In the quiet, hallowed space of a recording studio, where memories hang in the air like unsung notes, Paul McCartney experienced a moment that transcended time. Surrounded by state-of-the-art equipment, it wasn’t a new sound that stopped him in his tracks, but a voice—one he knew better than his own, yet one he hadn’t heard with such pristine clarity in over forty years. It was the voice of John Lennon. Raw, pure, and achingly real, it filled the room, and for a breathtaking moment, it was as if his friend, his brother, his creative partner, was right there beside him. The weight of that moment, of that impossible reunion, brought the legendary musician to the verge of tears.

This emotional scene was the culmination of a journey that began with a dusty, forgotten cassette tape. Labeled simply “For Paul,” the demo was one of several that Yoko Ono had given to the surviving Beatles in 1994 for their “Anthology” project. On it was a melancholic ballad Lennon had recorded in his New York apartment in the late 1970s. The song, titled “Now and Then,” was a haunting melody, a beautiful sketch of Lennon’s genius. But it was technically flawed. His voice was inextricably fused with the loud, persistent hum of the piano he was playing, and the recording quality was clouded by the electrical buzz of his apartment.

At the time, even with the best technology the 90s had to offer, separating John’s voice from the piano was impossible. Producer Jeff Lynne and the band worked on it, with George Harrison even recording guitar parts, but they eventually hit a wall. The track was deemed unsalvageable. “It was a shame, really,” Ringo Starr would later recall. The song was shelved, and with Harrison’s passing in 2001, the hope of ever completing it seemed to fade entirely, destined to become a whisper in the grand history of The Beatles.

For nearly three decades, “Now and Then” remained a ghost, a piece of unfinished business. But the world of technology was quietly catching up to the band’s ambition. The breakthrough came from an unlikely source: director Peter Jackson’s documentary series, “The Beatles: Get Back.” To create the series, Jackson’s team developed a revolutionary new form of artificial intelligence they called MAL (Machine Audio Learning). This AI could be trained to recognize individual voices or instruments within a single-track recording and isolate them with astonishing precision. It was this technology that allowed audiences to feel like they were in the room during the “Let It Be” sessions, hearing the band’s conversations with crystal clarity.

McCartney and Starr saw an opportunity. Could this same magic be applied to Lennon’s old demo? They sent the “Now and Then” tape to Jackson’s team, and what came back was nothing short of a miracle. The AI had done the impossible. It had lifted John Lennon’s voice from the muffled cassette recording, stripping away the piano, the hiss, and the background noise, leaving only the pure, unadulterated vocal performance.

“There it was, John’s voice, crystal clear,” McCartney explained in a short film about the song’s creation. “It’s quite emotional.” That clarity was the key. It wasn’t just a technically clean track; it was an emotional portal. When McCartney listened, he wasn’t hearing a distant artifact; he was hearing his friend. The slight imperfections, the breath between words, the unique timbre—it was all there. He could close his eyes and imagine a 30-something John, sitting at his piano, pouring his heart into a song meant for his old friend to hear. This was the moment that truly hit him. It was a final conversation, a collaboration across the chasm of death.

With Lennon’s voice finally free, the project roared back to life. It became a sacred mission to finish what they had started. McCartney laid down a new bass track and a slide guitar solo inspired by his dear friend George. Ringo, from his own studio, added his signature, steady drumming. “It was the closest we’ll ever come to having him back in the room,” Starr reflected, the sentiment heavy with love and loss. “So it was very emotional for all of us.”

They even found a way to include George Harrison. The rhythm guitar parts he had recorded back in 1995 were carefully woven into the new arrangement, ensuring that all four Beatles were present on their final record. It was a true reunion, a digital seance that brought the Fab Four together one last time. To complete the track, McCartney and producer Giles Martin crafted a lush string arrangement, a classic Beatles touch that elevated the song from a simple demo to a grand, cinematic farewell.

The release of “Now and Then” in late 2023 was a global event. For millions of fans, it was a moment they never thought would happen—a new song from a band that had defined generations. But beyond the novelty, the track resonated on a profoundly human level. It is a song steeped in melancholy and love, a meditation on the passage of time and the enduring power of friendship. Lennon’s lyrics, “Now and then, I miss you / Oh, now and then, I want you to be there for me,” took on a devastating new meaning.

For Paul McCartney, the entire process was a journey through a lifetime of memories. The bond he shared with John Lennon was one of the most significant artistic partnerships of the 20th century. They were teenagers who conquered the world together, their creative energies pushing and pulling each other to create music that would become immortal. The song’s completion wasn’t just about preserving a legacy; it was about honoring that bond. It was about giving that story a final, beautiful closing chapter. Hearing John’s voice so clearly, so present, was a gift—a beautiful, painful, and ultimately cathartic experience that proved some connections can never truly be broken.