In the 2000s, James played backup percussion and guitar for some of his dad’s solo releases, like “Flaming Pie” and “Driving Rain.” He also played lead guitar for his mom on the track “The Light Comes from Within,” on the posthumously released album “Wide Prairie.”
When his mom died in 1998, James admits that his ‘perfect world’ was destroyed.
“When I was 17 I wrote my first song and then Mum was diagnosed with cancer. She died when I was 20 and that’s when I went into a very dark period,” he said. He continued, “I was studying art, photography and English at college. I had spent a lot of time at home with Mum and Dad. I got a bit of flak from the college because I wasn’t really present, but I never regretted spending that time with her.”
James found solace in drugs and alcohol, and distanced himself from the family. Adding to his struggles was his relationship his dad’s new wife, Heather Mills, whom Paul was married to from 2002 to 2008.
“My relationship with Heather was not very good. I didn’t like her. But I wouldn’t want to say anything negative about her because she’s a good mother to Beatrice and that’s the most important thing,” James said, speaking of his baby sister that Paul shares with Mills. “Beatrice is adorable. She’s great, a real joy for the whole family.”
In 2007, when his award-winning dad was hospitalized and had angioplasty surgery, James reconnected with his family. “Dad’s great now but that episode made me realize how important he is to me. He was suffering in his own way [because of his high-profile split from Mills]. He was under stress. In hindsight I wish I’d been more supportive,” James said.
In 2011, Paul married Nancy Shevell, to which James says, “Nancy’s my new mother. I feel that. Definitely. She’s very genuine.”
“I removed myself from my family for a while. Now I want to immerse myself in them,” James shared. “I love Dad so much. I’m in a happy place. I’m not high, which is a good thing. I just want to be the best person I can be.”
Slowly gaining traction as a reputable musician, James released his debut single “Available Light” (2010) and then, collaborated with his dad, who worked as co-producer, James delivered his first album, “Me” in 2013, followed by “The Blackberry Train” in 2016.
Though he lived a mostly private life, he told the BBC in 2012 that as a child, he aimed to be “better than the Beatles.”
“When I got to a certain age, I realized that I was somewhat better than other kids at school at guitar and took pride and enjoyment in that,” James said (as per the Daily Mail).
“I then dreamt of being better than The Beatles. I’m not sure if I can do that. If anything, I would love to be equal to The Beatles–but even that’s quite tough.”
He even revealed he was wanting to reanimate the Beatles with the progeny of the Fab Four, including John Lennon’s son, Sean, son of George, Dhani Harrison, and Ringo Starr’s two boys Zach and Jason Starkey.
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But quickly shutting down the media explosion over a Beatles incarnation, NBC reports that James clarified that it was just a thought. “Well, looks like quite some attention being given to my BBC interview! Honestly, I was just thinking out loud about playing with Beatles family friends, nothing more. My band’s going to be on tour in the UK and US for most of this year, and the shows are going great! I’m so grateful…. Lots of love to you all…!”
Recently, James appeared with his dad and big sisters at the private viewing of the “Paul McCartney 1963-64: Eyes of the Storm” exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery in London.
The exhibition features extraordinary photographs taken by Sir Paul of The Beatles’ early days.
James, looking similar to his famous dad, was dapper in a black suit paired with a white shirt at the star-studded event.
Tossed into the spotlight where he’s vulnerable to criticism, fans shared their harsh opinions of James, who is a recovering addict.
“They look very much alike! I think this is what Paul would’ve looked like (in his heyday) if he was overweight and didn’t look after himself. His son needs to start looking after himself. It seems as though he over eats, probably an alcoholic. And doesn’t look like his hygiene is up to par.”
Many, reacted to the Daily Mail writing on Facebook that James is Handsome: “They have a different standard of what ‘handsome’ is….Yikes!” writes one user, while another said, “I don’t think I would say he was handsome got his dad’s eyes but that’s all.”
Some suggested that James aged poorly: “Sorry to say this but his son looks like his father and his father looks like his son.”
Falling into the minority of cyber citizens defending James, one follower writes, “Wow look at all the women body shaming the poor guy for his looks, if it was a woman they would be all up in arms if there was any negative comments, leave him alone ffs nothing wrong with him….probably gets more women than most men in here too lol.”
Have you heard any music released by James McCartney? Are you more likely to listen to his recordings because he is the son of a musical legend or are you the type of person who prefers independent artists?
Mom Discovers Message from Her Deceased Son After Visiting His Grave
Nancy loved her son Henry more than anything in the world. She couldn’t imagine life without him. It had been 23 years since a tragic accident had taken Henry’s life, but Nancy kept a special tradition alive every year to remember him. On the anniversary of his death, she always baked his favorite pie and took it to his grave.
For 23 years, Nancy, now 61, had never missed a single year. She baked the same pie every time—a simple but delicious apple and cinnamon pie, Henry’s favorite since he was little.
The smell of apples and cinnamon always reminded her of the old days, when Henry would rush into the kitchen with excitement whenever he saw her baking his favorite treat.
It had become their special tradition, one that Nancy kept close to her heart after Henry’s tragic death at 17. The pie was her way of keeping his memory alive. It gave her a small sense of closeness to him, as if she were still doing something special for her boy.
Even though many years had passed, the pain of losing Henry never really went away. But this tradition helped soften the sadness, giving her a little comfort each year.
On this day, like every other year, Nancy carefully carried the pie to Henry’s grave. The dish always felt heavy when she walked toward his resting place. His grave was neat and covered with flowers, a symbol of the love he had left behind.
She knelt by the gravestone, placed the pie gently on top, and spoke quietly. “Henry, I hope you’re at peace. I miss you every day. I baked your favorite pie again. Do you remember how we used to bake it together?” she said, smiling but with tears in her eyes. “I wish we could do that again.”
After a few moments, Nancy kissed her fingers and touched the gravestone softly before saying goodbye and walking away, knowing she would be back next year.
The next day, Nancy went back to Henry’s grave to clean up the leftover pie. Usually, the pie would either be untouched or spoiled by the weather. It was always a bittersweet reminder of Henry’s absence.
But when she got to the grave, something felt different. To her surprise, the plate was empty. Nancy’s heart skipped a beat, and she stood frozen in disbelief.
Then she noticed something else—a small piece of paper on the plate, folded in half.
Her hands shook as she picked it up and opened it. The handwriting was shaky, as if written by someone who struggled to write. The note simply said, “Thank you.”
Nancy’s heart raced with confusion and anger. “Who would take Henry’s pie?” she whispered to herself. She felt upset—this was a tradition just for her son. No one had the right to touch it.
Nancy felt a mix of emotions—outraged and confused. She couldn’t let someone disrespect her ritual. She decided to find out who had taken the pie.
That night, Nancy baked another pie, just like before, using Henry’s favorite apple and cinnamon recipe. The next morning, she returned to Henry’s grave, determined to catch whoever had taken the pie.
She hid behind a nearby tree and waited, watching the grave as time slowly passed.
Finally, after an hour, she saw a small figure approach. It was a young boy, no older than 9, dressed in ragged clothes and with dirt on his face. He walked slowly toward the pie.
Nancy watched carefully. The boy didn’t immediately take the pie. Instead, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a small piece of paper, and began writing something with a pencil, his hand trembling.
It took him a while, but eventually, the boy wrote “Thank you” on the paper, just like the note she had found the day before.
Nancy’s anger melted away. This boy wasn’t stealing; he was just hungry. Her son’s favorite pie had brought him comfort.
When the boy went to pick up the pie, Nancy stepped out from her hiding place, startling him. He dropped the pie, and his face turned pale with fear.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!” he cried. “I was just so hungry, and the pie was so good. Please don’t be mad.”
Nancy’s heart softened. She knelt beside him and said gently, “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m not mad. Where are your parents?”
The boy stayed quiet and shook his head. “What’s your name?” Nancy asked.
“Jimmy,” he whispered, looking down.
Nancy smiled softly and said, “Well, Jimmy, it’s okay. You don’t have to steal. If you’re hungry, you can just ask.”
Jimmy looked up, his eyes filled with hope and doubt. “Really?” he asked.
“Yes, really,” Nancy replied, her heart warmed by the thought. “You don’t have to be afraid.”
She offered him her hand, and slowly, Jimmy took it.
Nancy led him home, and when they got there, she baked a fresh pie for him. As the warm smell filled the kitchen, Jimmy watched in amazement, unable to believe what was happening.
When the pie was ready, Nancy placed it in front of him. “This one’s all for you,” she said.
Jimmy hesitated for a moment before grabbing a slice. His face lit up with happiness as he tasted it. “This is the best pie I’ve ever had,” he said.
Nancy watched him eat, her heart filled with emotion. As he enjoyed the pie, she thought of Henry, remembering how he used to eagerly wait for his first bite.
In a way, she was sharing her love for Henry with this boy, who needed comfort just as much.
As Jimmy finished the last bite, Nancy felt a deep sense of peace. Perhaps, she thought, this was how things were meant to be. Helping Jimmy had brought her a new purpose, a way to honor Henry’s memory by showing kindness to someone in need.
For the first time in years, Nancy felt her grief had led her to something beautiful—something that gave her life new meaning.
She smiled as Jimmy finished the last slice of pie, her heart full of warmth.
As Jimmy wiped his mouth and smiled, Nancy watched him with a quiet sense of peace. The sadness that had clung to her for so long seemed to lift, replaced by a warm feeling she hadn’t known in years. She had given him something small but meaningful, and in return, it had filled the empty space in her heart.
Jimmy looked up at her, his eyes shining with gratitude. “Thank you, Miss Nancy. I… I haven’t eaten like that in a long time.”
Nancy’s heart ached for him. She had been blessed to have the chance to care for Henry, and now, in a way, she was given the chance to care for Jimmy too. She took a deep breath and spoke softly, “You don’t have to thank me, Jimmy. You’re welcome here anytime. If you’re ever hungry, or if you need a place to stay, you come back, okay?”
Jimmy’s eyes filled with tears as he nodded, his small voice cracking with emotion. “I will. I promise.”
As the evening sun began to set, Nancy sat with him for a while, her heart full. For the first time since Henry passed, she felt a sense of hope and connection. Maybe this was the reason why she had kept the tradition alive for so many years—so she could share this love and warmth with someone who needed it most.
Jimmy stood up, his small frame looking a bit taller and stronger now. “I should go, but thank you. I’ll come back soon.”
Nancy watched as he walked down the path, a small smile on his face. Her kitchen, once filled with loneliness and grief, was now quiet but comforting. She glanced at the pie tin, empty except for a few crumbs, and it hit her: In that moment, the pie had been more than just a tradition. It had been an act of kindness that bridged the gap between loss and love.
As she closed the door, Nancy whispered to herself, “Maybe this is what Henry would have wanted. Maybe he sent Jimmy to me, so I could share his favorite pie, and in doing so, share the love that never faded.”
And with that thought, Nancy felt at peace, knowing that her son’s memory would live on—not just in the pie, but in the kindness she passed on to those who needed it most.
The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a soft golden light across the quiet home, as Nancy smiled softly and sat down, ready for whatever tomorrow would bring.
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