There is something almost sacred about hearing new music from The Beatles in our time. “Now and Then”, released decades after their last recordings together, feels a whisper from the past less like a comeback and more like a closing chapter made whole in the present.
The song began as a fragment, a home demo by John Lennon, fragile and unfinished, his voice like a ghost carried on tape. Years later, with the help of technology and the unshakable devotion of Paul McCartney, Ringo Starr, and the memory of George Harrison, that fragment has been transformed into a fully realized ballad.
The result is haunting, tender, and profoundly moving. The lyrics speak of distance, of love enduring through time and loss. “Now and then I miss you” carries more than just the ache of romance it echoes the bond between friends who shared the world’s stage and those of us who have lived with their music for a lifetime. It is about memory, absence, and the kind of love that refuses to fade, even when the people themselves are gone.
Musically, the song is restrained. The arrangement doesn’t try to recreate the exuberance of “She Loves You” or the experimentation of “Tomorrow Never Knows.” Instead, it leans into intimacy gentle piano, subtle guitar, Ringo’s steady touch on the drums, and Paul’s harmonies wrapping around John’s voice like a final embrace.
It is not The Beatles of youth, but The Beatles of legacy. What makes “Now and Then” so powerful is not only what it is, but what it represents. It is a bridge across decades, a reminder that music can outlive time itself. For fans, it feels like being given one last conversation with old friends, one more chance to hear them together – fragile, beautiful, and whole. In the end, “Now and Then” is not just The Beatles’ last song. It is a farewell, a thank-you, and a testament to the enduring power of love and memory.
