🎧 A forgotten cassette that brought John Lennon back into the studio
In 1994, Yoko Ono handed Paul McCartney a cassette tape labeled in John Lennon’s handwriting: “For Paul.” It contained a handful of raw, home-recorded demos Lennon had laid down in the late 1970s at his Dakota apartment in New York. Among them were “Free as a Bird,” “Real Love,” and an unfinished ballad called “Now and Then.” The first two were polished and released in the mid-1990s with contributions from the surviving Beatles for the “Anthology” project. But “Now and Then” was shelved—its sound quality was poor, Lennon’s voice was buried under static, and George Harrison reportedly wasn’t convinced it was worth completing.
🎼 AI didn’t just restore a voice—it mended something broken
Decades later, Peter Jackson’s work on the Get Back documentary introduced a new audio technology capable of isolating and enhancing individual elements of old recordings. Paul McCartney realized this might be the missing piece. With AI assistance, Lennon’s voice was cleaned up—suddenly intimate, clear, and heartbreakingly alive. The track wasn’t reimagined or altered—it was simply unveiled, like a dusty painting finally seen in daylight.
🎸 George Harrison’s guitar still speaks, from the past
Though George passed away in 2001, his 1995 guitar tracks for “Now and Then” were preserved. McCartney and Ringo Starr built around them with subtlety—adding new bass, drums, piano, and harmony vocals—without overshadowing the original intent. The result isn’t a Frankenstein’s monster of technology and nostalgia. It’s something gentler: four old friends finishing a conversation, even if two of them are no longer here.
đź“» More than a song—it’s a time capsule and a gentle goodbye
Released in November 2023, “Now and Then” was promoted as “the final Beatles song.” And for many fans, that’s exactly what it felt like—not a single, but a parting gesture. It brought us back to where it all began: four boys from Liverpool who redefined popular music. There was no fanfare, no overproduction—just the haunting echo of a voice recorded in a room, long ago, now answered by friends who never forgot him. It wasn’t just a release; it was closure.