“I Never Forgave Michael Jackson”: At 82, Paul McCartney Opens Up About Their Feud

Paul McCartney has faced his share of creative clashes and business betrayals, but none cut as deeply as his rift with Michael Jackson. At 82, McCartney is finally candid about the pain that ended their friendship—a pain that still lingers decades later.

Their story began not with rivalry, but with mutual admiration. In the early 1980s, Jackson, on the cusp of superstardom, reached out to McCartney to collaborate.

They quickly bonded, creating hits like “The Girl Is Mine” and “Say Say Say.” The chemistry was real, with hours spent in the studio, sharing laughs and creative ideas. McCartney saw Jackson as a talented, humble protégé eager to learn.

It was during these friendly sessions that McCartney, always generous with advice, shared the “golden rule” of the music business: the power of music publishing.

He explained how owning song rights—even to music you didn’t write—could generate lifelong wealth. McCartney knew this all too well, having lost control of the Beatles’ catalog years earlier. Jackson listened closely, absorbing every detail.

Then, with a mischievous grin, Jackson told McCartney, “I’m going to get yours.” McCartney laughed it off, thinking it was a joke. But it wasn’t. Just weeks later, McCartney received a call: Jackson had purchased Northern Songs, the company that owned nearly every Beatles song. In a single move, Jackson had outbid McCartney and become the owner of the very catalog McCartney had spent decades trying to reclaim.

The betrayal stung. For McCartney, this wasn’t just a business loss—it was personal. Every time a Beatles song played in a commercial or movie, the decision was now Jackson’s, not McCartney’s.

He had taught Jackson the value of publishing, only to watch him use that knowledge to outmaneuver his mentor.

McCartney tried to reach out, hoping for a conversation or some gesture of goodwill. Jackson never responded. When they finally met face-to-face, McCartney pleaded with Jackson to respect the Beatles’ legacy and avoid over-commercializing their music.

Jackson’s reply was cold: “That’s just business, Paul.” There was no apology, no recognition of what the music meant to its creators. For Jackson, it was a transaction; for McCartney, a deep personal betrayal.

The pain never fully faded. McCartney still references the loss in interviews, documentaries, and offhand remarks. He admits that, as a young man, he hadn’t understood the importance of publishing rights—a mistake he’d spent decades trying to correct. When Jackson, someone he had trusted and mentored, took control of the Beatles’ catalog, it felt like history repeating itself, only this time with no way to undo the damage.

Now, as McCartney reflects on the episode, he doesn’t lash out. He simply acknowledges the hurt, letting the truth settle in the silence. Those close to him know: he never truly forgave Michael Jackson.

The question remains—was Jackson just a brilliant businessman, or did he cross a line that true friendship should have respected? That’s for history, and fans, to decide.