When we think of the Beatles, perhaps the most iconic image is of four young men in suits singing and strumming guitars. When they burst onto the scene in America in 1964, guitar sales exploded; boys started buying them because they wanted that same look, that same attention. The guitar wasn’t just an instrument; it was a ticket to fame and a physical extension of a new kind of creative power.

Some fans have gone even further to secure a connection to those instruments. In May 2024, a collector paid $2.85 million at auction for John Lennon’s 1964 Framus Hootenanny 12-string acoustic—the “lost” guitar heard on Help! and Rubber Soul. That someone would almost three million for a piece of wood with strings speaks volumes about how deeply the guitar is embedded in our cultural memory of what makes a “band.”

Yet, there was a practical reality to the Beatles’ gear. They needed musical accompaniment, and a backup band wasn’t an option. They needed sound to support the vocals—George Harrison might never have been invited into the group if not for his endless practice and his ability to serve as a lead guitarist. While they weren’t classical virtuosos, their musicianship was the essential engine that supported their true gifts: transcendent vocals and songwriting creativity.

The World Has Changed

With today’s technology, playing a traditional instrument is no longer a prerequisite for stardom. In one sense, it never was—throughout history, vocalists like Frank Sinatra or Barbra Streisand built legendary careers on their voices alone, but they still required a physical backing band—musicians standing in the shadows or an orchestra in the pit, playing in real time.

Now, with prerecorded musical backing tracks, you can be a global superstar without needing a band at all. Nowadays, you’re more likely to see a troupe of dancers accompanying a singer than a bassist or a drummer. While Taylor Swift still tours with a full band, many of her contemporaries—Ariana Grande, Billie Eilish, and various other chart-toppers—perform primarily to backing tracks, focusing their energy on choreography and visual spectacle.

This is a massive shift from the evolution of popular music. To understand where we’re headed, it helps to look at where we’ve been. In the early 20th century, the banjo was king because its punchy, percussive sound could cut through a room without electronic amplification. Jazz bands of the 1920s relied on brass; the electric guitar revolution of Chuck Berry and Buddy Holly followed. By the 1980s, synthesizers began to take precedence. Yet, through all these shifts, one thing remained constant: a human being was playing an instrument in real time.

A Recent Revelation

I am not a music snob. I genuinely enjoy today’s pop stars. But lurking in the back of my mind is always the issue of “the band”—or the conspicuous absence thereof.

I recently attended a show by Halsey, a powerhouse performer who blends alternative pop with confessional, hip-hop-influenced lyrics. She actually had a 12-piece band dressed in sharp white suits, but they were hidden on a platform below the right side of the stage. Perhaps 80 percent of the audience didn’t even know they were there. It begs the question: why go to the expense of touring with a dozen professional instrumentalists if you’re going to hide them? It feels like a strange middle ground: keeping the “authenticity” of live musicians while presenting the visual aesthetic of a solo performer.

Contrast this with Post Malone. He tours with no band whatsoever, and frankly, nobody in the arena seems to care. He has genuine charisma that fills the space. At a recent show I saw, about 15 minutes into his set, he sat on a stool and sang a ballad while playing an acoustic guitar. It was a beautiful change of pace after he had come out like a house on fire, singing to prerecorded tracks so loud they rattled my bones, quickly pacing around a stage lit in multiple colors from below.

Then, as the quiet ballad ended, he stood up, raised that guitar high, and smashed it on the ground. He spent a full minute pounding it into the stage until it was nothing left but a pile of splinters and a mess of broken strings.

The Art of Destruction

This routine reminded me of The Who and Pete Townshend’s “auto-destructive art.” Townshend’s guitar smashing began as an accident at the Railway Hotel in 1964 when his guitar neck snapped when he hit is against a low ceiling. When the audience laughed, he reacted in anger and smashed it to smithereens.

It became a signature move, but Townshend’s reasons were complex. He once suggested it was an act of rebellion against his father, a musician who didn’t believe in Pete’s talent. Frontman Roger Daltrey viewed it as a “sacrificial lamb,” describing the “incredible sonic experience” of a guitar screaming as it died. Others connected it to Gustav Metzger’s art movement, protesting consumerism. Eventually, Townshend admitted the act became “meaningless” once it became an expected gimmick, but it cemented the idea that the instrument was a disposable tool in service of the performance.

The Rise of the AI Band

To be fair, multi-instrumentalists still exist. Justin Bieber taught himself drums at age two and eventually mastered the guitar, piano, and trumpet. Yet, his skills feel almost quaint in an era where you don’t need to play anything at all.

Today, technology is moving so fast that “writing” a song doesn’t even require a human. In June 2025, a “psychedelic rock band” called The Velvet Sundown appeared on Spotify, racking up 550,000 monthly listeners. Their bio introduced members like “mellotron sorcerer Gabe Farrow,” but Gabe Farrow doesn’t exist. The band photos are AI-generated, and the music was created using the AI platform Suno. Not a single human played an instrument on those songs.

They are joined by “outlaw country” acts like Aventhis, who has over a million listeners despite being an AI creation with only a human providing the lyrics. These aren’t obscure experiments; they are populating Spotify’s Discover Weekly and generating real revenue. A lot of people are listening, whether or not they realize it’s not real.

The Verdict: The Human Flaw

So, if the Beatles started today, would they use guitars? Would George Martin tell them to ditch the Rickenbackers and work with algorithms? Would Brian Epstein have them focus purely on visual presentation?

I’m not worried, the sky isn’t falling and I don’t believe the musical world is coming to an end. Why? Because the only music that creates a lasting connection is something made from human blood, sweat, and tears. Real music is real because it has flaws. It has the imperfections that come from four young men trying to stay in time with each other, trying to nail a harmony, trying to capture lightning in a bottle before the tape runs out.

The magic of the Beatles wasn’t just the notes; it was the way John’s rhythm guitar locked in with Paul’s bass, or the way Ringo’s drumming propelled them forward with deceptive simplicity. It was the creative friction—the happy accidents. You can hear it on Please Please Me, recorded in a single day while John had a terrible cold. You can hear it on the rooftop concert, where they played in the freezing wind on subpar equipment and delivered something transcendent anyway.

AI can study all of the Beatles songs and generate a track that sounds vaguely like them. But it will always miss the “ghost in the machine”—the moments of genius that arise from collaboration, conflict, and desperation.

The Humanity Requirement

If the Beatles started today, the guitars might be optional, but the humanity wouldn’t be. Post Malone smashes his guitar not because of consumerist protest, but because in that moment, it feels like the right, chaotic human thing to do. That is an impulse that no algorithm can optimize. If the Beatles formed today and became The Beatles, it would still be because four human beings created something that other human beings desperately needed to hear.

The tools have changed. The delivery methods have evolved. But the fundamental equation remains the same: human creativity, expressed through whatever medium feels right, connecting with other humans who recognize something true in what they’re hearing.

The guitars might be optional. The humanity isn’t.

Visit my Beatles Store:

Get full access to Beatles Rewind at beatlesrewind.substack.com/subscribe