Paul McCartney 3,2,1 with Rick Rubin - A New Perspective

🎵 Documentary 📅 2021 ✍️
The BeatlesRick RubinDocumentaryMcCartney IIInterviewProduction

The Unexpected Trigger

Riding my bike back from work, “A Hard Day’s Night” got stuck in my head. Not particularly important which song it was—just Beatles brain worms doing their thing.

But it sparked something: the memory of the sound and production quality of McCartney 3,2,1, the Hulu documentary series with Rick Rubin from 2021.

How Rick Rubin Made McCartney Special

I’m not even a McCartney fan. Never was.

But Rick Rubin’s interview style did something remarkable: he made McCartney special in a way that McCartney never was to me before.

The documentary struck me when it came out. Rubin’s reverent but probing questions, the way he isolated tracks from Beatles recordings, how he let McCartney deconstruct his own genius without fanfare—it revealed layers I’d never bothered to look for.

Rubin’s genius: He didn’t fawn. He didn’t gush. He asked technical questions, isolated vocal tracks, asked “how did you think of that?” He treated McCartney like a craftsman, not a legend. And that made the legend visible.

Synchronicity: The NY Times Playlist

By chance, one day ago, The New York Times Amplifier newsletter released a playlist:

“13 Transcendent Beatles Covers by Black Musicians”

Listen on Spotify

The timing felt like a nudge. Beatles in my head. Rubin’s documentary lingering. Now this playlist showing how Black musicians—whose music the Beatles borrowed from—transformed Beatles songs back into something new.

It’s all circling back.

Time to Give McCartney Another Go

This reflection crystallized something: it’s time to give McCartney another go.

Specifically, to explore McCartney II (1980)—his most experimental solo album, the one that caught my attention but I never fully investigated.

The album that doesn’t try to be Wings, doesn’t try to be Beatles, doesn’t try to be anything except Paul McCartney alone with synthesizers and drum machines in his home studio.

If Rubin showed me the craftsman behind the legend, maybe McCartney II shows the experimenter behind the craftsman.

What Changed

Before: McCartney was background noise. The cute Beatle. Wings. “Silly Love Songs.” The one who kept touring.

After 3,2,1: McCartney is a meticulous producer, a melodic architect, someone who hears bass lines in his head before writing the chords, who builds songs from rhythm up.

Rubin didn’t convince me by arguing. He just let McCartney demonstrate by deconstructing his own work.

Next Steps

  1. Listen to McCartney II with fresh ears
  2. Revisit 3,2,1 with the NY Times playlist in mind
  3. Explore the covers playlist to hear the Beatles through Black musicians’ interpretations
  4. Track the influence loop: Black R&B → Beatles → Black musicians covering Beatles

This is about curiosity, not conversion. I’m not trying to become a McCartney fan. I’m trying to understand what I missed.

The Rick Rubin Effect

Rubin has done this before: made me reconsider artists I’d dismissed.

His podcast interviews, his production work, his documentaries—they all share a quality: respectful deconstruction.

He doesn’t hype. He dissects. And in the dissection, you see the architecture you couldn’t see when the building was whole.

Final Thought

Sometimes appreciation comes sideways: not from the artist directly, but from someone showing you how to look.

Rubin showed me how to look at McCartney. The bike ride and the NY Times playlist reminded me I never followed through.

Time to listen to McCartney II and see what the experimenter sounds like.

Watch: McCartney 3,2,1 (Hulu, 2021) Listen: 13 Transcendent Beatles Covers by Black Musicians Next: McCartney II (1980)

Triggered by a bike ride, February 2026 “Rick Rubin made McCartney interesting. Time to follow through.”