Now and Then: Oliver Murray on Documenting the Legends of Music

Photo courtesy of Goldfinch Entertainment

Few filmmakers have captured the pulse of modern music history quite like Oliver Murray. Over the past six years, the Oxford-born director has carved out a distinctive space at the intersection of film and sound, documenting some of the most influential figures and movements. From his early days making music videos for The Horrors, Fink, Midlake, and Noel Gallagher, Murray’s storytelling has evolved into a deeply human exploration of creativity, legacy and cultural memory.

His recent short film Now and Then: The Last Beatles Song (2023) saw him working alongside Paul McCartney, Ringo Starr, Sean Lennon, and the Harrison estate to tell the story behind the band’s final collaboration – an extraordinary continuation of a legacy first cemented by The Beatles Anthology three decades ago. Under Murray’s direction, that story now finds new life in a completely fresh ‘Episode Nine,’ rich with unseen footage and intimate reflections from Paul, George and Ringo reuniting between 1994 and 1995. 

In just a few short years, Murray’s name has become synonymous with a new wave of music documentary storytelling marked by his collaborations with The Rolling Stones (My Life as a Rolling Stone, 2022), The Beatles, and the late Quincy Jones (They All Came Out to Montreux, 2021/2024). Now turning his lens toward another icon of cultural history, he is developing ICONIC: The Life and Work of Terry O’Neill, a deep dive into the photographer’s remarkable career and complex personal world. 

Speaking to us between projects, Murray reflects on the evolving relationship between music and film, the importance of preserving creative heritage in the age of streaming, and the enduring power of storytelling to connect generations. 

Photo courtesy of Mercury Studios

You’ve spent years telling the stories of some of music’s biggest names from The Beatles, and The Rolling Stones to Quincy Jones. How has that shaped your understanding of popular culture and its evolution?

Now that I’ve come to the end of nearly six years of work, I’ve started to see the connections between those projects. When you tell stories about people who shape arts and culture, you’re really looking at kids with dreams. That is the common thread. Once you start putting people like Paul McCartney or Quincy Jones on a pedestal, you risk losing that emotional connection with them. What I’ve learned is that you can’t simply approach their stories with awe; you have to meet them as people in the same creative arena, just at different stages of the journey. 

Even the greats started as dreamers trying to figure out who they were. They weren't blessed with divine talent, they just had stamina. Over time, history smooths away the rough edges, and we forget the failures and false starts. My job is to put those back in, to remind audiences that these icons were human first. 

Now and Then: The Last Beatles Song offered audiences a rare glimpse behind the curtain of musical history. What did it mean to you personally to help tell that story and to work so closely with the surviving Beatles and their families?

Like everyone else, I was stunned to hear there was still a Beatles song we hadn’t heard. The way it came together, using machine learning to separate John’s vocals from an old demo tape, was extraordinary. He had recorded it on a cassette player sitting on top of a TV, so there was background noise, people in the room, all the imperfections of a moment. 

Getting to tell that story of friendship, creativity, and loss was incredible. It came out at a time when AI was being painted as a threat, but here it was used to reunite the band one last time and to bring back John into the picture. For younger audiences who might not even know why there were only three Beatles in the 1900s, it became an important act of remembrance.

It was also a joy to make something short, direct, and freely available. Apple Corps let it go out on Disney+, MUBI, and over twenty networks worldwide. That kind of openness felt fresh and forward-thinking, and I think The Beatles themselves would have loved that. 

Photo courtesy of Sour Mash Records

You’ve often worked at the intersection of film and music – what draws you to that meeting point?

I used to play music myself before deciding to study art instead. When I came back from school, my friends were in bands like The Horrors and The Vaccines, and my flatmate was on the cover of NME’s ‘Cool List’. I started making music videos for them, which led me into documentaries. 

Music as a medium is always first to experiment and first to take the hit when something goes wrong. Right now, I think the industry is in a fragile place. It’s amazing to tell stories about legends like The Beatles or The Rolling Stones, but it’s sad that the biggest touring acts are still them. There should be hundreds of contemporary artists filling that space, but with small venues dying out, it’s become so much harder for bands to survive. Breaking even is now the victory. That worries me because the whole ecosystem depends on nurturing new talent. 

You’ve spoken before about the importance of cultural institutions. What role do you think they play in today’s creative landscape?

When I made the documentary about Ronnie Scott’s Jazz Club, it really hit me how much we take these institutions for granted. The film came out between lockdowns, and people suddenly understood that if a place like that disappears, it’s gone forever. For years, we assumed they would always be there when we wanted them. But now, there’s a real consciousness about showing up and supporting them. When artists thank an audience for coming these days, they genuinely mean it. The whole experience feels more precious now.

Your next project, ICONIC: The Life and Work of Terry O’Neill, explores the life of one of Britain’s most celebrated photographers. What about O’Neill’s story compelled you to make it your next subject, and what direction are you taking with the film?

I want to celebrate Terry as a journalist with a camera. While his peers took to music, he turned to photography as his way of documenting a cultural revolution. He captured the golden age of Hollywood and the rise of Fleet Street photography before it descended into paparazzi culture. What I love about Terry’s work is that his portraits were both artistic and deeply human. He could set up a shot that felt perfectly composed but also revealed who that person really was. It’s still early days, but we’re filming interviews and gathering material, and it’s shaping up to be a true celebration of his craft and era. 

Photo courtesy of Apple Corps / Universal Music Group

Looking ahead, what do you hope audiences take away from your body of work and how do you see your role evolving as both a filmmaker and cultural historian?

I hope people see that all of these stories, where it’s McCartney, Jagger, or Quincy Jones, are about persistence and self-belief. They were all just kids with a dream who refused to give up. That’s the thread that runs through everything I've made. I’ve been incredibly lucky to tell these stories at a time when there was a real appetite for them. But what I take away most is that lesson of intent: if you don’t believe in what you’re making, no one else will. 

What advice would you give to early filmmakers and students? 

Take yourself seriously, but not arrogantly. If you’re putting something into the world, make sure you love it, because if it connects, people will ask you to do it again. Don’t chase trends or make something tactical; make the thing you actually want to make. It might take longer to find your audience, but it will be on your own terms. And when someone likes your early work, don’t brush it off. Stand by it. Mean it.