album

The summer rain in Mexico City has been driving Meme del Real crazy. “This season of permanent torrential downpour gets to a point where you’re like, ‘Enough,’ he says with a sigh. “There’s people who really enjoy it, but I’m done. It’s too much introspection to be in here all day, to not be able to go outside. It forces you to try other things, to find a conversation within that rather than a resistance.”

Surrender has been a big theme lately in the life of the longtime vocalist and keyboardist of legendary Mexican alt-rock group Café Tacvba. Del Real — a Swiss Army Knife of a musician who has produced for the likes of Julieta Venegas and Natalia Lafourcade, among others — has been unpacking his life after a recent move back to the Mexican capital, after five years in the idyllic Valle de Bravo. About two hours away from CDMX, the lakeside town became his district of solitude.

It was in this escape from city life that the singer-songwriter was able to be quiet enough to tap into something beyond himself. With his own studio, a broad space overlooking a forest, he had the mental space to look inward. Perhaps more importantly, he gave himself permission to welcome the inspiration that arrived without him seeking it.

“It’s not that I went to this place and said, ‘OK, now I’m going to find inspiration.’ It was more of a tension within myself that naturally unraveled,” says Meme of his “Walden” moment. “From that exercise of exploring old songs and ideas in process, something started to bloom within me in a way that had never happened before. It was a moment that invited me into a solitary process that I hadn’t undertaken with any formality or intention. If these songs have anything to do with where I was physically at the time, I do think that distance I had from everything manifested itself as music.”

The songs on Del Real’s first solo album — the title yet to be revealed — plumb the depths of silence and sonic expansion. He is unpretentious in his experiments and unafraid to get playful. “Tumbos” is a warbling electronic love song intercepted at times by plinking bachata strings. Del Real swelters on futuristic bolero “Incomprensible,” which takes the old-school Cuban torch-song genre and pitches its emblematic guitar to psychedelic new heights. Atmosphere is everything here: Two of the soon-to-be-released tracks border on ambient, zeroing in on the sounds of church bells and chirping birds and the expansive feeling of mushrooms blooming across a forest floor.

These little mountains of fire blaze with a gentle heat emanating from Del Real’s voice. Die-hards and casual fans of Café Tacvba have heard “Eres” at least in passing, a smash from the group’s 2003 album, “Cuatro Caminos,” that features Del Real on lead vocals. He’s still singing about love: Careening norteña-inspired “Embeces” sees Del Real’s voice soar over warbled trumpets, and lead single “Princesa” layers cinematic orchestration with trip-hop beats and sweltering lyrics about failed promises and proclamations of loyalty.

For those who can’t get enough, Del Real is set to preview some of the new music with a special performance on Sept. 2 at the Grammy Museum.

“These songs arrived, and I couldn’t look the other way. It was an instinct that was stronger than me, a now-or-never moment,” says Del Real. “I’ve found that every unknown and every challenge has left me with a lesson. When I’m onstage [with Café Tacvba], I play and sing, but I also love to dance and express myself with my body. Before we can play, when we’re children, we hear a rhythm and dance. It doesn’t matter if you look ridiculous, but you made something. It’s better to make a fool of yourself and experiment rather than not live what you’re feeling.”

De Los spoke with Del Real over Zoom from Mexico City as he’s settling into a number of beginnings: a new home, a new daily rhythm and his first solo project, which is out next month.

There are so many places where artists go to isolate and channel, but you weren’t looking for that at all. Listening to the album, I heard the parallels between the songs and the space that natural environments bring. There are two tracks that border on ambient, focusing on the sounds of a church bell and a small sound that grows into an encompassing roar.
The creative act is intuitive and spontaneous, and I think it makes a symmetry with the cycles and forms of nature. Having such a tangible way to witness creation left a deep impression on me, to be in such an exuberant forest coexisting with so much.

How was making this solo record different from making a Café Tacvba record?
I have a certain experience of creation with the band — of making an album, a project, a video, a tour, a spectacle — but these songs manifested themselves almost like they rose out of the floor to meet me. At my old house, the studio I made was surrounded by a massive forest. I really felt like I was yet another element of nature in that cycle of life that I had to live there. Something bloomed in that moment for me. More than the result, the experience itself for me was its own project, and it’s been so personally valuable to me that anything that comes of that is a consequence, an extra gift. The process was transformative, like nature itself, something that couldn’t be controlled or manipulated.

I love that you describe the songs as arriving; that’s very different than creating with the intention of connecting to a muse. To your point about movement, there’s so much of it here: bachata, cumbia, electronic music … so much to dance to.
Everything you describe came about very organically. My dad was a musician, and he devoted his life to music. At home, my mom and dad and siblings and I all grew up hearing a lot of music across genres. I got very familiar. Watching my dad [on the trumpet] with his orchestra play at parties, specifically all of these formal Latin American genres to dance to …

When I started making the songs, the genres rose out pretty organically. If it came out sounding like Ministry or a norteña or a bolero or disco or punk, then that’s what it was. If creating doesn’t have that playful factor, if it doesn’t translate honesty, then it becomes so intellectualized. I think it’s a balance between spontaneity, a game between the organic, the intellectual, the conceptual. When I listened to all the songs, I really didn’t know if it was an album. I approached Gustavo Santaolalla [Godfather of Latin rock] to get his feedback, and that’s when it became clear to me that something was happening.

The songs were there, as I built them there in this place I described to you, like beyond just composing on guitar, piano and making a demo, it was like, “Well, what if I add something else?” I started experimenting, and before I knew it, there were already quite robust and complex arrangements in most of them. But another thing is that, when I [would] bring a demo to [Café Tacvba], I [would] sing it, and that [was] it. But in this case, the same thing. Gustavo told me, “Hey, one of the things that’s interesting is the way you’re singing … What’s happening on a vocal level, that seems to me to be revealing a very clear picture of you at this moment.” So, nothing, it stayed that way.

When I was trying to find the throughline here, I was thinking about the subject matter: There’s a lot of love and yearning here. Would you consider yourself a romantic?
Based on some interviews I’ve been doing, they haven’t asked me this question, but the term “romantic” has come up. And it’s not that I’ve thought about it or assumed it, but I think that if romantic means, in my case, finding a translation of what I feel and what I reflect on and resonating well with it, then yes.

I’ve also found myself — who hasn’t in these times? — being attentive and reflecting on the issues that are happening around the world, all the horrors of certain situations and in certain regions. But I definitely find that there is beauty in human relationships or in personal relationships, in relationships with your personal, universal, cosmic or internal ecosystem, with paradoxes, with what is opposed. I don’t know if that’s romantic, but that’s it. Even at the end of the world, in the midst of so much horror, love and beauty are the things that give us the desire to want to go on, right?

This album is so sonically forward-thinking, and I’d say it’s aligned to the current zeitgeist of genre mixing. Where do you situate it?
I am also very attracted to the way in which I don’t understand much of what is happening with these new generations and all the music, all the art and creation that is taking place. It seems that, as in other eras, attention was focused on the situations that were happening around them, socially and politically, and there was a lot of talk about it and criticism was made. Today, it seems that this generation is not observing that, but I have discovered in my theory that discourse is more powerful precisely because it is not talked about directly, but rather it is talked about as, “I am going to have a good time and enjoy it because this is coming to an end … I have no choice but to take what I have and what I can do and what I can experience with my gang, with my people, and with this global digital community.”

I find that very powerful and very sad at the same time. I mean, it’s very sad to think that there is a generation that sees the world as ending. That’s my take on it — that there’s little hope, that everything is so complex that it’s better not to look at that. “Just look at what’s in front of me, because I’m young and because if I don’t take advantage of my youth to have a good time right now, I don’t know if I’ll make it to the next stage. Or I don’t see how.”

In our time, at least in my time, I think there was more. The outlook was clearer. You could see further ahead.

This interview was conducted in Spanish, translated, edited and condensed for clarity.

Nearly 40 years into Deftones’ career, the Sacramento-bred band are anything but a legacy act. As proved by the visceral allegiance from countless fans half their age thrashing at their feet as they perform on stage, the band continues to be as explosive as they were when they conquered the Warped Tour in the late ‘90s.

The band’s late-era surge in popularity with generations of fans who missed their first (and second) go-round inspires and surprises them.

“It does freak me out when I sit back and, in retrospect, think about it,” Chino Moreno says of Deftones’ longevity. Sitting backstage in a Victoria, Canada, arena during a break from the band’s pre-tour rehearsal, kicking off in Vancouver on Friday, Moreno, 52, is relaxed as he discusses their place in the hard rock landscape.

Since roughly 2022, the singer has noticed that the crowds at some of the band’s meet and greets were younger. In some cases, fans in their teens and early 20s were introducing their parents to the band’s catalog, including their turn-of-the-century classic, “White Pony.”

That stature has only grown as elements of Deftones’ amorphously aggressive sound, which has elements of post-hardcore, trip hop and, most relevant to their revival, shoegaze, have attracted a much younger audience. They’ve broken out from being a cult and critical favorite from the nü-metal scene to being widely appreciated as one of the most important and influential bands of that era.

“I’m not a big social media person,” Moreno says of the medium that’s enabled a new generation to discover Deftones. “There are positive sides to it, like amongst all the noise, you can share music. It is neat that everybody’s much more connected to be able to share it like that.”

Yet, he’s aware that based on the online resurgence, Deftones don’t have to release a new album. Even so, seeing this influx of a younger fan base invigorated the band. It has driven the band to push themselves not just on stage, but in the studio.

Chino Moreno of Deftones performs at the Kia Forum on March 5, 2025.

(Clementine Ruiz)

“Having this whole new generation of eyes on us and more attention now than we’ve had in decades. So why not embrace it?” he says. “I love that I met a lot of parents and children, fathers and daughters, and they’re at the show together as a bonding experience, and to talk about some type of art you both connected over … it’s really cool.”

The band also knew that if they were going to write and record, it had to be for the right reasons.

Recording “can’t be where the label needs [the album], or we need money,” Moreno explains. “We’ve made records under those circumstances before, and it sucks the fun out of the experience. We’re bratty in that way where we only want to do something if it’s something we want to do. The minute someone tells us we have to do it, then we fight it.”

With the band’s members now scattered across the U.S., Deftones couldn’t wait to get back into the studio together, just like they did as teens when they had a space that felt more like a clubhouse. As Moreno puts it, it excited them to be able to “experiment and hang out together. Locking ourselves in a room for six hours a day, five days a week, was fun. It was like going back into the clubhouse again.”

With “Private Music,” Deftones once again joined forces with Nick Raskulinecz, who produced “Diamond Eyes” and 2012’s “Koi No Yokan” (“Dude, we have to finish the trifecta!” Moreno says he told Raskulinecz whenever they’d see each other.) Throughout the last year and a half, the band and Raskulinecz worked together through a variety of sessions before deciding on the 11 songs that constitute the album. Without a definitive timetable to release their 10th studio album, it allowed for a much more relaxed and enjoyable atmosphere than before. That said, the time between 2020’s “Ohms” and “Private Music” was the longest span between Deftones albums.

“We’re in a mind frame where it’s like we don’t have to make a record,” he says. “It gave us a kick in the butt. If people are talking about us holding us to a certain standard and pushing ourselves. So the fact that we’re gonna do it, we might as well make it great.”

A band this far into its career is generally in their victory-lap era. Write, record, release an album, go on tour, play mostly the hits, sprinkle in a new song, repeat. Not Deftones. Throughout this album, which is another significant achievement, the band mixes the moody and melodic to create a genre-bending album full of fire and fury. Look no further than the equally bombastic “My Mind Is a Mountain” and “Locked Club,” the menacing “Ecdysis,” the soaring Moreno-powered “I Think About You All the Time,” and the push-and-pull of the methodical “cxz.” Throughout the sessions, which included three additional songs left in various states, Deftones wrote and recorded batches of songs in different locations, which Moreno says allowed for a respective track to have its own sonic personality as a product of its environment.

“‘I Think About You All the Time’ was written in Malibu at 8 in the morning and was pretty fast,” he says. “We put it aside then, after dinner that night, we made some coffee and went out and finished it. Whereas with ‘Ecdysis,’ it was the last song we wrote, and it was while we were in the studio. We were looking at our collection of songs that we already had and just going, like, ‘OK, where does it fit within this batch of songs?’ We wanted something jagged and also a little weird that was more experimental but with an aggressive approach.”

As their tours have gotten bigger, external factors have given the band a new appreciation for their ongoing success. During the band’s 2024 Coachella appearance, guitarist Stephen Carpenter felt his performance wasn’t up to his standard, telling Zane Lowe of Apple Radio that he was “completely out of it for both shows. I barely had enough energy to stand up. All I could think about during those shows was, ‘Please, just don’t fall over on stage.’” Later, he’d find out that he has Type II diabetes.

A few years before Carpenter learned of his health issues, Moreno got sober. Those changes enabled the bandmates, friends since they were teens, to become even closer, despite any misconceived notion that they’ve been at odds. Though Carpenter doesn’t travel internationally with Deftones due to his condition, when the band was on the road in the States earlier this year, he and Moreno were busmates. They pushed each other to remain on their respective lifestyle-changing tracks.

“I think we’re both very proud of each other,” Moreno says of their changes. “He is so on it. He’s an obsessive person about a lot of things, and now he’s obsessed about his blood sugar and about his health. It’s parallel to my sobriety. So we get on the bus after a show, and we’re all into our diet. With my sobriety, I think he sees me being a better version of myself.”

Deftones perform at Kia Forum.

(Clementine Ruiz)

“Private Music” stands not just as a wonderfully cohesive riff-heavy body of work with a relentless energy that is the next shapeshifting step in the Deftones catalog, but is also a well-balanced album. It’s a logical sonic step for the Deftones universe. The band has also been building its annual Dia de Los Deftones festival. The lineup for the sixth edition, taking place in November in San Diego, includes Virginia Beach, Va., hip-hop heroes Clipse, beloved metal band Deafheaven, Rico Nasty, 2hollis and more. Comparing curating the festival to compiling a mixtape, Deftones is the common thread that ties these diverse artists together, which Moreno calls “a fun experiment.”

Decades later, it’s Deftones’ music and adventurous sonic spirit that keep the crowds coming back, anticipating the group’s next move. It’s allowed them to gradually build on successes without being weighed down by the past. Now, it’s moved so quickly and exponentially that they’ve barely had time to catch their collective breath — with another stretch of arena dates and a pair of co-headlining stadium shows with System of a Down on the docket.

“I’m excited to be busy,” Moreno says. “I’m the type of person who has been lucky enough to have done this for pretty much all of my adult life. We didn’t get to go out and tour ‘Ohms’ after it was released, and this is such a different time. I really love this batch of songs, so I’m eager to go play them and stay busy for the next couple of years.”

Brent Hinds, who sang and played guitar in the Grammy-winning metal band Mastodon until he left the group this year, died Wednesday night in a motorcycle crash in Atlanta. He was 51.

His death was reported by Atlanta’s WANF, which cited a police report that said Hinds was riding a Harley-Davidson motorcycle when he was struck by an SUV whose driver had failed to yield while making a turn. Hinds was pronounced dead at the scene, police said.

In an Instagram post, Hinds’ former bandmates said they were “in a state of unfathomable sadness and grief” and that they were “still trying to process the loss of this creative force with whom we’ve shared so many triumphs, milestones, and the creation of music that has touched the hearts of so many.”

Known for its complicated riffs and its high-concept storytelling, Mastodon built a large and devoted audience with intricately plotted albums about illness, suicide and “Moby-Dick.” The band’s music drew clear inspiration from Black Sabbath and Slayer and influenced subsequent metal acts like Baroness and Pallbearer.

Yet Bill Kelliher, Mastodon’s other guitarist, said, “We’re not really a metal band,” during an interview with The Times in 2017. “I feel we’re more like a really heavy, groovy rock band with some prog elements and some pretty deep emotional lyrics. They’re loosely based on tragedy and things that really shake up human beings in real life.”

Mastodon formed in 2000 and made two albums for the respected indie label Relapse Records — including 2004’s “Moby-Dick”-steeped “Leviathan,” which Hinds told the New York Times allegorized “the struggle between man and music” — before signing to the Warner Music imprint Reprise for 2006’s “Blood Mountain,” which earned a Grammy nomination for best metal performance.

The band — in which Hinds, bassist Troy Sanders and drummer Brann Dailor took turns as lead singer — made five more LPs for Reprise; “Sultan’s Curse,” from 2017’s “Emperor of Sand,” won a Grammy for best metal performance. Mastodon’s most recent album, “Hushed and Grim,” came out in 2021.

Hinds grew up in Birmingham, Ala., where he learned to play the banjo before turning to guitar. In a 2009 interview with the Guardian, he described his younger self as “a total hellion” and said he was “very dysfunctional at school.” He added that he would “take LSD and come to class still tripping. I was too creative, never doing my homework, just filling my notepad up with drawings of skulls.”

He met Sanders when the latter came to Birmingham to play with an earlier band; Hinds soon moved to Atlanta to make music with Sanders, then the two formed Mastodon with Kelliher and Dailor. In 2009, Mastodon played the Coachella festival and toured with Metallica; six years later, Hinds appeared as an extra in an episode of HBO’s “Game of Thrones.”

In March, Mastodon announced that Hinds had left the band in a statement that said they’d “mutually decided to part ways.” Yet Hinds later wrote on Instagram that his former bandmates, whom he called “horrible humans,” had fired him “for embarrassing them for being who I am.” He went on to accuse them of using Auto-Tune in the studio and said he had “never met three people that were so full of themselves.”

Information on Hinds’ survivors wasn’t immediately available.

Next year’s Grammys will be yet another ceremony where a blockbuster Morgan Wallen album will not take home any awards.

The country music megastar declined to submit his bestselling “I’m the Problem” for Grammy consideration, according to Hits Daily Double and Billboard, who first reported the news. The LP, featuring singles like “Love Somebody” and “What I Want,” debuted in May at No. 1 and has spent 11 weeks and counting atop the Billboard 200 album charts.

Wallen did not give a reason for declining to submit the LP. Despite being the biggest contemporary star in a commercially ascendant genre, Wallen has always had a contentious relationship with Grammy voters.

A month after the 2021 release of his second studio album, the massive hit “Dangerous: The Double Album,” Wallen was filmed using a racial slur and was briefly shunned by the music industry. He later pleaded guilty to a misdemeanor in 2024 after throwing a chair off a rooftop bar in Nashville.

“I’ve touched base with Nashville law enforcement, my family, and the good people at Chief’s. I’m not proud of my behavior, and I accept responsibility,” he wrote on social media at the time. He more recently turned heads for a testy exit from the stage at a “Saturday Night Live” taping.

While he quickly returned to selling out stadiums and dominating pop and country charts, his records never regained traction with Recording Academy voters, even as country music redoubled its critical and popular acclaim in recent years. Wallen’s only previous nominations came from his duet with Post Malone, “I Had Some Help.”

Almost 10 years to the day after a show at the Troubadour that marked the release of her album “Emotion,” Carly Rae Jepsen brought the 2015 LP back to the same West Hollywood club on Tuesday night for a sold-out one-off gig in which she played “Emotion” from beginning to end. The follow-up to Jepsen’s un-follow-uppable 2012 smash “Call Me Maybe,” “Emotion” wasn’t exactly the hit the singer and her team were hoping for. Yet over time, the album — which Jepsen made with a host of hip producers and songwriters including Rostam, Ariel Rechtshaid and Blood Orange’s Dev Hynes — became a cult favorite beloved for its squirmy ’80s R&B grooves and its tone of unabashed yearning. “We are blown away,” Jepsen, 39, said as the crowd loudly welcomed her and her band to the stage. Here are nine highlights from the show:

1. You knew the audience was in Jepsen’s pocket when, even before she came out, fans cheered the sight of a stagehand gripping a saxophone — the instrument whose silky wail opens “Emotion” like a siren call for unrequited lovers.

2. One of Jepsen’s most effective tricks as a pop sort-of-star is the modesty of her presentation, which lends a crucial believability to her many songs about feeling overwhelmed. Here, for instance, she used an electric fan — but a very small one — to blow her hair around just a little during “I Really Like You.”

3. After “Making the Most of the Night” — which, according to the internet, she hadn’t played live since 2018 — Jepsen talked about moving to Los Angeles from her native Canada when she was 26. “I had brought a little suitcase, and I kept calling my parents and saying, ‘Send more clothes!’” she said. “Five years later, I was like, I think I live here now. I’m very happy to say L.A. has become my home.”

Carly Rae Jepsen sang her 2015 album “Emotion” from beginning to end.

(Jasmine Safaeian)

4. In 2015, Jepsen’s celebrity guests at the Troubadour included Lorde and Tom Hanks, the latter of whom starred for some reason in the video for “I Really Like You.” This time, her mom and dad sat proudly in the balcony, shooting videos on their phones.

5. Can we give the bass player some love? Bobby Wooten III might have been Jepsen’s secret weapon on Tuesday, not least in the stretch from “Gimmie Love” to “All That” to “Boy Problems,” where his chewy pop-funk licks gave the music real bite.

6. “When I Needed You” climaxed with a moving a cappella singalong that had virtually the entire crowd belting Jepsen’s lines about discovering how far is too far to go to accommodate a selfish partner. (Say this for Jepsen’s faithful: They’ve got impeccable pitch.) The moment had big Robyn-fans-in-the-subway energy.

7. Jepsen famously said at the time of “Emotion’s” release that she’d written something like 200 songs for the album. “I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do, so for me the only solution was to keep writing, and hopefully that would lead to something,” she told me that year. “It was a purpose, a hunger.” In 2016, she dropped eight of her outtakes on an EP called “Emotion: Side B,” and here she revealed that she’ll release half a dozen more — “C-sides,” she called them — on a 10th anniversary reissue of “Emotion” due in October. It’s hard to think of another artist who’s made such a deep vault of a single LP.

8. The strangest song Jepsen has ever written, according to Jepsen: “Store,” the improbably exuberant bop about grocery shopping that she sang at the Troubadour while two-stepping down an imaginary frozen foods aisle.

9. Tuesday’s show ended with Jepsen’s traditional closer, “Cut to the Feeling,” yet another “Emotion” outtake that’s taken on a second life as the subject of a durable internet joke about swords. (Say this for Jepsen’s faithful: They have memes.) Before that, though, she inevitably reached back for “Call Me Maybe,” delivering the song while pulling daffy faces that made her look like the star of some forgotten ’30s screwball comedy. “Before you came into my life, I missed you so bad,” she sang — still an all-timer of a pop lyric.

Puerto Rican pop visionary Rauw Alejandro will be honored at the 38th annual Hispanic Heritage Awards.

On Wednesday, the Hispanic Heritage Foundation announced that the singer-songwriter will receive the 2025 Hispanic Heritage Award for Vision, a title that honors his groundbreaking contributions to Latin music and his role in shaping its global future.

“As an artist in constant motion, Rauw Alejandro embodies the very essence of the vision award, bold in creativity, future-focused in his global impact and unapologetically original in everything he does,” says Antonio Tijerino, president and chief executive of HHF. “His work is not just music, it’s a movement that confirms what Latin artists mean to the world.”

The award, established by the White House in 1998, is bestowed on notable public figures for their accomplishments and cultural contributions to the Latino community. Past honorees, specifically in the vision category, include Wisin, Ivy Queen, Bad Bunny, Residente and more.

The 32-year-old songwriter from San Juan welcomed the award with an unveiling of his own: the title of his next album, “Cosa Nuestra: Capítulo 0.”

“This is just the beginning … with my next project ‘Capítulo 0’ I want to keep showcasing not only Puerto Rico, but the full essence of the Caribbean.”

News of this honor should not come as a surprise to those who have been following Rauw Alejandro’s career and hustle. His 2020 debut album, “Afrodisíaco,” earned him his first Grammy nomination for best urban music album, as well as a Grammy nod for best new artist.

Throughout the years, the eclectic singer-songwriter and dance phenom has innovated the Latin music scene with the release of experimental albums like his electronic and R&B-inspired LP, “Vice Versa,” in 2021; his techno-infused psychedelic album, “Saturno,” in 2022; and his beachy follow-up, “Playa Saturno,” in 2023.

In 2024, Rauw Alejandro released his fifth studio album, “Cosa Nuestra,” a project inspired by New York City’s salsa music scene in the 1970s. Upon its release, the record landed him the No. 1 spot on Billboard’s Latin Albums chart, and No. 6 on the Billboard 200. The critically-acclaimed album is likely to claim top prizes at the upcoming 2025 Latin Grammys.

“‘Cosa Nuestra’ has always been my way of representing my island, my culture, and my people — wherever they may be,” said Rauw Alejandro in a statement. “Every detail — the beats, the visuals, the dancing — reflects part of our Puerto Rican roots and our connection with other sister cultures, because we’ve been shaping the history of music for a long time.”

The 38th annual Hispanic Heritage Awards will take place on Sept. 4 at the Warner Theatre in Washington, D.C. To date, this year’s honorees include NPR’s Felix Contreras, stoner comic Cheech Marin, Rizos Curls chief executive Julissa Prado and more.

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Taylor Swift will enter her latest era in a matter of months.

The ubiquitous “Shake It Off” pop star announced her upcoming album, “The Life of a Showgirl,” would drop Oct. 3 as she made her podcasting debut Wednesday on “New Heights,” co-hosted by her NFL star boyfriend Travis Kelce and his retired football pro brother, Jason Kelce. The Grammy winner also unveiled the album’s tracklist, which touts a finale featuring Sabrina Carpenter.

“It was something I was working on while I was in Europe on the Eras tour,” she explained to the Kelce brothers. “I was physically exhausted at this point on the tour, but I was so mentally stimulated and so excited to be creating.”

Swift revealed her 12th album was imminent earlier this week in a teaser promoting the latest “New Heights” episode. In the clip, she pulls a blurred-out record out of a briefcase decorated simply with her initials.

“The Life of a Showgirl” will be her second record in two years — following last year’s “The Tortured Poets Department” — and her first release since reacquiring the rights to her early recordings in May.

That was a move that “changed my life,” she said Wednesday.

BY rights, I shouldn’t really be talking to The Black Keys duo, Dan Auerbach and Patrick Carney.

But here they are on a Zoom call with me to discuss their thirteenth studio album, No Rain, No Flowers.

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The 11 tracks are coming kicking and screaming into the sunlight earlier than expected — and for good reason.

Last September, The Black Keys were supposed to start a North American arena tour in support of their previous album, Ohio Players, noted for songs written with Noel Gallagher and Beck.

But, to their dismay, the dates were scrapped, prompting the pair to fire their management team.

Without going into detail, Auerbach says: “The first thing I wanted to do was kill somebody and the second thing I wanted to do was kill somebody.”

Carney adds: “I don’t want to get into it too much because we’ve gotten letters telling us not to talk about it by one of the most powerful people in the music industry.

“We got f***ed by the person who was supposed to be looking out for us.

“So, because of some bad advice, we were left with no plans for the summer. We had to take one on the chin.”

The situation was a rare mis-step in The Black Keys’ upward trajectory, which stretches back nearly 25 years.

Starting out in a dingy basement in Akron, Ohio, childhood friends Auerbach and Carney took their exhilarating mix of bluesy garage rock to the world stage, drawing on soul, hip hop, psychedelia, you name it, along the way.

Their new album, however, is the product of unplanned time on their hands. Still smarting from losing their tour, they convened at Auerbach’s Easy Eye Sound studio in his adopted hometown of Nashville — and set about turning adversity into triumph.

‘Reminder of the power of our music’

“We realised that maybe we’d better do something positive with this free time,” says the singer/guitarist.

“So we dove head first into working with people we’d never met and trying things we’d never tried before as a band. Ultimately, it really helped us.”

For drummer Carney, it was a natural reaction to what had happened.

“When Dan and I are not on the road, we’re in the studio,” he says.

“So we thought, ‘Let’s just get back in there and reboot’.”

One thing that remains undiminished is the cast-iron bond between Auerbach and Carney.

The latter affirms: “We’ve been doing this together for almost 25 years — from the struggle to the big s**t.

We got f***ed… so we thought we should do something positive

Carney

“Dealing with being broke, dealing with getting money, headlining Coachella, dealing with getting married, getting divorced, having kids, we’ve been through it all.

“As screwed up as last year was, it had very little to do with us so we got back on it, to prove to ourselves what we can do.”

As we speak, The Black Keys have been back on tour — on this side of the Atlantic.

Carney says it can be “brutal chasing the festivals, sleeping on the bus or in hotel rooms.

“But getting out here and getting in front of these crowds has been the biggest reminder of the power of our music.

“Seeing the fans flip out has helped us to get our heads out of music-business bulls*t and back into what it’s all about”.

Auerbach agrees: “The show in London [at Alexandra Palace] was the biggest headliner we’ve ever played.

“It was great after the year we had. Whatever happens, we know the fans are still there for us.”

Another thrill was playing Manchester’s Sounds Of The City festival two days before the first Oasis homecoming gig at the city’s Heaton Park.

“The atmosphere was electric. Our audience was so up for it,” says Auerbach.

Noel and Liam are both incredible — we’re really happy for them

Auerbach

He credits Oasis with lifting the mood. “I feel like they’ve transformed the continent. We’ve never seen anything like it.”

And he couldn’t resist visiting the Oasis Adidas store. “I had one of the black soccer jerseys made — Oasis on the front and AUERBACH on the back. Had to do it, man, they’re the kings.”

It was in 2023 that The Black Keys visited Toe Rag Studios in Hackney, East London, to write three songs with Noel Gallagher, who they describe as “the chord lord”.

Auerbach says: “It was amazing. We just sat in a circle with our instruments and we worked things up from nowhere.

“Not too long after that we played a song with Liam [in Milan] and hung out with him afterwards. He gave us some really good advice about our setlist.

“Noel and Liam are both incredible — we’re really happy for them.”

‘We’d never written with a piano player’

We return to the subject of their new album, No Rain, No Flowers, which involved a new approach for The Black Keys.

Instead of big-name guests like Noel and Beck and, before them, ZZ Top’s Billy Gibbons, they turned to acclaimed songwriters — the unsung heroes — for their collaborative process.

They welcomed into their world Rick Nowels (Madonna, Stevie Nicks, Lana Del Rey), Scott Storch (Dr Dre, Nas) and Daniel Tashian (Kacey Musgraves).

Auerbach had encountered Nowels while producing Lana Del Rey’s 2014 third album Ultraviolence and had long been impressed with his keyboard skills.

He says: “We’d never written with a piano player before. After 20-plus years in the band, it was cool to try something new in the studio.”

Carney adds: “The way we worked with each one of these people was completely different.

“With Daniel, for instance, we’d start with a jam session. With Rick, it was all about getting the title of the song.”

And Auerbach again: “Scott’s all about instrumentation. He didn’t want to think about the words. He just lets you do that stuff afterwards.”

One of the co-writes with Nowels is the life-affirming title track which begins the album.

With lines like, “Baby, the damage is done/It won’t be long ’til we’re back in the sun”, you could be forgiven for thinking it reflects on the band’s recent woes.

Auerbach says it does, but only up to a point. “It started with the title and we built it from there.

“We tend to shy away from diary-type songs. It gives us ‘the ick’ when it sounds like somebody’s reading from their diary.

“But there’s a lot of truth in the song. It’s us trying to be positive, which maybe wasn’t how we were feeling.

“It was a nice thought to write a positive anthem but still have blood in the eye.”

If The Black Keys’ go-to sound has been the blues, this album is remarkable for its funky, airy and soulful vibe.

Auerbach says: “We were heavily influenced by soul growing up, maybe more than anything, and it really shows.

“With us, it’s all about the feel. When we started out, we didn’t know what the hell we were doing, but we knew when it felt right.”

Another strong touchstone has been hip-hop, which is why Auerbach and Carney are thrilled to have worked with Scott Storch, another dazzling keyboard player, who started out in the Roots and went on to work with Dr Dre, 50 Cent, Beyonce and Nas.

“We are a product of where we were raised,” affirms Auerbach. “We grew up in the golden age of hip- hop. That’s what pop music was for us.

“The first time I heard the Geto Boys was at the middle- school dance and it affected us.

That’s the s**t on those blues records I love so much. You hear Son House grunting when he’s playing slide guitar

Auerbach

“But then my mom’s family played bluegrass — I would listen to my uncles sing. And when The Stanley Brothers sing, it’s white soul music. I love it all.”

As for Storch, Auerbach continues: “We’ve obsessed over videos of him since we were in high school. Seeing him play all the parts of his hits makes our jaws hit the floor.

‘You can hear Scott physically grunting’

“The idea of getting him in the studio seemed crazy because he seemed like a larger-than-life figure.”

Auerbach was mesmerised by Storch when he arrived at Easy Eye Sound.

He says: “Scott’s a real player, an absolute musical savant. As a hip-hop producer, he tends to spend 99.9 per cent of the time in the control room.

“But we have all these acoustic pianos, harpsichords and analogue synthesisers. He was in heaven, and so were we watching him go from keyboard to keyboard.

“On Babygirl, he’s on an acoustic piano with microphones and you can hear him physically grunting in time with his playing. That’s got to be a first for Scott Storch on record.

“That’s the s**t on those blues records I love so much. You hear Son House grunting when he’s playing slide guitar.”

The No Rain, No Flowers album is loaded with hook-laden songs — the exhilarating rocker Man On A Mission, the psychedelic Southern rock swirl of A Little Too High.

One explanation for their eclectic approach is The Black Keys’ regular Record Hang in Nashville, which involves Auerbach and Carney hosting all-vinyl DJ dance parties.

For these, they scour online marketplaces and record shops for obscure but revelatory old 45s.

Carney explains: “We end up exposing ourselves to thousands of songs that somehow we’ve never heard.

“It’s really cool to be so deep into our career and uncovering all this incredible music. It’s totally reinvigorating — particularly when one of us finds a record that the other hasn’t heard and it’s a banger.” So check out Carney’s discovery Nobody Loves Me But My Mama by Johnny Holiday, which he describes as “f*ing insane — psychobilly fuzz rock”.

Then there’s Auerbach’s fave, Yeah Yeah by Blackrock, “a rare 45 instrumental which rearranged our minds. It still hits like crazy”.

We just fell right into it, started playing it and luckily we were recording

Auerbach

With The Black Keys, you always get a sense of passion for their craft, and for other people’s.

Auerbach says: “Pat and I were talking about this earlier — music can hypnotise you. You can use it for good or for evil. It’s a very powerful tool.”

And Carney: “It’s my biggest passion and it has been since I was 11.

‘Sensitive about what we listen to’

“I also think about the delicate balance you need when you do it for a living. You’re taking the thing you love the most but you never want to ruin it for yourself.

“Dan and I are very sensitive about what we listen to. We were at a music festival in a spot in between seven stages. It sounded horrible. I said, ‘This is the kind of thing that could make me hate music’.”

Finally, we talk about another of their own songs, the sublime, festival-primed anthem Neon Moon, which closes No Rain, No Flowers.

Written with Daniel Tashian, Auerbach modestly calls it a “first-take jam” but that doesn’t really do it justice.

“I think it just started with the ‘neon moon’ lyric,” he says. “We just fell right into it, started playing it and luckily we were recording.”

As the song gets into its stride, he sings: “Don’t let yourself get down too long.”

It’s a line that The Black Keys have taken to heart.

THE BLACK KEYS

No Rain, No Flowers

★★★★☆

3

What do Dead Kennedys’ Jello Biafra, Thurston Moore of Sonic Youth and Motley Crüe bassist Nikki Sixx have in common? They all dig Frankie and the Witch Fingers, an L.A.-based band whose irresistible garagey-psychedelic rock sometimes even invokes shades of Oingo Boingo and Devo thanks to a staccato freneticism and pointed lyrics. The diversity of FATWF’s peer-fans speak to the quintet’s wide-ranging appeal, and the title of their new 11-song album, “Trash Classic,” is a spot-on descriptor of the LP as a whole.

In their longtime rehearsal-recording room in a legendary Vernon warehouse, the band perch on a couch a few days before leaving for tour. There’s a whiteboard with a set list behind the sofa, and they share some “mood board” phrases written for the creation of “Trash Classic.” On posterboard, the bon mots include “Lord Forgive Us For Our Synths,” “Jello -B.Y.O.F. (Bring Your Own Fork) – Ra” and “Weenus.” Laughter ensues at the memories.

The lineup formed with Dylan Sizemore (lead vocals, rhythm guitar) and Josh Menashe (lead guitar, backing vocals, synthesizer) more than a decade ago, the pair meeting at college in Bloomington, Ind. In different bands, they’d seen each other’s gigs and run into each other at parties.

“I was just bored one day, and was like, ‘I wonder if this guy wants to jam.’ I had all these songs,” recalls Sizemore. “I just kind of showed up to his house, and I knew he was really good at guitar and really good at music in general.”

Josh Menashe, from left, Dylan Sizemore, Nicole “Nikki Pickle” Smith, Jon Modaff and Nick Aguilar, of the Los Angeles psych-rock band Frankie and the Witch Fingers get into character in their rehearsal space in Vernon on July 11, 2025.

(Genaro Molina / Los Angeles Times)

The San Diego-raised Menashe recalls, “I think by the time I met Dylan, I’d already dropped out [of college], though, and there were day jobs — at a screen-printing shop, I worked at a Turkish restaurant; whatever I could do to keep my music addiction going. I never really settled on a major because I just couldn’t think about what I wanted to do. Nothing made as much sense as music.”

Sizemore had been dabbling in music that was “power-pop-y, kind of like Tom Petty worship …”

“… he was in a band called Dead Beach,” Menashe adds, “and I would say it was garage rock, almost like Nirvana meets Tom Petty.”

“And Josh was in a more like surf rock, almost like mathy band. What would you describe [the band] Women as?” Sizemore asks.

“Angular, punky, buncha noise stuff,” affirms Menashe, who also played with acclaimed Bloomington-to-L.A. band Triptides starting in 2010.

In FATWF (the name comes from Sizemore’s cat Frankie) the pair’s experience and influences were varied enough to create something new that, over seven albums since 2013, has morphed into a wildly creative and raucous band with hooks, melodies, smarts, irreverence, loud guitars and wonderfully oddball synth and sounds.

A move to L.A. in 2014 and eventual changes in the rhythm section — Nikki Pickles (Nicole Smith), formerly of Death Valley Girls, joining in 2019; with drummer Nick Aguilar’s 2022 addition solidifying the band further. Jon Modaff, a multi-instrumentalist from Kentucky who played drums on tour with FATWF in 2021, joined on synth in 2024, giving the band an even broader sonic palette to realize their sometimes-oddball audio dreams.

“Trash Classic,” produced by Maryam Qudus (Tune-Yards, Alanis Morissette, Kronos Quartet) follows 2023’s “Data Doom,” which was the first album to feature Aguilar on drums. Songs are by turns epic, edgy, spacey and insistent. Some “Trash Classic” lyrics are topical and pointed: “(While the upper) class is feeding / (On the lower) babies’ food / (Microwaving) TV dinners / (With the porno) graphic news.” “Economy” minces no words: “This has got to be / The best economy / The plasma you sell / (The plasma you sell) / Buys money to eat.”

There was no grand plan or lyrical theme settled ahead of the new album’s creation. “We collectively talk about what’s going on in the world when we’re in rehearsal and stuff, and our feelings about it,” says Sizemore. “I think it’s just at a point now where talking about certain things just feels more — what’s the word? — it feels more part of the zeitgeist. Like ‘Economy,’ I wanted to write about being around abject poverty. But it makes more sense now, it fits into the context of where we are. Things that we talk about in here, about what’s going on, maybe weren’t so omnipresent, and now it feels like it is. Like, you can’t escape poverty. You can’t escape what’s happening to people less fortunate than you. It’s everywhere.”

In writing the lyrics, Sizemore thought about growing up, “seeing people trade in their food stamps to get alcohol because they’re addicted. Messy stuff like that. But it’s relevant now, it’s not just parts of the world. It’s gonna be everywhere if we don’t do something about it.”

Lyrics, while Sizemore-centric, are a collaborative process. Pickle, however, who came to bass in her 20s, says, “I just am happy to be along for the ride, and I’ll contribute where it’s helpful. I like to sit back; I guess I don’t feel qualified as a songwriter.” But, she says, “honestly, I think that that’s a helpful way to be, because if you have too many people with egos on top of each other, like, ‘no, no, no, do it my way.’ I like to listen and then insert where I can. That’s my vibe.”

Differing approaches and backgrounds serve FATWF well. Because of their “cohesive diversity and flexibility in the rock realm,” Aguilar observes, “I feel like we could play with almost anybody. At least a rock band, to any extent.”

While they’re mostly doing headlining tours, they’ve shared stages with Cheap Trick and ZZ Top. So where would FATWF overlap with the two elder statesmen classic rock lineups on the musical spectrum?

“I mean, we were really into the [13th Floor] Elevators, and…” Sizemore says.

“The Velvet Underground…” adds Pickle.

“…Roky Erickson, all that stuff. I think we tried to, like, gear our set more in that direction, just so we weren’t fully playing freaky, noisy funk stuff,” Sizemore continues. “But there’s an overlap, for sure. If we play in Atlanta or something, we’ll get someone saying, ‘Oh, the first time I saw you guys was with ZZ Top’ and that’s always cool.”

“We collectively talk about what’s going on in the world when we’re in rehearsal and stuff, and our feelings about it,” says Sizemore. “I think it’s just at a point now where talking about certain things just feels more — what’s the word? — it feels more part of the zeitgeist.”

(Genaro Molina / Los Angeles Times)

Most of Frankie’s members cite the DIY scenes in their areas as influential: Aguilar is from San Pedro and began drumming at the age of 10. He eventually played with that neighborhood’s most famous musician: bassist Mike Watt, and growing up, “discovered I don’t need to go to the Staples Center or Irvine Meadows to see a band. I could just go, like, 10 blocks away from my home on my bike to house shows,” he says, adding, “if there wasn’t the music scene in San Pedro, I probably wouldn’t be in this band. I’d probably be playing at the Whisky with some s— metal band that nobody cares about.”

An increasing number of people are caring about FATWF; Jello Biafra even joining them on stage. At a gig in Biafra’s hometown of Boulder, Colo., the punk provocateur met the band after their show. The next night, the singer showed up in Fort Collins.

“We have a lot of mutual friends,” explains Aguilar. “I work at Alex’s Bar in Long Beach. So I met him there a long time ago. He said he was gonna come see us at our Halloween show in San Francisco. I was like, ‘How would you feel if we learned some DK songs and you sang with us for Halloween?’”

He answered in the affirmative, so Frankie and the Witch Fingers learned the Dead Kennedys’ “Halloween,” “Police Truck” and “Holiday in Cambodia.” Biafra rehearsed with the band at sound check, and for the holiday show FATWF dressed up as “bloody doctors.” As for Biafra? “He changed his outfit in between every song! He was throwing fake bloody organs at the audience. You could tell half of the audience knew who he was. And half was like, ‘Yo, who the hell is this?’”

“Talking about all this like ancient history makes me feel, ‘Oh yeah, we’ve kind of come a long way,’” Pickles ruminates. Aguilar states his somewhat modest hopes for the band: “I think my realistic goal is the headline the Fonda Theater one day.”

But if larger-scale fame and fortune find Frankie and the Witch Fingers, beware: Menashe claims he’d get a face tattoo if the band sells a million records. His promise is captured by the reporter’s recorder, officially “on the record,” the band teases him. But in true FATWF fashion, Sizemore pushes it one further: “You gotta get a teardrop too!”

Famed Tejano singer-songwriter and master accordionist Leonardo “Flaco” Jiménez has died. He was 86.

Jiménez’s family shared the news of the musician’s death on his official Facebook page Thursday night. A cause of death was not disclosed.

“It is with great sadness that we share tonight the loss of our father, Flaco Jiménez. He was surrounded by his loved ones and will be missed immensely,” his family wrote. “Thank you to all of his fans and friends — those who cherished his music. And a big thank you for all of the memories. His legacy will live on through his music and all of his fans. The family requests privacy during this time of sadness and grievance.”

Over his more than seven decades in the music industry, the San Antonio native garnered six Grammy Awards, received a National Medal of Arts from President Biden and established himself as a pioneering accordion virtuoso who helped nationalize the popularity of Tejano and conjunto music in the U.S.

Jiménez is perhaps best known for his work with the Tejano music supergroup Texas Tornados, which included the talents of Freddy Fender, Doug Sahm and Augie Meyers. Texas Tornados won the Mexican/Mexican-American Performance Grammy in 1990 for their song “Soy de San Luis.” The band’s Spanglish style is on full display in their most popular track “(Hey Baby) Que Pasó?”

In 2022, the Congressional Hispanic Caucus, led by Texas Rep. Joaquin Castro, included the 1989 hit in its list of nominees to Library of Congress’ National Recording Registry, in an effort to increase Latino representation in the U.S.

Castro, a San Antonio native, shared a statement on Facebook regarding Jiménez’s death.

“I am saddened by the passing of San Antonio music legend Leonardo ‘Flaco’ Jiménez,” he wrote. “He was a pioneer in conjunto music — receiving a Lifetime Achievement Grammy, National Medal of Arts, and a place in the National Recording Registry for his work. Texas is proud of his legacy. May he rest in peace.”

Jiménez’s 1992 album, “Partners,” was inducted into the National Recording Registry in 2020.

“People used to regard my music as cantina music, just no respect,” Jiménez told the Library of Congress. “The accordion was considered something like a party joke … I really give respect to everyone who helped me out on this record, and I’m flattered by this recognition.”

His skills on the “party joke” of an instrument were so well recognized that the famed German musical instrument manufacturer Hohner collaborated with Jiménez in 2009 to create a signature line of accordions.

“The music world has lost a true legend. Flaco Jimenez was a global ambassador for Tex-Mex Conjunto music, bringing its vibrant sound to audiences around the world,” Hohner wrote in a social media post following Jiménez’s death. “His passion and virtuosity on the three-row button accordion inspired generations of musicians across cultures and continents. Since 1976, Flaco was a proud partner of Hohner, a relationship built on mutual respect and a shared love for music. It was an incredible honor to work alongside such a talented, humble, and gracious artist.”

Jiménez was born on March 11, 1939, in San Antonio to a family with a storied musical background. He first began performing at age 7 with his father, Santiago Jiménez, who himself was a pioneering figure in the conjunto movement. At 15, Flaco appeared in his first recording with the musical group Los Caporales.

He went from local fame to modest international recognition on the folk scene when musicologist Chris Strachwitz recorded him for his Arhoolie label, and after being featured in a 1974 Les Blank film on Texas-Mexican border music.

Then in 1976, Ry Cooder tapped him to be a member of his Chicken Skin Revue. Jimenez worked with Cooder on several projects, including the soundtrack to the 1982 film “The Border,” which starred Jack Nicholson.

He won the first of his three Grammy Awards for best Mexican-American performance in 1986 for his album “Ay Te Dejo en San Antonio” and his last in the category in 1999 for his work with the supergroup Los Super Seven. He also won Grammys for his solo albums “Flaco Jiménez” in 1994 and “Said and Done” in 1999, as well as a Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award in 2015.

The list of artists with whom Jiménez collaborated is as long as it is distinguished and includes Bob Dylan, Carlos Santana, Dwight Yoakam and Linda Ronstadt.

Jiménez played the accordion on the Rolling Stones’ “Sweethearts Together,” a Tex-Mex-infused ballad off of their 1994 album, “Voodoo Lounge.”

Jiménez’s success and recognition far surpassed anything he could have imagined for himself, he told The Times in 1994.

“I thought that it was always just going to be a local thing. I’d only hear my dad and other groups in San Antonio, or even here just in the barrio,” he said. “I think that audience started changing when I began to ‘bilingual’ a lot of stuff and started playing rock ‘n’ roll and with a little country to it. Then the reaction of the people, not just the Chicanos but the Anglos, was stronger.”

Speaking with The Times in 1996, Jiménez said he was delighted that crossover with country had helped to bring the distinctive sound of accordion-based Tejano music to a wider audience.

“It’s more respected and more listened to than ever before. I’m satisfied. At the level Tejano or conjunto music is now, we can communicate with the mainstream,” he said.

Reflecting on how far the reach of conjunto had come, Jiménez recalled one of his earliest and most impactful memories introducing the genre across the globe.

“Conjunto or Tex-Mex music was not known at all. We went on tour to Switzerland, and when I got to the concert hall there was just one microphone and one chair. They thought I was going to give a concert with pura acordeon — just the accordion,” he said.

“I said, ‘Hey, where’s the rest of the amps and whatever?’ And they managed to get a drum set so we did our thing. Then the audience noticed, ‘Hey, this is fun!’ And it got really wild. Because when I play, I’m really just having a party with the audience.”

Times staff writer Fidel Martinez contributed to this report.

Diana Ross returned to the Hollywood Bowl on Friday night for the first of two weekend concerts — her fifth engagement at the hillside amphitheater since 2013 and her second gig in her adopted hometown of Los Angeles in less than a year (following her performance at last August’s old-school Fool in Love festival). In other words, it’s not exactly hard to catch the 81-year-old pop legend onstage these days — which isn’t to say that it’s not worth doing. Here are nine moments that made me glad I showed up Friday:

1. After coming out to — what else? — “I’m Coming Out,” Ross zipped through a frisky Motown medley linking some of the 12 No. 1 hits she and the Supremes scored in the 1960s. Would I have liked to have heard full versions of “You Can’t Hurry Love,” “Baby Love” and “Stop! In the Name of Love”? Sure. But hearing these all-timers stacked up in rapid succession was a thrill of its own — a reminder of the blend of efficiency and ingenuity attained on a daily basis at Hitsville, U.S.A.

2. Ross was backed by more than a dozen musicians at the Bowl, including four horn players and four backing vocalists, and they were cooking from the get-go: crisply propulsive in the Motown stuff; tight and gliding in “Upside Down”; lush yet down-home in Ross’ take on Billie Holiday’s “Don’t Explain,” from her 1972 Holiday biopic “Lady Sings the Blues.”

3. Two wardrobe changes meant that we beheld three glittering gowns in all, beginning with the fluffy canary-yellow number she emerged in. About halfway through the show, Ross slipped into a pipe-and-drape dressing room at the rear of the stage then slipped back out wearing bedazzled ruby red; later, she changed into a shimmering gold look. Each dress came accompanied by a matching shawl that Ross would eventually toss to the stage to be retrieved by a waiting assistant who seemed to know precisely when it would happen.

4. Each dress also came with a bulky mic pack that — in an endearingly peculiar costuming choice — Ross opted to wear on her waist instead of hiding it around back.

5. “I have an album out, a current album — the title of the album is called ‘Thank You,’” Ross told the crowd as she began to introduce a tune from her not-bad 2021 LP. Then she turned her head stage-left toward a sound engineer in the wings: “Who’s talking in the mic? I can hear a mic.” She returned to the audience. “Anyway, the title of the album is called ‘Thank You.’ Each song was specially written so that I could say ‘thank you’ to you for all the wonderful years, all the…” Another glance left. “Somebody’s talking in the microphone.” Another turn back. “We’re gonna start with this one — ‘Tomorrow,’ OK? We’ll start that if I can out-talk whoever’s talking over here.”

6. Ross’ daughter Rhonda joined her mom to sing another new-ish tune, “Count on Me” — “She’s been practicing,” Diana said proudly (if somewhat shadily) — then stuck around to do a mini-set of her own self-help-ish soul-folk songs, one of which beseeched us all to “stop gaslighting ourselves.”

7. Half a century after “The Wiz” debuted on Broadway in 1975, Ross sang her two big numbers from the Black retelling of the “The Wizard of Oz,” which she helped cement as a cultural landmark with her role as Dorothy in a fondly remembered movie adaptation. Here, “Home” was wistful yet determined, while “Ease on Down the Road” got even the high-rollers in the Bowl’s box seats moving.

8. During “Reach Out and Touch (Somebody’s Hand),” Ross led the crowd in a call-and-response recitation of what she called “my mantra”: ”I’m so grateful / For all the blessings in my life / For there are many / All is well / I’m resilient / Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

9. More of Ross’ children appeared onstage at the end of the show to join her for a rowdy “I Will Survive” — and to plug their latest commercial endeavors. “Can I say one thing?” Tracee Ellis Ross asked. “‘Solo Traveling with Tracee Ellis Ross’ on Roku streams today, so check out the show.” Diana Ross reclaimed the microphone and gestured toward her son Ross Naess. “This is my son — he’s doing a line of caviar called Arne Reserve.” She looked around. “Chudney, what’s happening with you?”

A balladeer in the body of a headbanger, Ozzy Osbourne brought soul and emotion to the heavy-metal genre he helped invent as the frontman of Black Sabbath and which he turned into a global force as an outrage-courting solo act. Osbourne, who died Tuesday at 76 — just weeks after he gave what he billed as his final performance in his hometown of Birmingham, England — sold tens of millions of albums, was twice inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame and late in life found an unlikely second career as a pioneering reality-television star. Here, in the order they were released, are 10 of his essential songs.

Black Sabbath, ‘Paranoid’ (1970)

As heavy as Black Sabbath was, the band could also be remarkably light on its feet, as in the group’s zippy breakout single, which hit No. 4 on the U.K. pop chart. “Paranoid” is narrated by a depressed young man who “can’t see the things that make true happiness,” as Osbourne sings against Tony Iommi’s chugging guitar riff. Yet the song keeps hurtling forward with a kind of dogged determination. Black Sabbath closed with “Paranoid” — current stream count on Spotify: 1.3 billion — at this month’s farewell concert.

Black Sabbath, ‘War Pigs’ (1970)
An antiwar protest song as pointed as John Fogerty’s “Fortunate Son,” “War Pigs” couches its musings on the mendacity of Vietnam’s architects in images of witches and sorcerers poisoning brainwashed minds. The disgust in Osbourne’s sneering vocal is still palpable.

Black Sabbath, ‘Iron Man’ (1970)
Leave it to Osbourne to find the empathy in this bludgeoning yet weirdly tender account of a guy who travels through time to save humanity only to be “turned to steel in the great magnetic field” on his return trip. “Nobody wants him / They just turn their heads,” he sings, “Nobody helps him / Now he has his revenge.”

Black Sabbath, ‘Sweet Leaf’ (1971)
A love song addressed to weed? Osbourne stretches the bit about as far as it can go as Iommi cranks out the sludgy lick that would later be sampled prominently by the Beastie Boys in their “Rhymin & Stealin.”

Black Sabbath, ‘Changes’ (1972)
Osbourne’s most touching vocal performance came in this woebegone piano ballad from Black Sabbath’s fourth album; he sings with so much agony about a romantic breakup that the song doesn’t even bother with guitar or drums. In 2003, Osbourne recut “Changes” as a duet with his then-19-year-old daughter Kelly; a decade later, the soul singer Charles Bradley recorded a wrenching cover not long before he died.

‘Crazy Train’ (1980)
Osbourne got the boot from Black Sabbath in 1979 after his bandmates tired of his drug and alcohol abuse. Yet Osbourne quickly rebounded as a solo act, scoring a Top 10 rock radio hit on his first try with “Crazy Train,” which he wrote and recorded with guitarist Randy Rhoads, who’d left Quiet Riot to join Osbourne’s band. Lyrically, “Crazy Train” contemplates the “millions of people living as foes” amid the Cold War — a dark theme that somehow led to Osbourne’s most euphoric song.

‘Mr. Crowley’ (1980)
To follow up “Crazy Train,” Osbourne and Rhoads — who would tragically die in a plane crash in 1982 while on tour with Osbourne — revived Black Sabbath’s preoccupation with the occult for this midtempo jam about the self-styled prophet Aleister Crowley.

‘No More Tears’ (1991)

Unlike many heavy-metal elders, Osbourne stayed relevant into the grunge era with hits like the bleakly hypnotic title track from his quadruple-platinum “No More Tears” LP, which showcased his close collaboration with guitarist Zakk Wylde.

‘Mama, I’m Coming Home’ (1991)
“No More Tears” yielded another staple of early-’90s MTV in this soaring power ballad that Osbourne and Wylde wrote with Lemmy Kilmister of Motörhead.

Post Malone featuring Ozzy Osbourne and Travis Scott, ‘Take What You Want’ (2019)
At 70, Osbourne surprised many with his robust vocal cameo in this trap-metal pile-up from Post Malone’s smash “Hollywood’s Bleeding” LP. The singer’s collaboration with producer Andrew Watt on “Take What You Want” led to Osbourne’s recruiting Watt to oversee his final two solo albums: 2020’s “Ordinary Man” and 2022’s Grammy-winning “Patient Number 9.”

It’s another dry, sweltering morning in Las Vegas, and the guitarist Zoltan Bathory has just left his Gothic castle. Bearded and dressed in black, with a bundle of dreadlocks piled high on his head, he’s now piloting a small boat across a man-made lake filled with tap water, on his way to breakfast at a nearby café.

The newly renovated replica castle is a recent project and perk of Bathory’s 20-year career as guitarist and founder of the multiplatinum heavy metal band Five Finger Death Punch. But last year, as the metal act began planning to celebrate those two decades of action, Bathory discovered that their longtime former label, Prospect Park, had quietly sold the masters to the first seven 5FDP albums.

The group, which retained 50% ownership in the masters but not “administrative rights,” was not informed before the sale.

“We were not privy to the deal. It was completely behind curtains. That’s the annoying part of this,” says Bathory. “I wish they had a conversation because we could have done a deal together, or maybe we would have bought it. We didn’t even get an option. We found out from somebody else. Well, wait a minute, what’s going on?”

With that anniversary coming up in 2025, 5FDP adjusted after finding inspiration in the example of pop superstar Taylor Swift, who responded to the sale of her catalog with a hugely successful series of “Taylor’s Version” rerecordings of entire albums. Swift re-created four of her records, each one topping the Billboard Top 200, before she finally bought back the rights to her catalog this year.

Five Finger Death Punch decided to follow that lead, and in January began rerecording the band’s most popular songs. The first batch of new recordings arrived under the title “20 Years of Five Finger Death Punch — Best of Volume 1,” released Friday, to be followed by “Best of Volume 2” later this year.

“When this happened, it came up immediately: ‘Well, this happened to Taylor and what did she do?’” Bathory says of the plan. “She battle-tested it. And she’s a big artist. ‘OK, that’s your move? Now this is our move.’”

It is just the latest chapter in a sometimes turbulent career for the musicians, as the band rose to become one of the most successful hard rock/metal bands of their generation, boasting 12 billion streams, surpassed only by Metallica and AC/DC. During its first decade, 5FDP released four platinum-selling albums in the U.S., beginning with its second release, 2009’s explosive “War Is the Answer.”

The unexpected sale of their masters — to the independent music publisher Spirit Music Group — was perhaps the final round in a frequently contentious relationship with Prospect Park founder Jeff Kwatinetz. In 2016, the label sued Five Finger Death Punch in Los Angeles Superior Court, alleging breach of contract over a coming greatest hits package and the recording of a new album.

That lawsuit got ugly, including an accusation in its initial filing that the band was “attempting to cash in before the anticipated downfall of their addicted bandmate,” a blunt reference to singer Ivan L. Moody’s period of self-destruction at the time. The band countersued. The cases were settled out of court the following year.

A request for comment sent to Kwatinetz through his attorney was not returned by press time, but he told Billboard last month that the band’s current management stopped cooperating, so “I sold my half.”

As he settles into the small lakeside café over a glass of organic matcha tea and avocado toast, Bathory expresses little real anger over the suits and the sale, and looks back cheerfully at the band’s long relationship with the label. The guitarist says he actually enjoyed their heated discussions, reflecting not only their conflicts of the moment, but a shared history as the band rose from clubs on the Sunset Strip to stadiums around the world.

“With our former label president, this is probably the funniest relationship. In the past, we were suing each other for various [issues],” Bathory says with a smile. “We get on the phone, and we’re talking about a lawsuit, and he’s like, ‘You guys lost this injunction.’ And I’m like, ‘Oh, f— you.’ ‘Oh, f— you!’ We had this back and forth, and then it’s ‘How’s the kids?’ And then we just talk about albums and music and whatnot for like an hour.

“And then, ‘OK, see you in court.’ ‘F— you,’” he adds with a laugh. “It’s a game of life. And I believe in the way of the samurai. The saddest day in the samurai’s life is when your worst opponent dies, because that’s the guy who kept you on your toes.”

Sessions for the new recordings unfolded quickly from 5FDP’s current lineup that also includes baseball bat-wielding singer Moody, longtime bassist Chris Kael, and two newer members, drummer Charlie Engen and lead guitarist Andy James.

The musicians recorded their parts separately, re-creating songs some of them had by now performed live nearly 1,000 times around the world. The resulting tracks are not exact replicas of the originals, but are faithful to their spirit while leaving room for the natural evolution that happens through years of touring.

The result on “Best of Volume 1” is a potent representation of the band’s history, opening with the snarling riffs of “Under and Over It.” The first volume includes 13 rerecordings and three live tracks. When played side-by-side with the originals, the new self-produced songs never sound like tired retreads but are powered by some contemporary fire in the band’s performances.

The first public glimpse in the project was a rerecording of “I Refuse,” a power ballad from 2018, this time as a duet with Maria Brink (of In This Moment), released as a single in May.

Once news of the project, and its inspiration, began to spread, Five Finger Death Punch began to hear from a new constituency: Swifties.

“What’s kind of crazy is that I see Taylor Swift’s fans on our social media and bulletin board going, ‘Yeah!’ That’s the most bizarre thing,” Bathory says of the new voices cheering the band forward. “We are so far away from each other in style. But it seems like it hit a chord. I guess people who don’t necessarily understand or are privy to the music business and how it works still feel like this is not right.”

While the band is also six songs into recording its next album of new material, Bathory says the new best-of recordings are expected to be fully embraced by the band’s famously intense following.

“Our fans are pretty hardcore,” Bathory says. “They’re very engaged, and they know exactly why we did this. So I think, just to support the band, they will switch [their allegiance to the newer versions] anyway. But these recordings are going to live next to each other.”

Founded in 2005, Five Finger Death Punch was the culmination of the rock star dreams of Bathory that began as teen in Hungary, first as a fan of British punk rock, before turning to metal after discovering Iron Maiden (with early singer Paul Di’Anno). He built his own electric guitar to look like one used by the L.A. heavy metal band W.A.S.P., with a skull-and-crossbones painted onto the surface.

Rock music wasn’t played on TV or the radio in the then-communist country, so Bathory and his friends traded cassette tapes of any punk and metal they got their hands on. “Somebody always somehow smuggled in a record, and we would all copy it,” he remembers. “It created this subculture where we didn’t just look at it as music. It was the sound of the rebellion.”

Bathory also dressed the part, drawing attention for his Def Leppard T-shirt with the Union Jack flag, studded leather jackets and belts, and long hair. Kids who adopted that look and spoke in the language of Western hard rock actually risked arrest, he says.

“I’ve been chased around by the cops so many times,” he recalls with a laugh.

By his early 20s, Bathory moved to New York City with his guitar, about $1,000 in his pocket, and no English-speaking skills. While living in low-budget squalor, he slowly taught himself English, first by translating a random copy of the Stephen King novella “Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption.” He played with bands that got nowhere, and after six years relocated to Los Angeles, and things started to change.

For a year, he played bass in the L.A. hard rock band U.P.O., which enjoyed some chart success, then formed Five Finger Death Punch, with a name inspired by the 1972 kung fu film “Five Fingers of Death” and Quentin Tarantino’s two “Kill Bill” epics.

Zoltan Bathory, founder and guitarist of the heavy metal band Five Finger Death Punch, pilots a small boat on the man-made lake outside his Las Vegas house.

(Steve Appleford)

“I knew exactly what I wanted. There was a vision,” says Bathory.

That vision got clearer when he first saw singer Moody performing with the nu metal band Motograter. It was Bathory’s good fortune that Motograter would soon break up. He reached out to Moody in Denver.

“He was special — his performance, his voice. That star quality thing is a real thing,” notes Bathory of the growling, emotional singer. “You could tell he was a rock star, right? I’m like, OK, that’s the guy.”

In their first years as a band, the quintet played more than 200 shows annually. “We played every little stage that exists,” Bathory says.

Sitting beside the guitarist now in the café is Jackie Kajzer, also known as radio DJ Full Metal Jackie, who first spotted the band on MySpace. She soon caught an early set at the Whisky a Go Go and was immediately sold on their sound and potential. She was also a junior manager at the Firm, a leading management company at the time representing Korn, Limp Bizkit and Linkin Park.

Kajzer urged the company to sign the ominously-named Five Finger Death Punch, and after two showcase performances on the Strip, it did. The metal band was soon added to the side stage of the high-profile 2007 Family Values Tour, followed the next year by the traveling Mayhem Festival, leaving a powerful impression among new fans and fellow artists.

“When you find something that makes you feel something, it makes it worth fighting for,” says Kajzer, who has remained part of the band’s management team ever since, now at 10th Street Entertainment. “I had never felt it before. PS: I’ve never really felt that again, that same early feeling. You believe in it and you want to shake everyone else and make them get it as well.”

Five Finger Death Punch’s recording career began by uploading a few songs at a time — early versions of “Bleeding,” “Salvation,” and “The Way of The Fist” — to MySpace, then an essential platform for new acts, or what Bathory now remembers with a laugh as “the center of the universe.”

“It was extremely hard, but in the beginning we knew we had something because there was this instant interaction,” Bathory says of fan response. “We were all in bands before — many, many bands. We all recognized that, OK, there’s something different here. We didn’t have to convince people. It just started happening and it was growing really fast.”

Zoltan Bathory, stands beneath a Turkish lamp in his Las Vegas house.

(Steve Appleford)

“The ones that make it, they’re here for decade after decade,” he says of the larger metal scene, which enjoys a seemingly eternal audience. “The family [of fans] is extremely loyal and they’re there forever. Once you’re in, you’re in.”

The band’s first album, 2007’s “The Way of the Fist,” was largely recorded in Bathory’s apartment near the Sunset Strip. It reached halfway up the Billboard Top 200 album chart and eventually went gold, with 500,000 copies sold. While even greater success follower, there has also been the usual ups and downs in the life of a metal band, with group members coming and going, troubles with substance abuse, and arguments over creative choices.

After two decades together, the singer and the guitarist have survived.

“It’s still a tornado. It’s a band, a bunch of guys, so I don’t think it’s ever going to change. We built this freaking thing like it was a battleship,” says Bathory with a grin, sitting in the castle beneath an ornate Turkish lamp.

“It’s always going to be that we fight and argue, but at the end of the day, we always figure things out. We always climb the next mountain.”

Elvis Presley’s worn Omega wristwatch, gifted to him by Johnny Cash, sold for $103,700 this week.

Goldin, a leading sports and pop culture memorabilia auction house, sold the engraved timepiece as part of its inaugural music memorabilia auction, which closed Wednesday night. Other high-selling items included a D.A. Millings & Son custom suit worn by John Lennon in 1963 ($102,480), a signed copy of Led Zeppelin’s album “Presence” ($19,520) and George Harrison’s sunglasses ($47,590). Goldin also set a new sale record for a type 1 photo — or photo developed from an original negative within two years of when the picture was taken— of rapper Tupac Shakur, which sold for $10,370, according to the auction house.

Though sports and trading card auctions are Goldin’s “bread and butter,” the company is venturing more into pop culture, said head of revenue Dave Amerman. This transition is documented in Goldin’s Netflix show, “King of Collectibles: The Goldin Touch,” which premiered in 2023 and was just renewed for a third season.

“We realized that we get so many music items and we build them into our pop culture sales, we just want to separate it and make its own event out of it,” Amerman told The Times.

Many of the Beatles items belonged to music promoter Chris Agajanian, who’s been building his collection for more than 40 years. Agajanian owns more than 2,000 pieces of Beatles memorabilia and signed letters of provenance for many of the items in the Goldin sale.

The music auction also included more than 500 concert posters graded by the Certified Guaranty Company, the leader in comic book grading. Poster subjects ranged from the Grateful Dead and the Beatles to Sonic Youth and Blink-182.

In 2020, Goldin sold one of the most expensive albums of all time: a copy of Lennon and Yoko Ono’s “Double Fantasy” that Lennon unwittingly signed for his assassin, Mark David Chapman, just before the Beatle was shot in 1980. It went for $900,000.

Additionally, the auction house holds the record for most expensive toy sold at an auction: a 1979 prototype action figure of “Star Wars” bounty hunter Boba Fett that went for more than $1 million in 2024.

Goldin’s Hollywood Props & Memorabilia auction, featuring Harrison Ford’s “Indiana Jones” whip, a “Star Wars” Stormtrooper prototype helmet and George Reeves’ “Superman” suit, is currently live. The auction closes Aug. 6.

What is it about brothers? So competitive, so determined to outshine the other, so very male. In popular music, there are numerous examples of passionate sibling partnerships that have burned bright only to flame out, leaving recriminatory anger and the occasional lawsuit in their wake.

The Everly brothers were no exception. Foundational pillars of 20th century popular music, they formed the first great harmony vocal duo to bridge country music and pop. Over a five year period from 1957 to 1962, the brothers recorded a series of singles — “Wake Up Little Susie,” “Bye Bye Love” and “All I Have to Do Is Dream,” among them — that imprinted themselves into the pop-music canon, their soaring, wistful, close-interval harmonies gliding straight into our souls.

You don’t have to look too hard to find Phil and Don Everly’s traces. The Beatles regarded them as the harmony group they longed to emulate; you can hear them sing a snatch of “Bye Bye Love” in Peter Jackson’s “Get Back” documentary, and Paul McCartney name-checked them in his 1976 song “Let ‘Em In.” Simon & Garfunkel wanted to be the Everlys and included “Bye Bye Love” on the “Bridge Over Troubled Water” album. In 2013, Billie Joe Armstrong and Norah Jones recorded “Foreverly,” an album of Everly Brothers songs.

And yet, biographies of them are scant. Barry Mazor’s “Blood Harmony” is long overdue, a rigorously researched narrative of the duo’s fascinatingly zig-zaggy 50-plus-year career, as well as a loving valentine to the pair’s enduring musical power.

In his book, Mazor is quick to refute many of the myths that have accreted around the pair, starting with the backstory that the brothers were reared in Kentucky, a cradle of bluegrass, and that their dad, an accomplished guitarist and singer, nurtured them up from rural poverty into spotlight stardom. In fact, Mazor’s book points out that the brothers, who were born two years apart, moved around a lot as kids — Iowa and Chicago, mostly — soaking in the musical folkways of those regions and absorbing it all into their musical bloodstream. Though they were apprenticed by their father to perform as adolescents, they were their own men, with a sophisticated grasp of various musical genres as teenagers.

“They were as much products of the Midwest as they were of Kentucky,” says Mazor from his Nashville home. “The music they learned and the culture they absorbed was in Chicago, where they lived with their parents for a time, and they picked up on the R&B there. All of this eventually adds up to what we now call Americana, which is music that has a sense of place.” The Everlys brought that country-meets-the-city vibe to pop music.

Another misconception that Mazor clears up in “Blood Harmony” is the notion that the Beatles were the first musical group to write and play its own songs. In fact, Phil and Don wrote a clutch of the Everlys’ greatest records, including Phil’s 1960 composition “When Will I Be Loved,” which became a mammoth hit when Linda Ronstadt covered it in 1975. It’s also true that Don is rock’s first great rhythm guitarist, his strident acoustic strum powering ”Wake Up Little Susie” and others. George Harrison was listening, as was Pete Townsend.

The Everlys produced hits, many of them written by one or both of the husband-and-wife team of Felice and Boudleaux Bryant: “Bird Dog,” “Love Hurts,” “Poor Jenny” and others. But the Beatles’ global success became a barricade that many of the first-generation rock stars couldn’t breach, including the Everlys. “Even though they were only a couple of years older than the Beatles, they were treated as old hat,” says Mazor.

Complicating matters further: A lawsuit brought by their publishing company Acuff-Rose in 1961 meant that the brothers could no longer tap the Bryants to write songs for them. The same year, they enlisted in the Marine Corps Reserve and found, just as Elvis had discovered a few years prior, that military service did little to help sell records. By the time the lawsuit was settled in 1964, both brothers had descended into amphetamine abuse.

The Everlys had to go back to move forward. Warner Bros. Records, their label since 1960, had become the greatest label for a new era of singer-songwriters taking country-rock to a more introspective place. Future label president Lenny Waronker, an Everlys fan, wanted to make an album that would place the brothers in their proper context, as pioneers who bridged musical worlds to create something entirely new.

Author Barry Mazor is quick to refute many of the myths surrounding the Everlys.

(Courtesy of the author)

The resulting project, called “Roots,” drew from the Everlys’ musical heritage but also featured covers of songs by contemporary writers Randy Newman and Ron Elliott. Released in 1968, the same year as the Byrds’ “Sweetheart of the Rodeo” and the Band’s “Music from Big Pink,” “Roots” sold meekly, but it remains a touchstone of the Everlys’ career, a key progenitor of the Americana genre. “‘The ‘Roots’ album was one last chance to show they mattered,” says Mazor. “And there was suddenly room for them again. It wasn’t a massive seller, but it opened the door.”

If anything, it was their own fraught relationship that tended to snag the Everlys’ progress. Their identities were as intertwined as their harmonies, and it grated on them. Mazor points out that they were in fact vastly different in temperament, Phil’s pragmatic careerism running counter to Don’s more free-spirited approach. This push and pull created tensions that weighed heavily on their friendship and their musical output.

“Phil was more conservative in some ways. He was content to play the supper club circuit well into ‘70s, while Don wanted to explore and was less willing to sell out, as it were,” says Mazor. “And this created a wedge between them.” Perhaps inevitably, from 1973 to roughly 1983, they branched out as solo artists, making records that left little imprint on the public consciousness. They had families and eventually both moved from their L.A. home base to different cities.

But there was time for one final triumph. Having briefly set their differences aside, the brothers played a reunion show at London’s Royal Albert Hall in September 1983, which led to a collaboration on an album with British guitarist Dave Edmunds producing. Edmunds, in turn, asked Paul McCartney whether he would be willing to write something for the “EB 84” album, and the result was “On the Wings of a Nightingale,” their last U.S. hit, albeit a modest one.

“The harmony singing that the Everlys pioneered is still with us,” says Mazor. “If you look back, the Kinks, the Beach Boys, all of these brother acts all loved the Everlys. But there’s also a contemporary act called Larkin Poe, who called one of their albums ‘Blood Harmony.’ They set an example for how two singers can maximize their voices to create something larger than themselves. This kind of harmony still lingers.”

In 2018, Paul Simon walked onto the Hollywood Bowl stage for what most in the crowd believed to be his last tour stop in Los Angeles, ever. Simon expected that too — he’d billed the event as his “Homeward Bound — Farewell Tour.” After 50 years of performing, a then-record three Grammy wins for album, a catalog of some of the most sophisticated and inquisitive American songwriting ever put to paper — he’d go out in full garlands.

So what a shock and delight when Simon, now 83, announced a few years later that he was not quite done yet. In 2023, he released a new album, “Seven Psalms,” an elliptical, gracious invocation for the arc of his life, drawing on biblical imagery and intertwined guitar fugues.

But even better, Simon would also return to the stage for a new tour, including a five-night run at Disney Concert Hall. For L.A. fans, these shows were one last chance to reconnect with Simon, who now had a profound late-career album to bookend his catalog. Those songs spanned from his years in the Greenwich Village folk scene of the ‘60s and ‘70s to a Sabrina Carpenter duet on “Saturday Night Live’s” 50th anniversary special.

Wednesday’s show — the last of the Disney hall stand — got to all of it, with Simon still in exquisite form in the last light of his performing career.

If Simon, seven years ago, had any doubts about his interest or ability to perform live at this exacting level, they must have disappeared the second he got a guitar in his hand at Disney Hall. The set opened with a full run of “Seven Psalms,” a short yet profound song cycle in which a dense, ornamental acoustic guitar figure recurs over several songs in an intimate valediction.

“Seven Pslams” belongs alongside David Bowie’s “Blackstar” or Johnny Cash’s “American Recordings” albums in the canon of wide-lens looks at the mystery of late life. Simon’s music was wise before its time even when he was a young man. But the perspective he has at this vantage, on the backside of 80 with a rejuvenated muse, was especially moving.

“I lived a life of pleasant sorrows, until the real deal came,” he sang on “Love Is Like a Braid.” “And in that time of prayer and waiting, where doubt and reason dwell / A jury sat, deliberating. All is lost or all is well.“

Simon’s band members for this stint — a dozen or so strong, spanning percussion, woodwinds and guitars — were mostly impressionists during this portion, adding distant bells and chamber flourishes to the patina of these songs.

While he kicked up his heels a bit on the bluesy “My Professional Opinion,” there was a trembling power in “Trail of Volcanoes” and, especially, “Your Forgiveness,” in which Simon took stock of his time on Earth and whatever lies next. “Two billion heart beats and out / Waving the flag in the last parade / I have my reasons to doubt,” he sang, followed by a gracious incantation: “Dip your hand in heaven’s waters, god’s imagination … All of life’s abundance in a drop of condensation.”

Paul Simon plays and sings Wednesday at Disney Concert Hall in Los Angeles.

(Gina Ferazzi / Los Angeles Times)

The hit-heavy back half of the show was a little rowdier. One fan even made a bit of history when he tossed a $20 bill onstage, which was enough for Simon to gamely oblige his request to play a verse of “Kodachrome.”

Simon and his band had looser reins here. “Graceland” and “Under African Skies” still radiated curiosity for the world’s musical bounty, with the fraught complexity of that album nonetheless paving a stone on the road for African music’s current global ascent. (He introduced his bassist, Bakithi Kumalo, as the last surviving member of the original “Graceland” band.)

An elegant “Slip Slidin’ Away” led up to a poignant “The Late Great Johnny Ace,” which took a tale of rock ‘n’ roll self-destruction and pinned it to a generational sense of cultural collapse. Simon didn’t reference any current events beyond the John F. Kennedy, Robert F. Kennedy and John Lennon assassinations, but you could feel a contemporary gravity in the song.

Veteran drummer Steve Gadd reprised his jazzy breaks for “50 Ways to Leave Your Lover,” and the fatherhood ballad “St. Judy’s Comet” was a sweet, deep-cut flourish. (That mood continued when Edie Brickell, Simon’s wife and vocalist, slipped in from the side stage to whistle the hook on “Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard.) But the band hit full velocity on a pair of songs from “The Rhythm of the Saints.” “Spirit Voices” conjured an ayahuasca reverie with its thicket of guitars and hand percussion, while the sprawling and time-signature-bending “The Cool, Cool River” showed Simon the musician — not just the poet — still in absolute command.

Simon’s set never got to “Bridge Over Troubled Water” or “You Can Call Me Al,” but the final encore wrapped with just him and a guitar and the eternal hymn of “The Sound of Silence.” His guitar work retained all its original power in the opening instrumental runs, and Simon looked genuinely grateful that, perhaps even to his own surprise, the stage hadn’t lost its promise or potency for him just yet.

Who knows whether Wednesday was the last time Angelenos will get to see Simon perform live (this tour wraps next month in Seattle). If it was, then it was a beautiful benediction for one of America’s defining songwriters. But if it wasn’t, take any chance you get to see him again.

Fans of System of a Down desperately hoping the Armenian American alt-metal band will one day release a full-length follow-up to their chart-topping 2005 companion albums “Mezmerize” and “Hypnotize” can at least seek some solace in the latest offering from band co-founder Daron Malakian. “Addicted to the Violence,” the third album from his solo project Daron Malakian and Scars on Broadway, may lack System frontman Serj Tankian’s mellifluous singing, iconoclastic rants and feral screams, but its eclectic structure, melodic earworms, fetching vocal harmonies and poignant themes are sonically and structurally similar to System of a Down — and with good reason.

“All of my songs can work for either Scars or System because they come from my style and have my signature,” Malakian says from his home in Glendale. “When I wrote for System, I didn’t bring guitar riffs to the band. Like with [System’s 2002 breakthrough single] ‘Aerials.’ That was a complete song. I wrote it from beginning to end before I showed it to them.”

Malakian — who tackled vocals, guitar and bass — assembled “Addicted to the Violence” (out Friday) during the last five years, using songs he’d written over roughly two decades. The oldest track, “Satan Hussein,” which starts with a rapid-fire guitar line and features a serrated verse and a storming chorus, dates to the early 2000s, when System’s second album, “Toxicity,” was rocketing toward six-times platinum status (which it achieved nine months after release).

With Scars, Malakian isn’t chasing ghosts and he’s not tied to a schedule. He’s more interested in spontaneity than continuity, and artistry takes precedence over cohesion. None of the tracks on the band’s sporadically released three albums — 2008’s self-titled debut, 2018’s “Dictator,” and “Addicted to the Violence”— follow a linear or chronological path. Instead, each includes an eclectic variety of songs chosen almost at random.

“It’s almost like I spin the wheel and wherever the arrow lands, that’s where I start,” he explains. “I end up with a bunch of songs from different periods in my life that come from different moods. It’s totally selfish. Everything starts as something I write for myself and play for myself. I never listen to something I’ve done and say, ‘Oh, everybody’s gonna love this.’ For me, a song is more like my new toy. At some point, I finish playing with it and I go, ‘OK, I’m ready to share this with other kids now.’”

Whether by happenstance or subconscious inspiration, “Addicted to the Violence” is a turbulent, inadvertently prescient album for unstable times — a barbed, off-kilter amalgam of metal, alt-rock, pop, Cali-punk, prog, Mediterranean folk, alt-country and psychedelia — sometimes within the same song. Lyrically, Malakian addresses school shootings, authoritarianism, media manipulation, infidelity, addiction and stream-of-consciousness ramblings as dizzying as an hour of random, rapid-fire channel surfing.

Is writing music your way of making sense out of a nonsensical world?

I like to think of it as bringing worlds together that, in other cases, may not belong together. But when they come out through me, they mutate and turn into this thing that makes sense. In that way, music is like my therapist. Even if I write a song and nobody ever hears it, it’s healthy for me to make and it helps me work stuff out. When I write a song, sometimes it affects me deeply and I’ll cry or I’ll get hyped up and excited. It’s almost like I’m communicating with somebody, but I’m not talking to anyone. It’s just me in this intimate moment.

Is it strange to take these personal, intimate and therapeutic moments and turn them into songs that go out for the masses to interpret and absorb?

I want people to make up their own meanings for the songs, even if they’re completely different than mine. I don’t even like to talk about what inspired the songs because it doesn’t matter. No one needs to know what I was thinking because they don’t know my life. They don’t know me. They know the guy on stage, but they don’t know the personal struggles I’ve been through and they don’t need to.

Was there anything about “Addicted to the Violence” that you wanted to do differently than “Dictator”?

Different songs on the album have synthesizer and that’s a color I’ve never used before in System or Scars. Every painting you make shouldn’t have the same colors. Sometimes I’m like, “Will that work with the rest of the songs? That color is really different.” But I’m not afraid to use it.

[Warning: Video includes profanity.]

“Shame Game” has a psychedelic vibe that’s kinda like a hybrid of Strawberry Alarm Clock and Blue Oyster Cult, while the title track has a prog rock vibe redolent of Styx, Rush and Mars Volta.

I love all that stuff. I spend more time listening to music than playing guitar. It’s how I practice music. I take in these inspirations and it all comes out later when I write without me realizing it.

In 2020, System released the songs “Protect the Land” and “Genocidal Humanoidz,” which you originally planned to use for Scars on Broadway.

At that time, I hadn’t recorded “Genocidal Humanoidz” yet, but I had finished “Protect the Land,” and my vocals on the song are the tracks I was going to use for my album. Serj just came in and sang his parts over it.

Why did you offer those songs to System when every time you tried to work on an album with them after 2010, you hit a creative impasse?

Because [the second Nagorno-Karabakh War] was going on in Artsakh at that time between [the Armenian breakaway state Artsakh and Azerbaijan], and we decided we needed to say something. We all got on the phone and I said, “Hey, I got this song ‘Protect the Land,’ and it’s about this exact topic.” So, I pulled it off the Scars record and shared it with System.

You released the eponymous Scars on Broadway album in 2008, almost exactly two years after System went on a four-year hiatus. Did you form Scars out of a need to stay creative?

At the time, I knew that if I wanted to keep releasing music, I needed a new outlet, so Scars was something that had to happen or I would have just been sitting around all these years and nobody would have heard from me.

You played a few shows with Scars before your first album came out in 2008, but you abruptly canceled the supporting tour and only released one more Scars song before 2018.

That was a really strange time. I wanted to move forward with my music, but we had worked so hard to get to the point we got to in System, and not everyone was in the same boat when it came to how we wanted to move forward. I just wasn’t ready to do a tour with Scars.

Was it like trying to start a new relationship after a bad breakup?

I might have rushed into that second marriage too quick. I had [System drummer] John [Dolmayan] playing with me, and I think that was [a sign that] I was still holding onto System of a Down. That created a lot of anxiety.

A few years later, you announced that you were working on a new Scars album and planned to release it in 2013. Why did it take until 2018 for you to put out “Dictator”?

I was writing songs and thinking they were amazing, but in my head I was conflicted about where the songs were going to go. “Should I take them to Scars? Is that premature? Would System want to do something with them?” I underwent this constant struggle because Serj and I always had this creative disagreement. I finally moved past that and did the second album, but it took a while.

“Everything we’ve experienced has brought us to where we are now. And now is all we’ve got because the past is gone and the future isn’t here yet. So, the most important thing is the present,” Malakian said.

(Travis Shinn)

System of a Down played nine concerts in South America this spring, and you have six stadium gigs scheduled in North America for August and September. Is there any chance a new System album will follow?

I’m not so sure I even want to make another System of a Down record at this point in my life. I’m getting along with the guys really well right now. Serj and I love each other and we enjoy being onstage together. So, maybe it’s best for us to keep playing concerts as System and doing our own things outside of that.

The cover art for “Addicted to the Violence” — a silhouette of a woman against a blood-red background holding an oversize bullet over her head, and standing in front of a row of opium poppies — is the work of your father, Iraqi-born artist Vartan Malakian. Was he a major inspiration for you?

My approach to art and everything I know about it comes from my dad, and the way we approach what we do is very similar. We both do it for ourselves. He has never promoted himself or done an art exhibition. The only things most people have seen from him are the album covers. But ever since I was born, he was doing art in the house, and he’s never cared if anyone was looking at it.

Do you seek his approval?

No, I don’t. He usually is very supportive of what I do, but my dad’s a complicated guy. I admire him a lot and wish I could even be half of the artist that he is. And if he and my mom didn’t move to this country, I would not have been in System of a Down. I would have ended up as a soldier during Desert Storm and the Second Gulf War. That’s my alternative life. It’s crazy.

Have you been to Iraq?

When I was 14 years old, I went there for two months to visit relatives and it was a complete culture shock. I’m a kid that grew up in Hollywood, and I went to Baghdad wearing a Metallica shirt and I was a total smart aleck. Everywhere we went, I saw pictures and statues of Saddam Hussein. I turned to my cousin and said, “What if I walked up to one of the statues and said, ‘Hey Saddam, go f— yourself?’” Just me saying that made him nervous and scared. Talking like that was seriously dangerous and I had no idea. That was a definite learning experience of what I could have been. And it inspired me later to write “Satan Hussein.”

You had a glimpse of life under an authoritarian regime. Do you have strong feelings about the Trump administration and the way the president has, at times, acted like a dictator?

I don’t hate the guy and I don’t love the guy. I’m not on the right, I’m not on the left. There are some things both sides do that I agree with, but I don’t talk about that stuff in interviews because when it comes to politics, I’m not on a team. I don’t like the division in this country, and I think if you’re too far right or you’re too far left, you end up in the same place.

Is “Addicted to the Violence,” and especially the song “Killing Spree,” a commentary on political violence in our country?

Not just political violence, it’s all violence. “Killing Spree” is ridiculous. It’s heavy. It’s dark. But if you listen to the way I sing, there is an absolutely absurd delivery, almost like I’m having fun with it. I’m not celebrating the violence, but the delivery is done the way a crazy person would celebrate it. So, it’s from the viewpoint of a killer, the viewpoint of a victim, and my own viewpoint. I saw a video on social media of these kids standing around in the street, and one of them gets wiped out by the back end of a car and flies into the air. These kids are recording it and some of them are laughing like’s it’s funny. I don’t want to say that’s right or wrong, but from what I’m seeing, a lot of people have become desensitized to violence.

You’re releasing “Addicted to the Violence” about six weeks before the final six System of a Down dates of 2025. Have you figured out how to compartmentalize what you do with System of a Down and Scars on Broadway?

There was a time that I couldn’t juggle the two very well, but now I feel more confident and very comfortable with where System and Scars are. I love playing with System, and I want to do more shows with Scars. I couldn’t tell you how either band will evolve. Only time will tell what happens and I’m fine with that as long as it happens in a natural way. Everything we’ve experienced has brought us to where we are now. And now is all we’ve got because the past is gone and the future isn’t here yet. So, the most important thing is the present.

Every half-decade or so, Justin Bieber sloughs off the callused skin of the pop superstar he became at age 15 to reveal the tender and quirky R&B singer he’s always been at heart. He did it in 2013 with his album “Journals,” then in 2020 with “Changes.”

Neither project did anything like the numbers of his shinier, smilier teen-idol stuff, though each seemed like a crucial reset for a guy battling the pressures of early onset celebrity. Now, at 31, he’s done it again with “Swag,” the surprise LP he dropped Thursday night just hours after revealing that it existed.

Like those earlier albums, the 21-track “Swag” comes after a period of change and tumult for Bieber: In 2022, citing the need to focus on his health, he called off a world tour behind the previous year’s “Justice” album; in 2023, he parted ways with his longtime manager, Scooter Braun; last year, he and his wife, Hailey Baldwin, had their first child together. (Somewhere in there he also sold the rights to his music catalog for a reported $200 million.) More recently, he’s been caught on video in a series of confrontations with paparazzi that got people talking about his well-being.

“It’s not clocking to you that I’m standing on business,” he tells a photographer in one clip that went viral last month — so viral, in fact, that Bieber excerpts it on “Swag,” which puts his luscious crooning over spacey, cooled-out grooves full of pillowy synths, twanging electric guitars and reverbed chillwave-’80s beats.

What distinguishes “Swag” from “Journals” and “Changes” is that this album feels much rawer and more improvisatory than the earlier ones; the production throughout is murky and smeared, and the record includes a couple of demo-like tracks that suggest Bieber simply AirDropped unfinished voice memos from his phone to whomever was sitting behind the computer in the recording studio. (One of them, a gorgeous little gospel-blues ditty, is titled “Glory Voice Memo.”) The idea that “Swag” puts across pretty sympathetically is that a messy life — let’s not forget that Bieber is also involved in a Christian organization that some have compared to a cult — yields messy music.

“When the money comes and the money goes / Only thing that’s left is the love we hold,” he sings in the thrumming “Butterflies,” which samples another of those paparazzi run-ins; “Walking Away,” a lightly psychedelic soul-rock jam, has him describing the challenges of his highly scrutinized marriage with an endearing frankness about his desire to wise up emotionally. (Braun, whom Bieber is said to have paid millions of dollars recently to settle an old debt, wrote on Instagram that “Swag” “is, without a doubt, the most authentically Justin Bieber album to date.”)

In un-polishing his music, the singer is also adapting to the scrappy and proudly idiosyncratic vibe of modern pop as found on records by the likes of SZA, Charli XCX, Lana Del Rey, even Drake — A-plus stars who’ve achieved domination in the streaming era not by honing a streamlined vision but by pursuing odd impulses and allowing the listener to feel like part of the journey. One of Bieber’s key collaborators here is Mk.gee, the mysterious guitar virtuoso whose 2024 debut made him perhaps the most talked-about musician’s musician of the last few years; “Swag” feels shaped by the way Mk.gee thinks about how a great pop song should balance novelty and familiarity. Other members of the creative team Bieber gathered for loose jam sessions at his home in Los Angeles include Dijon, a frequent partner of Mk.gee’s, and Carter Lang, who’s worked closely with SZA.

Given Bieber’s attentive nature and his good taste — think of his relatively ahead-of-the-curve participation in remixes of Wizkid’s “Essence” and “Despacito” by Luis Fonsi and Daddy Yankee — it probably figures that in 2025 he’d make a record that imagines Phil Collins sitting in with Scritti Politti. Yet as a tinkerer luxuriating in rough edges, Bieber stands alone among his fellow white male pop stars (or at last the few of them who remain near the center of the conversation): Benson Boone is doing well-rehearsed back flips on every awards show stage that will have him, while Ed Sheeran has said his upcoming album represents a return to his old hit-seeking ways after a spell in the folky wilderness. And then there’s Morgan Wallen, whose thematically gloomy “I’m the Problem” is so sonically dialed in that you almost fear what the album’s enormous success will end up doing to the guy.

Does Bieber relish his outlier status? In one of several very cringe interludes on “Swag,” the internet comedian Druski tells the singer that, although his skin is white, his soul is Black — to which Bieber, clearly operating without the guidance of a strong manager, responds, “Thank you.” Still, you can’t argue with Druski’s assessment that he can “hear the soul” on this album: Bieber’s singing has never sounded more instinctual than in songs like the crunchy “Daisies” and the country-soul “Devotion,” and even when they’re bad, his lyrics have an awkward charm, as in “Go Baby,” in which he plugs the iPhone-case-slash-lip-gloss-holder sold by his wife’s beauty brand, and “405,” a song about flirting with Baldwin in the car that rhymes “Hit the gas” with “Spider-Man on your ass.”

Shaggy, disarming, often quite beautiful, the LP argues that swag is not something to be taught (as indeed Bieber once famously enlisted someone to do) — not a skill nor a technique to be perfected and deployed. It’s a state of mind, bro. Is that clocking to you?

Is it finally clocking to you? Justin Bieber is back.

The 31-year-old singer surprise-released a new album, “Swag,” Friday after teasing fans the previous morning with a series of billboards and social media posts. Bieber’s first album since 2021’s “Justice,” the new music prompted an online frenzy and revived a devoted community of Beliebers.

From his marriage to his paparazzi encounters, Bieber has faced incredible scrutiny over the last few months, which he addresses head-on in “Swag.” After listening to all 21 tracks, here are our biggest takeaways.

R&Bieber is back

Bieber has incorporated R&B elements in his music since early in his career and embraced the genre fully on the 2013 compilation album “Journals.” But even after coining R&Bieber in 2019, he’s struggled to be taken seriously.

When 2020’s “Changes” received a Grammy nomination for pop vocal album, Bieber expressed his confusion at not being nominated in the R&B category.

“To the Grammys I am flattered to be acknowledged and appreciated for my artistry. I am very meticulous and intentional about my music. With that being said I set out to make an R&B album. ‘Changes’ was and is an R&B album,” he wrote on Instagram. “It is not being acknowledged as an R&B album which is very strange to me. I grew up admiring R&B music and wished to make a project that would embody that sound.”

“To be clear I absolutely love Pop music,” he added. “It just wasn’t what I set out to make this time around. My gratitude for feeling respected for my work remains and I am honored to be nominated either way.”

On “Swag,” Bieber shows off his R&B chops. From opening track “All I Can Take” and the seemingly SZA-inspired “Yukon” to “Daisies” (which reportedly features Mk.gee on the guitar), he takes a more intimate approach than on previous albums. But still, longtime fans will hear hints of “Journals” and “Changes” throughout the project.

In one of the album’s unconventional moments, comedian Druski comments on Bieber’s more “soulful,” R&B-infused sound.

“I said this album kinda sound, you got some soul on this album too, bro,” he says on the interlude track “Soulful.” “Your skin white but your soul Black, Justin. I promise you, man.”

He’s not ‘Walking Away’ from his marriage

Since Justin and Hailey Bieber wed in 2018, their marriage has been under a microscope. Divorce rumors circulated within months of them tying the knot, and it didn’t help that many fans were still rooting for the singer to get back with ex-girlfriend Selena Gomez.

Bieber’s love for his wife is evident throughout his catalog — from 2020’s “All Around Me” to 2021’s “Hailey.” But in case anyone is still skeptical (they are), Bieber sets the record straight on “Swag.”

On album standout “Walking Away,” Bieber gets candid about his relationship troubles but also reaffirms that he’s committed to his marriage. “You were my diamond / Gave you a ring / I made you a promise / I told you I’d change / It’s just human nature / These growing pains / And baby, I ain’t walking away,” he sings.

Elsewhere on the album, he cheers on his wife. On “Go Baby” (which lyrically echoes 2021’s “There She Go”), he sings, “That’s my baby, she’s iconic, iPhone case, lip gloss on it” — a reference to the Rhode founder’s famous lip gloss-holder phone case.

Recently, Hailey sold her skin-care company, which she launched in 2022, to e.l.f Beauty for $1 billion. There she goes indeed.

Justin Bieber addresses scrutiny over his marriage to Hailey Bieber throughout his new album, “Swag.”

(Jordan Strauss/Jordan Strauss/Invision/AP)

The pregnancy announcement song

The Biebers’ pregnancy announcement in May 2024 was accompanied by an unknown instrumental track. Now, fans have identified it as “Devotion” featuring Dijon.

On the heartwarming track, Bieber sings, “When your lips and fingernails are all mine / I promise to take my time givin’ you devotion.”

The singer also celebrates being a father to Jack Blues Bieber, born Aug. 23, 2024, on “Dadz Love.” As rapper Lil B declares we need “less hatin’” and “more love,” Bieber repeats the track title (which sounds like “that’s love”) over and over.

There’s no cure for Bieber fever

Soon after the singer announced the surprise album, fans flocked to social media to express their excitement.

“New album – bieber fever hitting like it’s 2010,” TikTok user @jennyboba posted to the will.i.am collab “#thatPOWER.”

“Justin Bieber is back… I used to pray for times like this,” singer d4vd posted on X.

Others reactivated their old X fan accounts and created group chats to celebrate the release. “We’re creating a SWAG group chat to keep up with all the updates! Like or reply so I can add you,” @statsonbieber announced in a post that’s since received almost 6,000 likes and more than 600 comments.

Bieber fever may have been latent for years, but it’s making the rounds once again.

Bieber’s ‘Standing on Business’

Bieber’s had his fair share of viral paparazzi moments over the past year. Most notable was his encounter with photographers while leaving Malibu’s SoHo House, when he declared, “It’s not clocking to you that I’m standing on business.”

The singer’s misuse of African American Vernacular English has turned into an internet meme, but Bieber’s in on the joke. He’s shared several fan edits of the encounter on his Instagram, including one that riffs off the hilarious “I’m a mommy” moment on “Love Island USA.” And on “Swag,” Bieber includes an interlude aptly titled “Standing on Business.”

“I like that you pronounce business. Usually, when I say, ‘Standin’ on business,’ I say, ‘Standin’ on bih’ ’ness,’ ” Druski says after the now-famous audio plays. “I think that’s why he ain’t leave right there. You were pronunciatin’ every word — you can’t pronunciate every word when you doin’ that.”

Bieber samples another paparazzi moment on “Butterflies”: “You just want money. Money, money, money, money, money, money, money. Get out of here, bro. Money, that’s all you want, you don’t care about human beings. All you want is money.”

The song then transitions into an honest reflection on money and fame: “When the money comes and the money goes / Only thing that’s left, uh, is the love we hold,” he sings.

To be clear, Bieber’s contentious exchanges with the paparazzi are nothing new. “[What] do your parents think about what you do?” he asked one in 2012. “You tell them, ‘Yeah, I stalk people for a living’?”

But recently, these encounters — coupled with his sometimes outlandish social media activity — have led to increased scrutiny and speculation about Bieber’s mental health. Many have even drawn comparisons to Britney Spears.

“People are always askin’ if I’m OK, and that starts to really weigh on me,” Bieber tells Druski on the track “Therapy Session.” “It starts to make me feel like I’m the one with issues and everyone else is perfect.”

Following her husband’s surprise album announcement, Hailey reposted the tracklist on her Instagram story with the caption, “Is it finally clocking to you f— losers?”

Perhaps it finally is.