When people talk about The Beatles, the conversation tends to orbit around familiar themes: the Lennon-McCartney songwriting engine, George Harrison’s understated genius, and the band’s cultural impact on a generation. But if you ask drummers: real drummers, the ones who’ve spent decades behind a kit, many will tell you that the secret glue in all of it was Ringo Starr. He was the steady pulse, the one who made the band feel like a single unit rather than four separate players.
That’s not just fan nostalgia, it’s a view shared by Max Weinberg and Sheila E., two respected figures in the world of percussion. Both spoke recently about Starr’s influence and why, even decades later, he remains one of the most quietly revolutionary drummers in modern music.
Weinberg, who has anchored Bruce Springsteen’s E Street Band for most of his career, sees Ringo not as a flashy technician, but as a musician whose playing served the songs perfectly. “Listen to those tom fills,” he said, specifically referencing “With a Little Help from My Friends.” It wasn’t just what Ringo played, it was when and how he played it. Each stroke felt like it belonged in only one place, and that kind of placement is harder to master than it sounds.
Sheila E., known for her virtuosic work with Prince and a long list of other artists, brought a different layer to the conversation. She toured with Ringo Starr in his All-Starr Band, getting a firsthand look at how he interacts with other musicians, both on and off the stage. “He told me once that I made him a better drummer,” she said, a statement that surprised her as much as it moved her. From someone whose drumming had influenced generations, the humility in that remark said a lot.
Both musicians pushed back against the often-repeated criticism that Starr wasn’t technically sophisticated. That argument, they said, completely misses the point. His contributions weren’t about complex polyrhythms or showmanship. His value came from knowing exactly what not to play and doing it consistently. There was no ego on his part. He never tried to play over a lyric. He never made himself louder than the song. For drummers who understand the importance of restraint, that kind of consistency is gold.
In a world where modern drumming often leans into spectacle: speed, volume, and jaw-dropping solos, Ringo’s style is a masterclass in subtlety. His grooves had intention. His fills had personality. And his presence always felt like it was built for the benefit of the band, not the individual behind the kit.
What stood out to Weinberg was the musicality Starr brought to each part. It wasn’t just rhythm, it was composition. And that kind of thinking: drumming as songwriting is what separates the good from the legendary.
Sheila E. echoed that sentiment, noting that Ringo’s deep listening and awareness during performances created space for others to shine. His leadership wasn’t loud or dominant. It was built on feel, intuition, and an unshakable sense of timing. “He listens more than he plays,” she said, summing up the kind of awareness many drummers aspire to but rarely achieve.
Ringo Starr didn’t redefine what drums could do in terms of speed or complexity. He redefined what they were for. He made the case that a drummer’s job wasn’t just to keep the beat—it was to serve the song, to make it breathe, to know when to hold back and when to let go.
And perhaps that’s what makes his legacy endure. He didn’t just play drums for The Beatles. He helped define what it means to be a drummer in a band. That influence, felt deeply by peers like Weinberg and Sheila E., continues to echo in studios, stages, and rehearsal rooms around the world.