Introduction

Phil Collins explains why he really doesn't like Paul McCartney

When Rock Royalty Collides: The Day Phil Collins’ Admiration for Paul McCartney Shattered

In the glittering world of rock legends, one might imagine that mutual respect would naturally bind its greatest names. Yet in 2002, an unexpected and awkward encounter at Buckingham Palace drove a lasting wedge between two of Britain’s most celebrated musicians: Paul McCartney, the beloved Beatle whose work helped redefine popular music, and Phil Collins, the Genesis drummer turned solo icon whose voice and songwriting dominated the 1980s.

The setting was the Golden Jubilee celebrations for Queen Elizabeth II—a star-studded gathering of British cultural icons. Collins arrived not just as a guest, but as a lifelong Beatles fan carrying a personal treasure: one of the earliest editions of a Beatles book, hoping McCartney might sign it. To Collins, this was more than memorabilia; it was a symbol of the music that had inspired his career from its earliest days.

What happened next was not the warm exchange Collins had envisioned. Standing with then-wife Heather Mills, McCartney reportedly responded to the autograph request with a remark that, in Collins’ eyes, reduced him to “just another fan.” The casual tone and condescending air of the exchange left Collins feeling dismissed—stripped of his stature as a fellow musician and reminded instead of his place in the shadow of the Beatles’ towering legacy.

Phil Collins reveals 14-year feud with Paul McCartney | Fox News

For Collins, this wasn’t simply a celebrity being curt. It was the painful realization that a personal hero could appear indifferent, even superior, despite sharing the same professional stage. The moment exposed an unspoken hierarchy within rock music—where Beatles alumni seemed to occupy a rarefied, untouchable tier.

Collins kept his feelings largely private for years, until a 2016 interview brought the story to light. The revelation sparked intense discussion in the music press, not only for its gossip value but for what it revealed about fame, ego, and the fragile balance between admiration and equality among artists. McCartney’s subsequent private message to Collins, according to the drummer, felt more like image control than sincere apology—failing to heal the wound.

Today, the two men maintain a polite but frosty distance. Their unresolved tension has become a footnote in British rock history, a cautionary tale about the risks of idolizing anyone too completely. For Phil Collins, it was a moment that forever changed how he viewed not just Paul McCartney, but the very nature of celebrity itself.

Video

You Missed

“The death of Robin Gibb was not simply the result of fame or life’s choices. It was the heartbreaking conclusion of a journey marked by silent battles — struggles written into his very body long before the world ever knew his name. From the start, Robin carried an invisible burden: hereditary illness that made his health fragile. Decades later, doctors revealed the truth — cancer and intestinal complications that slowly stole his strength. Robin faced other challenges too — chronic pain, drastic weight loss, and relentless exhaustion. To cope, he relied on medications and treatments. What began as survival became a cycle: painkillers to endure, sedatives to sleep, and stimulants to keep performing. He didn’t do it for escape — he did it to keep living, to keep singing, to keep his promise to music and to fans. Food brought little comfort in his later years; his weakened body couldn’t fight back. Yet Robin still pushed himself onto stages, his fragile frame carrying a voice that remained achingly beautiful. Could he have been saved? Perhaps, with today’s science and knowledge, things might have been different. But in his time, no one fully understood the toll of genetic illness and relentless pressure. Robin trusted his doctors. He believed treatment would let him continue, if only a little longer. The sorrow deepened within the Gibb family. Barry, the eldest, bore the agony of watching Maurice and then Robin pass away, each loss tearing away a piece of the Bee Gees’ harmony. Robin’s life was a gift — a voice that was fragile yet haunting, carrying love, sorrow, and a rare humanity. But the world often took without seeing the cost. Behind the glittering disco lights stood a man quietly breaking — not from weakness, but from giving everything and asking for nothing. Robin Gibb was not only a star. He was a man of extraordinary talent with a body that betrayed him. He burned so brightly the world still feels his warmth. Yet his light faded far too soon. That is the part of the story we must remember — not only the legend, but the man who gave it all.”