, and who, among other things is the founder of the Coachella Music Festival, in Indio, CA. Since it's rather unsuccessful inception, Coachella, as it is casually known, has grown into the most successful and the most respected festival of its kind in the United States. I was there in the beginning, witness to catastrophic losses that Paul took that first year, but watched it develop over the next several years into the giant that it is today. Because of my association with the Tolletts, I always had access to backstage passes each year, although I never really went much. Unless I had a friend who really wanted to go, and such was the case in 2004 and 2006, then I generally preferred to stay home.

Photo Credit: Goldenvoice

In 2009, several friends expressed their desire to go, and knowing about my in with all-access passes, persuaded me to ask for my issue. There would be five of us going in total, and it was to be a three day event. I told my friends that I would handle the admission, and they could provide the accomodations, since the venue is about a two-hour drive from home, and everyone stays in a hotel for the weekend. The passes, which are actually wristbands, come in two categories and the the best one that someone could have would have been a "Mainstage" bracelet, named for the stage that the biggest bands play on. It affords all-access, all the time, including onstage, in the wings. Next would be a "Sidestage" bracelet, like the ones I saw Paris Hilton and Jared Leto wearing, which basically got you backstage, but that is pretty much it. Restrictions do apply. Needless to say my friends were pretty impressed with the whole VIP treatment, and found it amusing that certain celebrities didn't have the juice that we did.

So it's opening night, and legendary former Beatle, Paul McCartney was the headliner that evening. Many diehard fans of the event weren't quite sure what to make of his appearance at the show, actually considering him to be too pop or mainstream an act for Coachella. We had spent the better part of the day bouncing between the various stages and tents, backstage and out in front. Backstage, everything was complimentary, including snacks and beer, and if you were the headling act on the main stage that day, you had a special area, known as the green room, to spread out in, entertain guests and relax a little before taking the stage. The green room had a beautiful dinner spread and a full bar, to boot. It was in here that the McCartney entourage would gather before his set began at 9pm. The two friends that I was with suggested that we get another drink, and if memory served me correctly, there was a full bar somewhere behind the main stage that I was drinking at two years before. "Follow me," I said. "It should be right over there." As we walked towards where I thought the bar was, we merged with a group of about six people, who were friendly and talkative, and seemed to be in search of the same bar that we were looking for. We passed a guy sitting in a chair, playing with his smartphone, and proceeded down through a corridor making a a turn or two, before we passed another guy in a chair and then BAM. Just like that, we were standing face to face with Paul McCartney.

Onstage with Thievery Corporation

I grew up in Hollywood. I've see a lot stars, and I have met just as many. But standing in front of one of the Beatles, a living legend, an icon-it was probably the first time in my life I was truly speechless. We all were. Stunned actually. Like deer in the headlights. Mr. McCartney was seated on a couch about 15 feet in front of us, with his daughter, Stella, his girlfriend, and the widow of former bandmate George Harrison. I remember that he was talking, but he made direct eye contact with me, yet he never skipped a beat in his conversation. He even acknowledged us, nodding at me, as any gracious host would, but you could tell that he was a bit perplexed, having abolutely no idea who in the hell we were. Pathetically, all three of us were on the same "stuck on stupid" mode, and simultaneously reached for our phones, to check messages that weren't there. One friend mumbled something inaudible, and all the other guy could get out of his mouth was the word "drink?" . So we walked forward in unison, towards the back of the room, and bellied up to the bar.

We had just ordered three Grey Goose and Red Bulls, and just about started to relax and enjoy the reality of just how cool this situation when, when I felt the hard tap on my shoulder. "Excuse me," the security guard said, "who are you with?" I said that I was with the the two guys on either side me, my friends! Unamused, the guy said that that is not what he meant. He wanted to know who we were with?" Oh, I get it. Who are we with. Simple, we are with Paul." He asked if I was referring to Paul McCartney and, of course, I said no. We are guests of Paul Tollett, the guy that owns the show. He had absolutely no idea who I was talking about, and after determining that while we had all-access, this area was definitely off limits, since we didn't have the super special "McCartney Friends and Family" invitation like the one he was wearing around his neck. He asked us to put our drinks down and told us that we needed to leave immediately. As we made our way towards the exit, the security guard summoned another guy, who was wearing a Union Jack lapel pin and who I assumed was a bodyguard dispatched by the British consulate as an honor guard. This is, afterall, Sir Paul McCartney. This guy read us the riot act, and then made us point out the guys who actually let us in. Remember the guys in the chairs on their smartphones? I hated ratting someone out, especially since we only really got in there because we had merged with a group of people who were actually allowed to be in there. Nobody's fault really. So after getting unceremoniously tossed out, we headed back to the front of the stage to wait for the show to begin. And unbeknownst to us, the entire backstage went on lockdown, with absolutely no ins or outs for the remainder of the evening..

Photo Credit: LA Times

McCartney's two-hour set became a three-hour set because he was having so much fun and was only getting wound up at around midnight*. He played his songs, Beatles songs, George's songs and John's songs and his performance was definitely the highlight of the weekend. The next day, during a casual conversation with a sheriff's deputy who was there to provide additional security, we were told about the lockdown the night before. At the time we had thought it was only a temporary lockdown, because maybe there were too many people backstage before McCartney went on, and when we were told we couldn't get back in the first time, we never went back to try again. It seems that his personal security detail flipped out and ordered the lockdown until Sir Paul had left the building! All this, according to the deputy, because "three knuckleheads had broken into McCartney's dressing room! I was a little shocked, and, realizing that he was talking about us, all I could get out of my mouth was something like "What kind of idiots would do something like that!?" It was beautiful. We were famous. We broke into Sir Paul McCartney's dressing room!

I never told my partners that it was me or my friends that caused the major security breach. A year later, one of my friends met McCartney's road drummerat a bar, who recalled the incident and was delighted to have met one of the perpetrators. Legends, indeed.

*McCartney was to play a two-hour set, starting at around 9:45 pm. City ordinances require that the music stops at midnight and not a second after, or the promoters would pay a penalty of $1500.00 per minute for each minute thereafter. Goldenvoice paid a $75,000.00 fine to the city of Indio that night, because, well, like Paul Tollett said, "How do you pull the plug on a Beatle?" Two nights later, the stage went dark at exactly 12:01am, during the headlining performance of The Cure. No comparison, I guess.