Pete Best has officially announced his retirement from live performances, and while the world may remember him most as the Beatles’ original drummer, there’s much more to his story than that one line in history books. For those of us who’ve followed his journey beyond the Cavern Club years, this moment feels both fitting and quietly profound.
Pete Best, now 82, shared his decision with the same straightforward humility that’s marked much of his public life since stepping away from the stage. “It’s time,” he wrote in a simple statement, adding that the recent death of his bandmate from the Pete Best Band, Roag, played a role in his decision to pause and reflect. After decades of touring, storytelling, and keeping the early legacy of the Beatles alive in his way, Pete Best is finally taking a bow.
If you’re reading this, chances are you already know the headline of Pete Best’s life — the drummer who was with the Beatles before Ringo Starr, the man famously replaced in 1962 just before the band exploded into global superstardom. It’s one of the most well-known “what ifs” in rock history. But what often gets lost in that narrative is the quiet resilience of the man himself. Pete Best didn’t fade away. He didn’t disappear into bitterness. He endured, he adapted, and eventually, he found peace with the way his path unfolded.
In recent years, Best’s legacy has been reclaimed as a foundational part of the Beatles’ earliest and most formative years. He played with them in Hamburg, endured those grueling sets night after night, and helped shape their earliest sound. He was there when they were rough, unpolished, still becoming. That counts for more than some give credit for.
After being let go in 1962, Best kept playing. He formed his bands, worked regular jobs, and raised a family. For a time, he stepped away from music entirely. But the love for it never really left him. In the ’80s and ’90s, he returned to performing, telling his story through rhythm rather than revenge. The Pete Best Band toured extensively, and audiences were never just coming to see “the guy who got kicked out of the Beatles.” They came to hear his music, to witness his version of history through the songs and the stories between them.
What made Pete Best compelling wasn’t just the history he carried; it was the dignity with which he carried it. He didn’t lash out. He didn’t try to rewrite the past. He let time do what it does best: soften the edges, fill in the gaps, reveal what was always there.
He also finally saw some recognition for his role in the Beatles’ early years. In 1995, when the band released their Anthology collection, Best received royalties for the tracks he had played on. It was, perhaps, a small but meaningful gesture: a long overdue acknowledgment that his drumming, his presence, was a part of their DNA.
Now, as Pete Best retires from the stage, it’s not with the clamor of the spotlight or headlines. It’s quiet. Gentle. Honest. He’s stepping away after giving decades of himself to music, to storytelling, and to a legacy he helped build, even if he didn’t ride the wave with the others.
I think about how easy it would’ve been to carry that early rejection as a burden. But that’s not the story Pete Best told. Instead, he lived a life of balance. He toured. He played. He laughed. And he allowed people to see a version of the Beatles’ story that didn’t end in August 1962.
There’s a lot of talk about timing when it comes to music. Pete Best’s timing, in the literal and figurative sense, shaped some of the most important pre-fame chapters of the biggest band in the world. That shouldn’t be overlooked.
As he steps away from the stage, it feels right to pause and give him the respect he deserves for not only contributing to one of the greatest band’s in history, but also for his enthusiasm towards the instrument.
So here’s to Pete Best, a great musician, a storyteller, and someone who, even after the loudest chapter ended, kept on playing. And maybe that’s what defines him best.