“I Never Forgave Michael Jackson“ – At 82, Paul McCartney Talks On His Feud With Michael Jackson | HO

In the world of music, feuds are as old as fame itself. But few rivalries have left a scar as deep or as personal as the one between Paul McCartney and Michael Jackson—a story of friendship, betrayal, and a business deal that forever altered the course of pop culture. Now, at 82, Sir Paul McCartney is finally ready to talk about the rift that turned a trusted protégé into a lifelong source of pain.

The Mentor and the Prodigy

In the early 1980s, Paul McCartney was already a living legend, his post-Beatles career thriving. Michael Jackson, meanwhile, was an ascending star, on the verge of releasing Thriller, the album that would rewrite the rules of pop. Their paths crossed not through managers or contracts, but through a shared love of music. “You want to make some hits?” Michael reportedly asked. Paul didn’t hesitate.

The chemistry was instant. Together, they created chart-topping duets like “The Girl Is Mine” and “Say Say Say,” and their friendship seemed effortless—two icons from different generations laughing, experimenting, and sharing stories in the studio. “We had a really good time,” Paul would recall years later. “We were very good friends.”

Behind the scenes, Paul saw Michael as brilliant but humble, eager to learn and respectful of his elders. But as time passed, Paul began to sense something else—a quiet, calculating ambition beneath Michael’s charm, a hunger for more than just melodies.

The Golden Rule—and the Fatal Mistake

It was during these creative sessions that Paul, ever the mentor, shared what he considered the “golden rule” of the music business: publishing. Over tea and casual conversation, Paul explained how the real money in music came not just from performing or writing, but from owning the rights to songs. Every time a song played on the radio, appeared in a film, or was covered by another artist, the publishing owner collected a fee.

For Paul, this was more than business advice—it was a hard-won lesson. He had spent years trying to reclaim the rights to the Beatles’ legendary catalog, which had slipped away in his youth. Michael listened intently, absorbing every detail. Then, with a mischievous grin, he said, “I’m going to get yours.” Paul laughed it off, thinking it was a joke between friends.

He was wrong.

The Phone Call That Changed Everything

Just weeks later, Paul’s phone rang. On the line was news that would haunt him for decades: Michael Jackson had bought Northern Songs—the company that owned the rights to nearly every Beatles classic, from “Yesterday” to “Let It Be.” The catalog Paul had spent years trying to reclaim was now under the control of the very man he had mentored.

“I still think he was kidding,” Paul admitted years later. But Michael wasn’t. The young star had outbid everyone, paying $47.5 million for the publishing rights to the Beatles’ songs. Paul was blindsided. Every time a Beatles song was used in a commercial or film, Michael—not Paul—would make the final call.

The sense of betrayal was immediate and profound. Paul hadn’t just lost a business deal; he’d lost something far more personal. “It wasn’t just business,” a close friend of Paul’s told me. “It was a violation of trust.”

A Chance to Save It—Lost

The pain was sharpened by the knowledge that Paul could have reclaimed the catalog himself. He had even discussed partnering with Yoko Ono, John Lennon’s widow, to buy it back. But Yoko hesitated, believing they could get a better price. As they wavered, Michael Jackson swooped in, closing the deal before they could act.

Paul had handed Michael the blueprint for success, taught him the value of publishing, and then watched as Michael used that very knowledge to outmaneuver him. When Paul reached out for a conversation, hoping for an explanation or even a gesture of goodwill, Michael offered nothing but silence.

“That’s Just Business, Paul.”

Unable to let the matter rest, Paul flew to Los Angeles to speak with Michael face-to-face. This wasn’t about revenge or even money. It was about legacy, about respect. Paul explained what the Beatles’ catalog meant—not as a business asset, but as a living testament to the work of four young men who had changed the world.

He pleaded with Michael not to over-commercialize the music, pointing to a recent use of “Revolution” in a sneaker commercial. “We never did commercials,” Paul said. “The music was the message.”

Michael was unmoved. “That’s just business, Paul,” he replied, flatly. No apology. No emotion. For Michael, it was a transaction. For Paul, it was a betrayal that cut deeper than any contract.

After that conversation, the friendship quietly died. There was no public feud, no angry headlines—just a cold, silent drift that would never be repaired.

The Pain of Loss

To this day, Paul McCartney still references the loss in interviews and documentaries. The pain is evident in his voice when he discusses the early mistakes he and John Lennon made, signing away their rights in their youth. The Beatles’ songs passed from company to company, treated as assets rather than memories. Paul spent decades trying to undo the damage, filing paperwork, meeting with lawyers, bidding in silence.

When Michael Jackson—someone Paul had welcomed, trusted, and mentored—took control of Northern Songs, it was history repeating itself. Only this time, there was no legal loophole, no hope of undoing it. It wasn’t theft; it was perfectly legal. But to Paul, it felt like a personal betrayal.

“I do intend to have a word with him,” Paul once said, trying to sound diplomatic. But that conversation never truly happened. By the time Paul was ready, Michael was gone. The pain lingers, unresolved—a final, discordant note in a song that once promised harmony.

The Final Reflection

Paul McCartney has never said the words “I never forgave him” in an interview or a memoir. But those close to him say it’s clear. “He never truly got over it,” says a longtime collaborator. “How could he? He opened his heart and his legacy to someone he trusted, and that person bought it all.”

Michael Jackson wasn’t cruel or confrontational. In fact, he remained gracious and charming to the end. But to Paul, none of that erased the core issue: “It’s also friendship. It’s also morals,” Paul once said—not angrily, just disappointed.

Now, at 82, Paul reflects on the episode with a quiet sadness. He doesn’t lash out or dramatize. He simply lets the truth sit in the silence, knowing those around him already understand. The Beatles’ songs still play on, but the pain of losing them to a friend-turned-rival remains.

Was Michael simply a brilliant businessman, or did he cross a line that true friendship should never allow? For Paul McCartney, the answer is written not in headlines, but in the music—and in the silence that followed.