Searching for a Paul for My Beatles Cover Band

America is the borough of Elvis impersonators, but Brooklyn is the land of counterfeit Paul McCartneys. I discovered this by placing an ad in this paper that read, "ISO Paul for Beatle band. Audition into my answering machine to get the job."

It was a whim. I'd spied "album night" advertised in a couple of local papers; bands were performing their all-time favorite albums start to finish at Arlene Grocery. I have my own band that does its own music, but the evenings sounded like fun. I wouldn't have to learn a thing to do a Beatles album, either, since I know the entire catalog from John, Paul and George's 1958 low-tech demo of "In Spite of All the Danger" up through "Dig a Pony." I'd even won a soundalike contest at a Beatlefest some years back, singing Lennon's "You've Got to Hide Your Love Away."

I called Owen, Arlene's booker, and secured a Sunday to play Rubber Soul, note for note. My friend Andy agreed to be George. Like me, he knows the entire catalog. He's also dark-haired, cute, intelligent and quiet, like the late Beatle. I recruited Rich, another musician pal, for the Ringo role. Rich had tenured in the tribute band Strawberry Fields, and knew the material to such an extent that he'd even include Ringo's screwups from the early Beatle records when we jammed. Now I needed the mighty Paulie; a big pair of Beatle boots to fill.

The responses to my ad ranged from guys who screamed both the lead and background parts to "Hold Me Tight"?"Hold, hold, me tight, me tight, tonight, tonight, tonight, tonight, it's you"?to others who would lapse into English/Bay Ridge-and-back accents in their phone messages, followed by awful renditions of "Michelle" or, of all songs to audition with, "Wild Honey Pie." A spacey-sounding lady left a message offering herself as a Paulette, but declined to audition into the machine, so I didn't call her back. Either a little boy or an adult with a child's voice left me an indecipherable Paul message, with no number.

One guy sounded normal, leaving a passable "Fool on the Hill," so I called him and it turned out he lived near me. I volunteered to go to his place. He answered the door wearing a full 1967 McCartney Sgt. Pepper blue turquoise outfit. He was about 5-3 and a good 20 years older than me. We ran through "You Won't See Me" and "Nowhere Man." His voice was soft, ever so off-key and he sang with a put-on English accent. He asked about the money more than once. I told him I'd call him.

Next came Freddy, who was referred by a friend. Freddy was extremely personable and enthusiastic, just like people say Paul is, and he said he knew all of Rubber Soul. We arranged to meet. I'm no Jim Morrison, or even Justin Timberlake, but Freddy strongly resembled W.C. Fields in the last years of the comedian's life. Freddy was also overbearing, insisting his incorrect lyrics to different songs were right, and considered himself already in the band when we were holding auditions. At the end of our time together, he said he really, really, REALLY looked forward to Rubber Soul. I told him I'd call him.

It was now less than a week before the show. Slightly panicky, I surfed the Net for Beatle bands, hoping to pinch a Paul. I got nowhere; good Beatle bands are busy. In desperation, I looked up CBS television in the book and left a message for Will Lee, the bassist from the David Letterman band and also the popular "Fab Faux" tribute act, and asked him to help us out. He didn't call back.

I finally threw in the towel. I called Owen at Arlene's, telling him I was postponing Rubber Soul. He replied that he'd spent $500 on ads promoting the show, and that if no Paul showed up, he himself would don a bass and have at it. For a moment I actually thought, "Well, at least Owen's really English," but the proposal went no further than that; I told him I'd keep looking. An hour later he called and gave me the number of the guy who was doing Wings' Band on the Run after our act. The dude's name was John.

I called John and he seemed normal on the phone, not too enthusiastic but not spaced-out or weird, either. He even lived 15 blocks from me. I drove to his place. A saucer-eyed, handsome young man answered the door. I glanced around John's apartment while I took off my jacket. Beatles figurines, lunchboxes, posters, DVDs and other contraband gave me an ominous feeling; the Sgt. Pepper guy had had a lot of the same stuff. However, I counted off "Drive My Car" and within 30 seconds I knew John was the perfect Paul. When we got halfway through "Norwegian Wood" the audition was over.

Rubber Soul happened note-for-note at Arlene's that Sunday?sitar, finger cymbals, fuzz bass and all?and a crowd applauded.

Paul is dead, they said in '69. Though McCartney denied it, it's clear when the left-handed bassist joins John and George in rock 'n' roll heaven, there'll be an army of assorted Pauls waiting to take his place on Earth, just like they took Elvis'. You'll see Korean Pauls, female Pauls, short Pauls and fat Pauls, black Pauls, six-year-old Pauls and every other kind of Paul.

I know they're out there. I'm still getting Paul calls.

Big Bang performs With the Beatles Fri., Jan. 18, 9:30 p.m., at the Cutting Room, 19 W. 24th St. (betw. B'way & 6th Ave.), 713-5555. Tickets are $6, a portion of which will go to the Daily News families fund, benefiting families of those lost in the WTC attack.