In an age where culture is too often curated by algorithms and performed by holograms, Sir Paul McCartney’s decision to duet with actor Paul Mescal feels like a defiant throwback to an era when music and theatre were not merely consumed but lived. The pairing of a living legend with a recent Oscar-nominee may seem gimmicky to the cynic, but it speaks to something deeper: the stubborn persistence of British artistic heritage in a world that has largely abandoned it.
McCartney, now in his ninth decade, remains the standard-bearer of a musical revolution that began in the dingy clubs of Liverpool and Hamburg. Mescal, the fresh-faced darling of the small screen and stage, represents the new guard – but one that still looks to the past for its emotional anchor. Their collaboration is not a stunt; it is a palimpsest of British cultural memory. It reminds us that before the streaming wars and the TikTok dances, there was the simple, powerful act of one human voice harmonising with another.
This duet arrives at a curious moment. The British music industry, once the envy of the world, now finds itself overshadowed by American hip-hop and K-pop. The charts are dominated by ghostwritten, auto-tuned ephemera. Yet here we have a 82-year-old Beatle and a 27-year-old actor, defying the logic of the marketplace. Why? Because talent, when genuine, refuses to be silenced by trends. McCartney’s voice may be weathered, but it carries the weight of history. Mescal’s, untrained but earnest, brings a vulnerable freshness that complements rather than competes.
Some will scoff at the very notion of a ‘duet’ between a musician and an actor. But this is a man who once sang ‘Yesterday’ to a generation that had lost its innocence. If he can find common ground with a young man known for playing a troubled father in ‘Normal People’, then perhaps our fractured society can learn something. It is a rebuke to the siloed nature of modern celebrity, where pop stars never meet playwrights and footballers never read poetry.
The event itself – staged at the Royal Albert Hall, naturally – was a masterclass in understated grandeur. No pyrotechnics, no backflips. Just two men, a guitar, and a song. The choice of material? ‘The Long and Winding Road’, a McCartney ballad that is itself a meditation on endurance. When Mescal’s voice faltered slightly on the high notes, McCartney did not correct him; he simply sang louder, carrying the younger man on the melody. It was, if you will, a metaphor for mentorship itself.
We must not romanticise this too much. The generation gap remains real. Mescal’s fans may never listen to ‘Ram’ on vinyl, and McCartney’s faithful may never queue for a two-hour film about a sun-drenched Irish holiday. But in that moment, under the chandeliers, they were united. That is the power of heritage: it does not require you to abandon the present, but to remember that the present is built on the past.
Critics will argue that this is mere nostalgia, a comfortable performance for an ageing audience. They miss the point. Nostalgia is a longing for a past that never was; heritage is a living engagement with what actually happened. McCartney and Mescal are not pretending to be young again. They are acknowledging that British music – from the Beatles to the current folk revival – is a continuum. And if that continuum requires a duet between a Scouse knight and a Kildare man, so be it.
Let us hope this is not a one-off. Let us hope it inspires other cross-generational collaborations: a Thom Yorke and a lily-flower of the London stage; a Kate Bush and a grime artist. For if we lose the thread that connects the Beatles to the next great thing, we risk becoming a museum culture, preserved in formaldehyde but devoid of life. McCartney and Mescal have shown us that the thread is still there. All we have to do is pull it.
The long and winding road continues. And thank goodness for that.
