India is facing growing discontent among its youth and they are taking to the streets. One Indian artist tells Al Jazeera the Modi government changed his voting status and had his Instagram post taken down. Now he’ll join thousands expected at a Cockroach Janta Party-led protest demanding change.
Published On 2 Oct 20262 Oct 2026
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Earlier this summer, Akriila flew to Los Angeles and played two nights at the Roxy in West Hollywood. At 22, the Chilean singer-songwriter, most identifiable by her fire engine red tresses, is one of the most visionary newcomers in the latest wave of post-urbano Latin artists.
Fittingly, Akriila kick-started her career with a trap mixtape. The most-streamed tracks on her debut, 2024’s dazzling “Epistolares,” favor a progressive reggaeton vein. She also collaborated with Milo J on “Llora Llora” — a folksy lullaby off the Argentine rapper’s masterpiece “La Vida Era Más Corta.”
“Hot gays listen to Akriila” became a celebrated slogan on social media.
Turns out she was just getting started. Released Sept. 3, her latest album, “Lucy Miró al Mundo y Notó Que Está Girando” — its title a delicious riff on Beatles lore — eschews reggaeton altogether, in favor of a hallucinogenic collage of shoegaze, electronic glitch pop and South American roots sounds.
A guidepost of Chilean hyper-pop, it is also a heart-wrenching mash of tenderness and distortion. The lyrics describe the trauma of a recent transition, after she left her father’s home and ventured to live on her own — and though she’s now an established artist signed to Atlantic Records, her music is still aching and vulnerable.
“She is a reference point for all of us in contemporary music,” says producer Diego Raposo, a Dominican tastemaker who featured Akriila on his 2023 debut album. “I believe we’re witnessing something that we’ll probably never see again. Her music reminds me of Björk, Aphex Twin, even Shakira — but it’s also incredibly fresh and original.”
A few days before traveling to London for her inaugural European tour, Akriila spoke to De Los about the seduction of second verses, her obsession with ’90s dream pop and the growing pains of living alone.
This is such a dreamlike record. Was that intentional?
I wanted it to feel not necessarily ethereal, but hazy, like you’re inside a bubble. I love the way my voice is processed, sharing the space with so many layers. It’s really cool when the vocals are part of a track instead of lying there in the center of the mix.
I was your age in the ’90s, and this album has a very strange emotional effect on me: It reminds me of what it felt like to be in my 20s, listening to dream pop for the first time.
That makes perfect sense, and it connects with a favorite exercise of mine: Every week — ideally, every day — I listen to a full album from beginning to end. I started with new releases, but then set my sights on the classics.
The Sundays’ [1990 masterpiece] “Reading, Writing and Arithmetic” was the album that opened up the space mentally for what I wanted to do. I always say that I make alternative pop. I start with something that’s catchy and easily digestible, and then mix it with sounds that feel uncomfortable. As I was starting to work on this album, I listened to the Sundays, the Cardigans, and every single record that Prince ever made.
I can definitely feel the ’90s vibe in the closing track, “Lucy.” It’s gorgeous.
That’s inspired by the Sundays’ “Gone,” and the drums sound like Cocteau Twins. I love the art of collage — stealing from different artists, but doing it my way. There are samples of PJ Harvey, Patti Smith, but also Rosalía. When I make videos, I’m always thinking of something that MTV would have played back in the day.
I keep thinking of this record as a concept album, even though the actual concept is more of a feeling than anything else.
I totally get you. It’s not an album like the Who’s “Tommy” — an actual musical that takes the conceptual deal to another level. I feel we’ve forgotten the art of making albums now that we’re so focused on playlists and TikTok. I invest a lot of effort in making my albums conceptual, since I’m not into records that are random collections of tracks. “Epistolares” was all about sending letters and dedications. The deluxe version was more sentimental. This one is a concept album for sure. I could outline in detail why every moment of the record happens when it does.
The bridge on “Abrázame” is incredibly romantic.
That bit really freaked me out in a good way. It was shorter at first, but then I asked [producer] Vinco to make it longer. Those guitars on the bridge are the most beautiful thing he’s ever done. The contradiction of “Abrázame” is that everyone kept telling me that it should continue going up and explode at the end, but I had already overused that device on “Epistolares.” So I did the opposite and gave it a happy ending. That ethereal, ambient thing at the end kills me.
Talking about songwriting devices, here’s a trademark Akriila move: A song may be moving forward, and suddenly there’s a fracture — everything breaks and decomposes. Why?
I think I have ADHD and need things to be constantly changing. I’ve tried to make songs that are plain, but I just can’t do it. My favorite part of songwriting is working on the second verse. You’ve already presented the main idea and shown what the chorus is like. On the second verse you can change the beat or the lyrics, and do anything you like. [Producer] Clemente is just like me in that respect. Sometimes we take things to the limit, and then step back. It’s one of the great things about my creative team: We’re not married to the demos. We may do five versions of the same tune until it sounds right.
Your Chilean roots shine through on “Partedemipartedeti.” I listened to those folk bits and thought: Here’s someone who grew up listening to Los Jaivas and Inti-Illimani.
When I first started obsessing about music, the stuff that I liked was all in Spanish. I listened to tons of records from Chile, Argentina and Mexico. “Carta a Mi Papá” is like a traditional balada from Chile. I stole those chords from “Quizás, Porque” by [Argentine supergroup] Sui Generis. I listened to a lot of Pescado Rabioso when I was a teen. My partner has a cassette deck in her car, and she’s always playing [Charly García’s] “Piano Bar.” I don’t identify only with Chilean music. It’s more of a música latinoamericana thing. I don’t think gringos are that good in the lyric writing department. Artists like Bandalos Chinos, Alex Anwandter and Zoé are really great composers.
Do you think you’re an old soul?
People always tell me that [smiles]. We’re a team of three; I think Clemente is a really young soul. Vinco and I are the old ones.
Before making this record, you stopped living with your dad, moved to a place of your own, and experienced a time of profound loneliness. What does your father think of the finished album?
He loves it. He is a musician himself, and it must have been hard for him when we started living apart. It was also difficult for me to get home and feel so lonely because there was no one waiting for me anymore. My dad still comes to my place once a week; he doesn’t want to bother me, so he leaves food in the reception area. It’s his way of making sure that I’m doing fine.
AUSTRALIAN rock legend Gary ‘Angry’ Anderson has died at 79.
The rocker was known for as the frontman of the band Rose Tattoo.
His bandmates and family released an emotional tribute to the star.
An emotional statement described the musician as a “devoted father, and much-loved bandmate”.
More to follow… For the latest news on this story keep checking back at The Sun Online
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What happened to the future we were promised? The vision that grew out of the 1990s techno-utopianism, when the internet was still a place of freedom and experimentation. Where are the infinite possibilities the early years of the millennium afforded, when social media meant AOL Instant Messenger and GeoCities, when our cellphones were not yet smart, and when personal tech evoked whimsy and excitement rather than anxiety and dread?
On a recent night in L.A., that digital optimism still existed. Here, at a clothing store on La Brea Avenue in the Fairfax District, something that felt lost was rediscovered. People were huddling around to play 1999’s “Crazy Taxi” on a Sega Dreamcast, or 2005’s “Tekken 5” on a PlayStation 2. They were surfing a perfectly re-created Y2K-era internet, and navigating an early version of Apple’s Photo Booth to snap selfies with a first-generation iSight webcam.
Paizley Lee created Dead Internet Theory to bring guests back to an era when tech evoked excitement rather than dread.
(Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times)
Yes, almost everyone was staring at screens, but almost no one was looking at their phone. Instead, the room felt alive and buzzing with energy. Technology was creating human connection rather than isolation.
Welcome to Dead Internet Theory, an event hosted by game designer Paizley Lee that’s both a celebration of vintage tech and a place to build community. The name is a tongue-in-cheek reference to the theory that the internet today is mostly bots, AI slop and corporate algorithms, while the human element is quickly disappearing from the web.
Lee started the event earlier this year after seeing how her friends reveled in hacking old hardware but had nowhere to show off their reimagined contraptions. She said Dead Internet Theory is a space to highlight “artists who don’t see the light of day,” a cyberpunk show-and-tell of sorts. “There’s a world of knowledge that comes from that person that can share and collaborate with another artist, and that’s really the future that we were promised, right then and there,” Lee said. “It’s the ‘Hey, look at what I made, look at what I’m interested in, and let’s share that.’ ”
Benjamin Palmer shows his project called Pan and Scan.
(Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times)
One of those artists sharing his work was Dan Ruth. Atop a low credenza, he displayed a black, leather suitcase that housed inside of it an old laptop attached to an external zip drive. On the laptop’s screen was a menu of various banned books — the Unabomber’s manifesto and “The Anarchist Cookbook” among them. Ruth had recently bought the trademark rights to the digital storage systems iOmega, Zip and Jaz. “They were what we all used in the ‘90s to transfer larger files,” he explained of the era before online storage and transfer infrastructure like Google Drive.
With his setup at the event, participants could choose whatever banned book they wanted and write it to a physical Zip disk (about the size of a saltine cracker) to keep forever. If Ruth’s installation is a bit provocative, his message is less controversial. At a time when servers are being shut down, physical media is being digitized out of existence, and the subscription model is supplanting personal ownership, Ruth believes this is a way to have data autonomy.
Guests play retro video games.
(Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times)
Lee’s own contribution to the evening is the full rainbow of Apple’s iMac G3 computers — those bubbly, teardrop-shaped desktops that debuted in 1998 to the famous “iCandy” ads displaying their colorful shells, and TV commercials scored to the Rolling Stones’ “She’s Like a Rainbow.” Over several months and multiple trips, Lee drove across the country collecting the G3s in their core five colors. And it wasn’t easy. She recalled sleeping in her car in the parking lot of a Cracker Barrel for a few nights because she had spent all her money on acquiring the computers.
It was the people Lee met in the months of gathering the G3s, however, that made it worth it: a single dad who collected vintage iMacs to bond with his son, an elementary school teacher who held onto the old computers because the school was going to destroy them.
“I met these really witchy, cool, queer programmers from MIT in Medford, Massachusetts, who invited me back for MIT Swap Fest, where I found Indigo,” said Lee, referring to another G3 color not part of the core five. “I met a guy who used to work in broadcast, and his wife just died of cancer. His mom moved in, and she has been trying to support him in getting rid of old things and not holding on to them too much.” Human moments made possible almost by the accident of holding onto a computer longer than most.
Lee’s pursuit of old tech hardware has always been, at its root, a means to meeting new people, hearing their stories and creating a relationship with them. “I care about people a lot,” she said. “I think every single person that touches any of my projects knows that I really care about people feeling good.”
Paizley Lee spent months collecting the full rainbow of iMac G3s.
(Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times)
With a mouse, Jaimie Wan clicks into the past.
(Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times)
When Lee finally acquired all five original colors (blueberry, strawberry, lime, tangerine and grape), plus all the additional colors (ruby, indigo, snow, graphite, sage and three limited edition colors), she began booting up the G3s computers to make sure they still worked. In the process, she discovered the forgotten digital detritus left on their hard drives: old resumes, photo albums, Word documents.
“It’s somebody’s life,” she said. “It feels weird to do anything with it, but it also feels weird to alter it.” In the end, she kept the old files and built a replica of the early ‘00s internet to live beside them on the computers. At Dead Internet Theory events, participants are given free reign to the G3s and slowly find clues Lee has left on their desktops that lead into a mystery game she created.
Back at the event, people flocked to the bank of iMac G3 computers. They clicked around, laughing, their eyes lighted up. “It’s really a trip seeing the old MacBooks,” said Shannon Stack after navigating one of the relics. “I remember having those in my elementary school classroom. Now, these are archival pieces. It’s freaky!”
Lee herself hovered around the computer bank, watching people interact with them and discovering the random documents left behind or playing one of Apple’s preset games. She asked a couple who had been tinkering around for over half-an-hour if they wanted a hint to her mystery. “No!” they respond excitedly.
While Dead Internet Theory has only been held in Los Angeles, Lee’s dream is to take it on the road. “I’ve got kids in Seattle, in Nashville, in Dallas that are emailing me and going, please bring it here,” she explained. The only thing stopping her was money, but that changed recently. A few weeks after the event on La Brea, she was approached by a sponsor. Now she’s making a tour happen, first with a pop-up event in New York City on Wednesday.
The event has become a place to gather and build community.
(Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times)
Recently, as Lee began driving across the country to set up, she stopped at a bed and breakfast near Red Lodge, Mont. When she learned the innkeeper had an old blueberry iMac G3 in her basement, she asked to take a look.
“I spent an hour getting her back on,” Lee said of rebooting the machine to give the innkeeper access. “And the face she made when it came back to life — literally priceless.”
The woman browsed through old photos of her daughters, their old school projects and other files forgotten over time. Afterward, the innkeeper gave Lee the computer, telling her it deserves a second life.
Two years ago, the biggest record labels took artificial intelligence music generators to court for copyright infringement. Now several of them are licensing their catalogs to those same companies, and the deals are starting to turn into products.
The latest example came earlier this month, when Suno, an AI music company valued at $5.4 billion, released its first models built with licensed music from Warner Music Group, BMG and Believe. Rival Udio has licensing deals with Universal Music Group and Warner.
The companies are pitching AI as a new revenue stream for artists. But so far, none of them have disclosed what artists will be paid, how many artists have opted in, or how much input individual musicians have over whether their work is used. And some musicians and songwriters are fearful of how these AI deals might affect livelihoods.
“It’s sort of a creepy and ominous cloud,” said Matt Evans, a 35-year-old Pasadena resident who’s played brass instruments on shows like “The Late Late Show With James Corden” and Netflix’s “Dr. Seuss’s Red Fish, Blue Fish.” “The fact that I could do something once and then it could be reused, and if that’s not negotiated in a contract, then I never got to make a choice to receive additional compensation. It all comes down to the loss of money.”
The American Federation of Musicians sued Universal and Warner in June, alleging the labels licensed recordings its members played on to Suno and Udio without paying those musicians or telling the union which recordings were involved. The labels have moved to dismiss the case.
In 2024, Universal, Sony Music Entertainment and Warner sued Suno and Udio for copyright infringement, alleging the AI companies trained their models on copyrighted songs spanning many artists, genres and time periods. The settlements began the following year. Universal settled with Udio in October and became its partner, and Warner settled with both Udio and Suno in November, signing licensing deals with each.
“The reason why they would settle this is they think they’re going to profit more from licensing music to them rather than from the outcome of a lawsuit,” said Jane Davidson, an entertainment attorney at Nolan Heimann who specializes in copyright and trademark infringement.
More deals followed. Udio signed with Merlin, which licenses music on behalf of independent labels, and with independent publisher Kobalt. Suno signed with BMG in August and with Believe, owner of the DIY distribution platform TuneCore, this month. Spotify, which wasn’t part of the lawsuits, struck deals with Universal and Merlin.
Not everyone is settling. Sony filed a second lawsuit against Udio over more than 30,000 recordings, and it is still suing Suno alongside Universal, which is licensing its music to Udio and Spotify at the same time. Sony and Universal also filed a new lawsuit last week alleging that Suno’s latest model still infringes on their copyrighted works. In July, a Munich court ruled against Suno in a case brought by GEMA, which collects royalties for German songwriters and publishers.
The deals between labels and AI music platforms — on which consumers can create full songs from text prompts — share a basic promise. Artists signed to the participating labels can opt in and will be credited and paid.
But each company is building something different. Udio operates under a “walled garden” model favored by Universal, in which songs made on the platform can’t be downloaded or distributed elsewhere. Spotify’s tool, a planned paid add-on for Premium subscribers, has no launch date. Suno lets users download what they make and release it elsewhere, with download caps and watermarks meant to curb abuse; songs made with its new models can be distributed through Believe and TuneCore.
Whether an artist opts out depends on who owns the rights. Songs typically carry two copyrights — one for the composition, usually held by songwriters and their publishers, and one for the sound recording, usually owned by the label. Every contract is different, so it’s unclear how AI products will handle music where those rights are split.
Waveforms of audio files from various instruments are displayed on a computer screen during the making of an AI musical piece at Suno.
(Robert F. Bukaty / Associated Press)
“These companies are able to make deals on behalf of their artists, and their control over their music is pretty significant based on what major label contracts typically say,” Davidson said. “But I expect that we will have some artists that push back against this and say that they didn’t authorize the use of their music for this purpose.”
Warner’s agreement with Suno, for example, lets artists opt in to having their names, likenesses, voices and compositions used in AI-generated music. But Jack Brody, Suno’s chief product officer, acknowledged that labels “ultimately have their contracts in place that will have some say in what an artist can and can’t do.” It’s also not always clear whether opting out keeps an artist’s recordings out of AI training, or only out of fan-facing features.
Michelle Lewis, a songwriter and the co-founder and chief executive of the nonprofit Songwriters of North America, said the composition side of that copyright split is often the harder one to defend.
“With AI, it’s so much easier to tell if you’ve infringed on the sound recording. You know what Beyoncé and Drake’s voices sound like,” said Lewis, who wrote Cher’s “A Different Kind of Love Song,” Little Mix’s “Wings” and the music for the Disney Jr. show “Doc McStuffins.” “But songwriting is so much more nebulous, so much harder to sue.”
“From the creator side, nobody asked for this. We like our job,” added Lewis. “The job is the process and what makes it special, interesting and artful.”
Some musicians argue the deals can’t cover rights the labels don’t control. A proposed class action filed last month by Jason Isbell and other musicians alleges Suno lets users generate songs that evoke specific artists’ identities without their consent, a right-of-publicity claim the plaintiffs say belongs to performers no matter who owns their recordings. Suno disputes the claims.
Session musicians like Evans are pushing back through their union.
“By licensing our members’ performances to AI platforms like Suno and Udio without consent, credit, or compensation, companies like Universal, Warner Records, and Atlantic are bypassing the very human creators who made their catalogs valuable in the first place,” AFM International President Tino Gagliardi said in a statement.
The labels have disputed the claims and argue that these deals advance the interests of artists and songwriters.
Jonathan Wyner, head of artistic technology initiatives at Berklee College of Music’s Emerging Artistic Technology Lab, compared the AI deals to the arrival of streaming services. Wyner has advised Suno.
“It’s a good step, and I think it was an inevitable step, especially if you want to stay engaged with musicians and the creative community,” he said.
That comparison cuts both ways. Streaming grew the industry while fueling years of complaints about artist pay.
Damon Krukowski, a musician and the legislative director at United Musicians & Allied Workers, said the deals so far don’t seem to benefit working-class musicians and could be used to cut them out entirely.
“It’s a new technology, but it’s not a new corporate story,” Krukowski said. “But the tools are even more powerful. It seems within their possible reach to destroy the labor market. The major labels are just seeing dollar signs without any regard to the long-term health or sustainability of this industry, because they’re envisioning an industry without artists who can push back.”
Brody disputed that, saying Suno is building ways for independent and unsigned artists to benefit, such as its deal with Believe and TuneCore.
With terms under wraps, it’s too early to know whether any of this will pay off for artists. The tests are still ahead — whether Sony and Universal win or settle, and what the first payouts actually look like.
“A label making a deal and an individual artist having a choice are not necessarily the same thing,” said Drew Silverstein, the senior advisor for AI at music tech company BandLab Technologies. “Our music industry has a long history of new revenue streams coming into existence that benefit certain folks, and create great financial opportunities for rights holders.”
Over the years, the concept of the “song of the summer” has been well-contested: Is it merely based on statistics? Is it the song that has become so omnipresent that many have become sick of it? Does this mean that “Happy” by Pharrell Williams and “Fancy” by Iggy Azalea count?
Last year, it was likely somewhere between Sabrina Carpenter’s “Manchild” and “Luther” by Kendrick Lamar, featuring SZA. Just based on numbers, it was Alex Warren’s “Ordinary,” but this is a strong case for why metrics don’t always matter.
On Sept. 23, the autumn equinox will arrive, officially bringing an end to the summer season and countless attempts at giving it an anthem. This year, there was a plethora of choices. So much so that we couldn’t narrow it down to a definitive tune.
However, you can find our potential picks below.
“The Peace,” underscores
“I don’t speak unless I’m spoken to / And I won’t smoke unless you’re smoking too.”
Underscores, the artist that you are. After “U” dropped in March, “The Peace” was one of the first tracks to go viral across social media. It’s since maintained its cultural relevancy, with the artist performing it as part of her DIY pop-up sets, staged from the back of a U-Haul truck.
Historically, underscores hasn’t written much about her personal life, opting for conceptual work. However, “The Peace” offers a rare, intimate glimpse into the artist’s love life and the feeling of sacrificing basic boundaries in order to satisfy someone else.
Beyond its storytelling, the song’s melody and chopped vocal riff are unforgettable on this track, standing out from the rest of the album. This isn’t a jab at the project — “U” is an incredible album and the song is just that good.
“stupid song,” Olivia Rodrigo
A song from Olivia Rodrigo’s third album, “You Seem Pretty Sad for a Girl So in Love,” was always going to make this list, given the strong reception it’s received and its incredible replayability. As further evidence of this, within weeks of its release, the song hit 300 million streams.
The album’s third single, “stupid song,” just makes it in over “the cure,” its second single. Though the latter has one of the best bridges of the year, its undeniably melancholic and macabre nature is what put it out of contention.
Though “stupid song” has its somber moments, it’s easier to scream in a crowd without catching concerned glares. This call for catharsis is ever-present in Rodrigo’s discography, but this last album is the artist in full stride.
“Dance…,” Slayyyter
Speaking of artists in full stride, Slayyyter has been the breakout act of the summer, which is incredible considering that her debut mixtape released in 2019. She’s got skin in the game but hasn’t really been able to crack the mainstream until the release of “Worst Girl in America” and a subsequent, viral Coachella set.
“Dance…” is the opening track of that album and also arguably the best song on it. After about a full minute of pensive, progressive, electronic buildup, listeners get a taste of bliss, sewn-in synths and heavy bass.
When one individual made the bold claim on X that it was “one of the best album intros ever,” Slayyyter was quick to respond with a simple “TRUE.” Shortly after its release, it went viral on Instagram reels and TikTok as creators used the song in a trend where they’d act fatigued before bursting into motion on beat.
“Caught in a Jam,” Portraits of Tracy
This is easily one of the most fun, captivating tracks of the summer — it’s funky, bouncy, buzzy and everything in between. Solidifying its cool is the reassuring note at the end of the music video description: “No generative AI was used at any stage in the production of this material.”
It features — without a doubt — one of the best bridges and refrains of the year, and perhaps onward. Not to mention, its lyrics are equally as enjoyable as the production.
“Oh, something changed in me, I felt it instantly / I had to hit the club so they could all see / Now I’m the dancing queen / F-f-f-far far from 17”
“Caught in a Jam” would an impressive feat from any artist, but it’s exciting to hear it coming from a 22-year-old. Hopefully, the future is bright and groovy for Portraits of Tracy. Reception of the artist’s latest EP, “Q: From Where Do Our Primal Instincts Originate? A: MTV! EP,” has been overwhelmingly positive, with Pitchfork placing it a 7.6 rating.
“BbY Wow,” Karol G, Judeline, rusowsky
The 2026 Coachella headliner is back at it again. This time around, Karol G released “BbY Wow” at the tail end of July, allowing it just enough time to seep into the brains of all its listeners.
Realistically, it needed no time at all. It didn’t take long for the song to hit No. 1 on Spotify global charts, receiving over 3 million streams within a week of its release.
The song is a masterclass in production, pulling and syncopating a sample from iconic dance hall tune “Coolie Dance Riddim,” released by Jamaican producer Cordel Skatta Burrell in 2003. In this, a lot of the heavy lifting is done, and all three artists are left to ride the smooth beat.
Naturally, Karol G really shines here, but Judeline and rusowsky provide an interesting dynamic to the song, making it an instant hit.
“Girl Like Me,” PinkPantheress
“Girl Like Me” is an odd entry for potential song of the summer. The track was released back in May 2025 as part of her second mixtape, “Fancy That.” However, it didn’t receive much buzz until April 2026, when PinkPantheress performed at Coachella.
Not long after, she released the official music video for the song, which blew up almost as soon as it landed on YouTube. The video, made in collaboration with faceless director Lauzza, features buildings shuffling on beat and other excerpts of British culture.
It would soon witness the same treatment on streaming, garnering a 165% increase in streaming activity over a four-week period, Billboard reported.
But it’s not all about numbers in the world of music and, thankfully, “Girl Like Me,” delivers sonically, as well. The song flips both “Romeo” and “Always Be There” by aughts-defining electronic duo Basement Jaxx and turns it into a thumping dance pop tune.
“Dine N’Dash,” the Strokes
As plainly stated in our coverage of the Strokes’ appearance at Just Like Heaven in August, the band is “currently riding the high” of its first Coachella performance in 15 years. “Reality Awaits” is an incredibly polarizing album. What’s dividing fans is Julian Casablancas’ insistence on using Autotune, as many prefer his raw vocals.
However, Autotune or not, “Dine N’Dash” is reminiscent of the best of the band, confirming that they’ve still got the juice to make hits 25 years after their debut. The chorus is the key here, as its smooth riff pauses for Casablancas to softy wail out “We could never afford it / So we dine and dash / I would always go last.”
Hello, 2001!
“brand new chanel$,” Slayyyter
It’s always difficult to give an artist a double entry on a list, but in the case of Slayyyter, it was mandatory. “Brand new chanel$” is poised to be a song off of a potential upcoming project, which is expected to be an inverse, “brother album” to “Worst Girl in America.”
In that, it completely lives up to her promises, taking the route of a more traditional pop song, while still delivering on all fronts. Notably, her vocal ability really shines through on this track, as she belts out “I‘m holding it alone just for tonight / I wonder if you / got her in your room / I call you on the phone to start a fight” during the chorus.
The song’s outro is equally as intoxicating, referencing the lyrics and melody of its apparent brother track, “Beat Up Chanel$.”
Like “Dance…,” the song was quick to go viral on social media, and the artist revealed that the song was made to process romantic trauma. Just two days before “WGIA” dropped and during rehearsals for her Coachella set, Slayyyter found out she had been cheated on by her then-boyfriend.
“Choosin’ Texas,” Ella Langley
It’s been 22 weeks since Langley’s “Choosin’ Texas” first appeared on top of the Billboard 100, tying Mariah Carey’s seasonally ubiquitous “All I Want for Christmas Is You.” Whether you like the song or not, its appeal is officially undeniable.
On Spotify, it’s racked up more than half a billion streams and on YouTube, nearly 100 million. Not to mention, it’s impossible to crawl into any dive bar in the country without being ambushed by “She’s from Texas, I can tell by the way / He’s two steppin’ ‘round the room,” delivered in a Southern drawl.
Is it the “Happy” or “Fancy” of 2026? We leave that with you to decide.
Sway Dasafo, a pioneering British Ghanaian rapper known for his lyric storytelling and championing of British music, has died. He was 44.
The rapper and producer’s death was announced Thursday on social media by the Mobo Awards, which celebrates music of Black origin. Dasafo’s friend Kash Ahmad confirmed to the BBC that he died at his home in Ghana. No cause of death was provided, but the outlet reported that Dasafo had been diagnosed with Hodgkin lymphoma in 2010 before going into remission later that year.
“We’re deeply saddened to hear of the passing of Sway,” Mobo wrote on Instagram. “Sway will always hold a special place in MOBO history.”
In 2005, Dasafo became the first unsigned artist to win the Mobo award for hip-hop act before he released an official album. He won over other established artists including 50 Cent and the Game off the strength of his mixtapes, “This Is My Promo” volumes one and two.
“Mixtapes effectively provide a diary of my life,” Dasafo told the Guardian in 2005. “They feature skits and interviews of me on radio. When people follow your story, they feel closer to you — it’s like a soap opera. People want to know what’s going to happen next.”
“It was a huge moment,” Mobo’s Instagram statement said of Dasafo’s win. “Not just for Sway, but for UK Hip Hop. At a time when British rappers were still fighting to be recognised alongside their US counterparts, his win made a real statement about the talent, creativity and potential coming out of the UK. … [W]e will always be proud that he was part of the MOBO story and of the history we shared together.”
Born Derek Andrews Safo on Sept. 5, 1982, in Hornsey, north London, to Ghanaian parents, Dasafo grew up primarily in England where he developed a love for literature and music. He started rapping as a hobby when he was 10 and was making beats on his computer at 13.
The versatile rapper got his start in groups such as Phynix Crew and One before going solo and releasing his series of mixtapes. Among his early hits were “Up Your Speed” and “Little Derek,” from his debut alum, “This Is My Demo,” which he released from his own label, Dcypha Productions.
“I’m a positive person and this positivity comes out in my music,” Dasafo said in his 2005 Guardian interview. “I don’t go round holding guns to people’s heads, so I won’t rap about holding guns to people’s heads. Trouble attracts trouble. If you rap about trouble, it will come to you.”
From early in his rap career, he expressed his desire to become a producer so he could sign and nurture other talent. Dasafo has collaborated with artists including Riz Ahmed, Ed Sheeran, Lupe Fiasco and Chamillionaire.
BBC Radio 1Xtra broadcaster Remi Burgz called Dasafo a “UK Rap pioneer” and “one of north London’s finest” during her program, according to the BBC.
“He was mine and many others’ first experience of U.K. rap [and] hip-hop in mainstream media,” she said. “He was a literal example of paving the way and showing that U.K. rap can take up space in music.”
Dasafo is survived by his two sons, Jalil and Ammar-Joseph, and twin daughters, Queen-Inaya and Queen-Imara.
If George Lucas invites you to a party, you go.
That much was clear Saturday at the Lucas Museum of Narrative Art’s opening-night soiree, where the guest list was as celebrity-heavy as any Academy Awards after-party. As the festivities kicked off around sunset in the courtyard under the museum’s towering elliptical oculus, Oprah Winfrey hugged Robert De Niro, and Harrison Ford and Calista Flockhart skipped the red carpet after chatting with Spike Lee. Laura Dern and Greta Gerwig laughed together by the entrance while Samuel L. Jackson plopped down on a curved bench, joking, “Hey, look what I did!”
For the record:
1:22 p.m. Sept. 20, 2026A previous version of this article said James Cameron was photographed along with a large group of directors at the Lucas Museum of Narrative Art. He was not.
He didn’t sit for long because Cynthia Erivo and Andy Garcia showed up and there were more hugs and handshakes and hellos. Owen Wilson, Leonardo DiCaprio, Kim Kardashian, Meg Ryan, Jack Quaid, Gov. Gavin Newsom, Rep. Nancy Pelosi, Justin Trudeau, Mark Hamill and Magic Johnson were there too, and that was just the beginning.
Gov. Gavin Newsom attended the opening-night party for the Lucas Museum of Narrative Art alongside a host of other notable guests and celebrities.
(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)
After a rousing performance by a white-robe-clad vocal collective called Voices of Fire, co-founded by Pharrell Williams, Lucas’ wife Mellody Hobson noted that, “George kept saying, ‘Will this person come? Do you think this person will come?’”
“I said, ‘They will all come,’” Hobson said as the crowd laughed during opening remarks on a raised platform in the museum’s grand lobby.
And so they did. There was even a banner moment inside the posh fifth-floor Skywalker Grill where a group of directors gathered to be photographed in what could very well become a seminal photo of Hollywood influence in the 21st century. The shot included Lucas, Jon M. Chu, Chris Columbus, Francis Ford Coppola, Lee Daniels, Guillermo del Toro, Jon Favreau, Bryce Dallas Howard, Ron Howard, Peter Jackson, Chris Meledandri, Denis Villeneuve, Christopher Nolan, Spike Lee, Tyler Perry, Steven Spielberg, Frank Miller, Robert Rodriguez, Nathan Fielder and David Benioff.
Organizers were scrambling to find Gerwig, but she had dashed off somewhere else.
“Star Wars” legend Mark Hamill and his wife, Marilou York, were guests at the Lucas Museum of Narrative Art opening party.
(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)
There were artists in attendance too, of course, but not as many. Jeff Koons, Refik Anadol, Judy Baca and Takashi Murakami strolled through the crowd, as did museum directors including the Broad’s Joanne Heyler and Los Angeles County Museum of Art’s Michael Govan, who was relieved to be attending someone else’s party after hosting so many of his own in April and May when the new Geffen Galleries opened.
Lucas and Hobson went to great lengths to explain why the Lucas Museum matters and why it is different from other museums. Their comments, in many ways, sought to address the criticism that has been lobbed at the museum since it held its press preview a few weeks back.
Though it has received a number of rave reviews, critics have called narrative art a false conceit and argued that the juxtaposition of masterworks with pop culture ephemera does not work. Much of the criticism has been focused on a perceived lack of context since there is almost no wall text clarifying why certain curatorial choices were made.
George Lucas and his wife Mellody Hobson hosted an extravagant opening party at the Lucas Museum of Narrative Art.
(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)
“When I started it, everybody said, ‘You’re crazy. You shouldn’t do it. It’s not going to work. People are going to come after you,’” Lucas said of his plans for the museum. “I said, ‘People have come after me all my life, especially in the movies.’”
Lucas also addressed why he curated the museum’s 100,000 square feet of gallery space on his own, noting that at a certain point plans were “getting off the rails.”
“I’m going to have to take this over because people don’t understand what I’m doing,” Lucas recalled thinking. “The idea that illustration is an art form and illustrators are artists was just too much for somebody who had been taught otherwise by the art schools that they went to and the universities that they went to.”
People with PhDs often can’t see the big picture, Lucas said, “You can’t say ‘This is art. This is not art.’ Art is in the eye of the beholder. If it is emotional to you, then it’s art. And, of course, I’ve been criticized up and down and sideways for that. But I believe it wholeheartedly — that you get to decide what art is.”
Members of the Virginia Beach vocal collective Voices of Fire, co-founded by Bishop Ezekiel Williams and Pharrell Williams perform at the Lucas Museum.
(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)
Lucas noted that throughout his career he has worked with many illustrators, “and I will tell you, they are as talented as any artist I’ve ever met. This is the way of giving back to them something that they’ve all wanted … inevitably, all of the illustrators say the same thing — everybody from R. Crumb to Rockwell — they all say, ‘I wish I could be in a museum,’ but they can’t. There isn’t a major museum in the world that’ll have this kind of art in it. I’m hoping this will change that.”
Lucas’ comments came after his friend and co-host Queen Latifah noted to the cheering crowd that, “Paris has the Louvre, New York has the Met and now L.A. has the artistic equal.”
Guests mingle at the Lucas Museum of Narrative Art opening party.
(Carlin Stiehl/For The Times)
It took more than a decade for the Lucas Museum to land in L.A. after a search that included Chicago and San Francisco as well as lots of civic pushback and lawsuits over the use of public parkland.
“We did not realize how hard it would be to give a city a museum,” Hobson said during her remarks, later joking: “If your husband or spouse comes home and says they want to build a museum, I suggest your response is a hard no.”
Laura Dern, left, and Greta Gerwig spent the early part of the night chatting and laughing.
(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)
Hobson went on to extol Lucas’ vision and his ability to never waver from his dream for the museum.
“He was driven to create a space that would showcase the brilliant illustrators that he thought were too often overlooked and ignored,” Hobson said. “And if critics say that a museum of narrative art is too much like a popcorn movie and not enough like an art film, well, we love popcorn movies in our family.”
Like a popcorn movie, the evening ended happily with a drone show in the night sky narrated by Winfrey and Jackson, and featuring images from the museum’s collection including the Cave of Altamira, N.C. Wyeth’s “The Storybook,” Julie Bell’s “The Huntress,” Banksy’s “Girl With Balloon,” the “Star Wars” Millennium Falcon and Maxfield Parrish’s “Ecstasy.”
Afterward the party moved inside from the rooftop terrace for a performance by the Black Eyed Peas.
There’s no better way to draw attention to an artist’s work than threatening to shut it down.
Take this week, when Macklemore was kicked off singer-songwriter Ed Sheeran’s tour at the behest of concert venue owners who found the rapper’s on-stage pleas to “Free Palestine” offensive.
Now Macklemore, who hasn’t had a major hit since the 2010s, is relevant again. He has the support of artists, fans and thousands more outraged by his dismissal and the humanitarian catastrophe in Gaza. The “Thrift Shop” rapper has emerged a hero, and a chastened Sheeran and Gillette Stadium owner Robert Kraft have pledged to donate millions toward humanitarian causes in “the region.”
The stakes are considerably higher for Israeli documentarians Yuval Abraham and Rachel Szor. Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu threatened this week to revoke their citizenship for what he called the “shocking incitement” that is of their forthcoming documentary, “NAZA.”
NAZA is an acronym used by Israeli military intelligence to describe the number of civilians it estimates will be killed in an airstrike. The documentary captures the actions of Israel’s military after the Oct. 7, 2023, Hamas attack in footage shot at night from Tel Aviv rooftops. “NAZA” also features anonymous interviews with intelligence officers and soldiers from the Israel Defense Forces, and builds on reporting first published by the Israeli-Palestinian publication +972 Magazine, the Hebrew-language outlet Local Call and The Guardian to make the case that mass civilian deaths were built into Israel’s target decisions in Gaza.
When “NAZA” premiered at the Venice Film Festival on Sept. 10, the documentary received a 25-minute standing ovation, setting a festival record. It went on to win the prestigious Special Jury Prize.
Soon after, the directors came under attack from members of Israel’s government, with Culture Minister Miki Zohar accusing them of “treason against the state” and calling for their citizenship to be revoked.
But it’s Netanyahu who’s providing free publicity for “NAZA,” ensuring that everyone outside the film festival circuit will know of the documentary by the time of its official North American premiere at the New York Film Festival on Sept. 26.
In a move that’s likely designed to quash “NAZA’s” release and silence its directors, the prime minster pledged this week to advance two bills that would address the “immense damage” done to Israeli soldiers in the film.
Netanyahu explained in a social media clip that one bill would “revoke the citizenship of anyone who defames soldiers, and the second [bill will] hit them in their pockets and increase the statutory damages for defamation they can be sued for by 20 times. We will hit them both in their pockets and in their citizenship, as their place is not with us.”
Macklemore lost his place on a pop music tour for speaking out against Israel’s military. Abraham and Szor may lose their place as Israeli citizens. The pair were already considered controversial for their 2024 documentary, “No Other Land,” a film chronicling five years of displacement and violence in the life of Palestinians in a small village in the occupied West Bank. It won the 2025 documentary feature film Oscar.
They explained in a statement why making “NAZA” was so important.
“We made this film out of a sense of obligation to use our position as Israeli filmmakers and journalists to examine the systems behind the mass killing of Palestinian civilians for which our country is responsible,” the statement said. “While filming members of Israel’s military on rooftops at night in Tel Aviv over the past three years, we found ourselves asking the very questions that were asked by our grandparents’ generation and throughout the 20th century: How does one group of people allow the total dehumanization of another? What do the inner workings of such a system look like? … The film lets us explore something deeper than we could in our investigative journalism alone: not only the words being said, but also those that are not said, the silence. It is up to all of us to break that silence.”
The filmmakers have said that they’re using an “innovative distribution model” to bring the film to audiences “as quickly as possible.” It’s slated to reach Los Angeles on Oct. 9 before rolling out in theaters nationwide.
“NAZA” may not need a robust marketing plan if Netanyahu and the Israeli government continue to condemn the film and threaten its creators with expulsion from their own country. Censorship, and worse, are the surest way to elevate an artist and their work. Just ask Macklemore.
In a matter of days, Ed Sheeran has gone from the most agreeable, defiantly middle-of-the-road singer-songwriter on the pop charts to music’s newest villain. The Times’ August Brown and Mikael Wood gathered to break down what happened — and to figure out what it all means.
August Brown: To recap, Sheeran dropped his tour opener, the rapper Macklemore, after the MC described Israel’s actions in Gaza as a genocide and said “Free Palestine” onstage this month at two New Jersey dates of Sheeran’s ongoing stadium tour. Macklemore, in a statement, cited his long friendship with Sheeran while criticizing the singer for allegedly acquiescing to a demand from Robert Kraft, the owner of the NFL’s New England Patriots, that the rapper not be allowed to perform at the Patriots’ Gillette Stadium outside Boston due to his comments.
Kraft, a Trump-supporting billionaire with his own colorful history, released a statement about the tour, saying he was “ensuring that events held at our venue do not provide a platform for hate speech.”
But Sheeran, who performed at Kraft’s wedding in 2022, arguably made things much worse with his own comments on the decision to drop Macklemore from the tour, which ranged from shifting accountability (“Macklemore coming off tour was the promoter’s decision, it was not mine”) to promising that he held compassionate beliefs on this volatile issue but wouldn’t articulate them publicly (“I am not complicit. I have my personal views on this devastating conflict. Just because I choose not to speak publicly, it doesn’t mean I don’t have them, and it doesn’t mean I don’t care.”)
This prompted Sheeran’s remaining openers — including the musician and producer Finneas, the Danish rock combo Lukas Graham and singer-songwriter Aaron Rowe — to drop off the tour, each giving their plainspoken support for both Macklemore’s advocacy and the Palestinian people as their reasons for leaving. The traditional Irish group Beoga, which backs Sheeran for a portion of his nightly show, also quit the tour, saying it was responding to “the silencing of Macklemore by Zionist lobbies.”
It’s too soon to know how this will affect a CVS-core pop star like Sheeran, but it’s clear that for the first time in his career, he’s chosen the path of maximum conflict and controversy for little gain. What do you think he should he have done instead?
Macklemore
(Morgan Hancock / Getty Images)
Mikael Wood: Not let Macklemore be booted from his tour?
Look, I understand Sheeran’s position here: that he views himself as an artist whose audience comes to his show precisely because they’d like to avoid the messy realities of the world for two or three hours. We can choose a different day to discuss how tenable (or not) that position is here in the era of a reality-TV president who long ago blurred the line between politics and entertainment.
But setting aside one’s views on Israel and Palestine, it’s impossible for me to see how Sheeran ever thought his actions would be seen as anything other than allowing a fellow artist to be silenced — a clear loser in the eyes of both the left and the right.
It would be one thing if Macklemore’s comments in New Jersey truly resembled the hate speech that Kraft accused him of dispensing. (Many online have posted images of a costume the rapper wore onstage in 2014 that resembled an ugly Jewish caricature; Macklemore apologized at the time, saying he understood the criticism.)
And of course I get that the very idea of hate speech is slippery — one reason, perhaps, that the folks at AT&T Stadium near Dallas (where Sheeran is scheduled to perform next month) appear to have no problem hosting a concert in November by Ye, who not so long ago released a song called, uh, “Heil Hitler.”
But given how measured Macklemore’s comments were, Sheeran’s decision to go along with the demands for his removal feels less like a fulfillment of his desire to create a conflict-free zone and more like a capitulation to a rich and powerful friend.
August, what do you make of the various statements from the musicians who’ve opted to leave the tour in the wake of all this?
August Brown: The other openers had the most to lose here by bowing out of a huge tour. Yet they took unambiguous stances in favor of Macklemore’s Palestinian advocacy. (On Wednesday, the rapper said on Instagram that he planned to donate “the entire $1 million of my net earnings” from Sheeran’s tour to six organizations “working directly to support the Palestinian people.” He also invited Kraft to match his donation.)
“Artists must not be silenced when they speak up for the oppressed,” Finneas wrote. “I stand with Palestine and its people.”
Lukas Graham went even harder: “We should be able to speak about war, about civilians being killed, about children who deserve to grow up,” the group wrote. “Money doesn’t give you the right to own the conversation.”
Sheeran could have done what many fans regard as the right thing: Defy Kraft’s demands, cancel the Gillette Stadium dates with Macklemore and reroute the tour to somewhere that would support an opening act’s fairly anodyne support of a popular human rights cause. Sheeran is extremely wealthy, and he’d have been on the right side of history, if for no other reason than to say that billionaires shouldn’t have a veto over an artist’s human rights advocacy onstage.
I’m sympathetic to the idea that crews’ livelihoods and fans’ investment in the shows are meaningful things to toss out. But an artist as big as Sheeran can make up the difference. Even a hypothetical statement like “I stand for Macklemore’s freedom of speech and the rights of the Palestinian people. My team’s livelihoods depends on the shows happening, so I will play the Gillette dates as planned,” with a promise for a donation or a benefit show with Macklemore down the line — even that would have smoothed this over.
But his actions here — deflecting accountability, being vague yet defensive about his own politics — and his history with Kraft suggest his sympathies might not lie with the causes his opening acts stand for.
It’s interesting that Beoga and Aaron Rowe, both Irish acts, acknowledged their own country’s history of colonial occupation as reason to stand up for Palestinians (and free speech around it). “Ed has been a friend to me and has changed my life, I could never thank him enough for this,” Rowe wrote in his statement. “But as Irish people we know all too well about genocide, forced famine, and violent occupation.”
Even Lukas Graham cited the band’s roots in Christiania, a Danish enclave with a history as an anarchist commune, as an example they’re following by bailing on this tour. Sheeran likes to say that, through his father, he is culturally Irish though he was born and raised in England. In a country that rallied for Kneecap, the Irish rap group and advocates for Palestinians, his reputation is likely taking a real hit. Whether that extends to his ultra-mainstream U.S. fan base remains to be seen.
Not every artist is obliged to comment on contentious issues — though the success of Olivia Rodrigo’s Daisy Chain Fields festival, which raised money for an array of abortion-rights advocacy groups, showed that A-listers can speak out when they want to. But whatever he actually believes, Sheeran’s long-cultivated neutrality is in tatters. Taking a stand would have been the path of least resistance. Instead, he committed the most basic onstage error: a failure to read the room.
The Country Music Assn. will put on a two-hour live TV special honoring Dolly Parton, who died last month at the age of 80.
The association said Wednesday that the television tribute — titled “CMA Presents I Will Always Love You: A Celebration of Dolly Parton” — will be recorded live at the Fisher Center for the Performing Arts, on the campus of Belmont University in Nashville.
The tribute will air Oct. 21 at 6 p.m. Pacific on ABC and Disney+, and will stream on Hulu a day later.
In a news release, CMA described the special as a “joyful, emotional celebration” dedicated to Parton, the rhinestone-studded singer whose life began humbly, in a one-room cabin at the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains.
Robert Deaton, veteran executive producer of the Country Music Awards and Billboard Music Awards, will fill that role on the Parton project.
“Dolly gave Country Music its heart, and giving some of that heart back to her is an incredible honor,” said Deaton in a news release Wednesday. “My hope is simply that we do right by her story, her music and the people who love her, so that this evening feels like the tribute my friend deserves.”
Sarah Trahern, CMA chief executive, added that the tribute is the association’s “responsibility”: “This special is our way of saying thank you, on behalf of every artist, industry member and fan who found a piece of themselves in her music.”
The tribute is in partnership with Belmont University, which hosted the 2025 world premiere of “Dolly: A True Original Musical,” a biographical production about the “9 to 5” singer that is scheduled for its Broadway debut on Jan. 19, what would have been the Parton’s 81st birthday.
The university also previously launched “Dolly U,” an immersive educational partnership designed to connect students with hands-on opportunities in entertainment, media and creative industries.
Greg Jones, president of Belmont University, welcomed the special with a statement of his own: “It is a privilege to welcome artists, friends and fans from around the world to celebrate her extraordinary life and legacy from this stage in Nashville, honoring a woman whose love for Tennessee was woven into everything she did.”
Both the CMA and Belmont University will make a donation from the proceeds to Parton’s Imagination Library, which was launched by the Dollywood Foundation in 1995 to address childhood literacy by giving millions of children the gift of a free book each month. Disney will also support the program.
News of the television tribute follows an announcement last month by Parton’s estate that revealed plans for Dollyfest, a two-day celebration in Nashville and London next year across two consecutive weekends to honor her legacy.
Additional details for the CMA special, including performers and tickets, will be announced at a later date.
Inside the Universalist Unitarian Church of Riverside, a line of masked people filed into the red-lighted chapel, one by one, to take part in the rite of confession.
The private booth was framed in flowers, and rather than a priest listening inside, it was a microphone recording their confessions, to be played at an upcoming art exhibition. The brick triangle-roofed church that held the booth has stood since opening in 1892; that night, it was the site of a masquerade, or as Riverside artist Perry Picasshoe called it, the “Masqueerade.”
Picasshoe, whose real name is Neveah Marquez, hosted the event, which had an entirely LGBTQ+ guest list and one requirement: Bring a mask, whatever that looks like to you.
Marquez, a 26-year-old transgender woman robed entirely in red, stood at the pews and danced to the experimental electronic DJ sets and drag performances as guests entered in masks that ranged from papier-mâché deer antlers to collaged photos of eyes and lips.
The event came as a celebration ahead of the Riverside native’s first solo exhibition, “SagradX,” which will open Saturday at Riverside Art Museum and remain through Jan. 31.
The recorded confessions, layered over one another until they become an unintelligible cacophony, represent just one piece of the 25 paintings, photographs and interactive displays in the exhibition. The show explores the meaning of “sacred” as Marquez documents her most private places and experiences, and asks viewers to consider what they hold sacred.
The exhibition, she says, began with heartbreak.
Neveah Marquez (Perry Picasshoe), 26, sits inside the Riverside Art Museum.
(Carlin Stiehl / For De Los)
“The first time I started thinking about sacredness … was when my ex-partner brought somebody into our bed,” said Marquez.
“I was crying, distraught, and drove over to these hills over Lake Mathews [in Riverside] and I realized: The bedroom was sacred to me. That’s why it hurt so much. And I started thinking, if it wasn’t sacred to them, how do we decide what is sacred to each of us?”
The very headboard of that bed sits in the exhibition; on it, Marquez painted fairy-tale creatures representing the lovers gallivanting across the woods.
While Marquez’s experience with betrayal sparked the idea, the exhibition explores sanctity in many different scenarios: In one, the artist plays with the concept of the digital safe space by inviting guests to look through her phone as she is tied on a handmade iron-wrought cross. Inside the exhibition space, she uses a small painter’s brush to slowly paint the white walls red over the course of the show.
In curating the exhibition, Marquez began to look inward, painting and photographing herself in ways she never had before: through the lens of femininity. She lived the previous 26 years of her life as a man, growing up religious to the point that she once considered becoming a priest. The paintings serve as portals into a part of her that she long held inside.
“I describe it like having blurry vision your whole life and not realizing how clearly you can see, until you put glasses on,” Marquez said. “That’s how painting myself as a woman felt.”
Neveah Marquez (Perry Picasshoe) considers what is sacred.
(Carlin Stiehl / For De Los)
Though she initially identified with her male birth name, the more she painted herself in Venus-like, feminine poses and with longer hair, her understanding of her identity shifted. Illuminated by her signature scarlet red clothing and tastefully shrouded in sheets, the soft expression on her face was inspired by Raphael’s “La Fornarina.”
“I wasn’t thinking much of it in the moment, but as I kept painting these portraits, I was thinking a lot about myself and thinking about gender and my identity,” Marquez said. “Through my art process, I realized: ‘Maybe I would be a pretty woman.’ That’s what scared me the most from transitioning, was not feeling like I would be beautiful enough.”
In “SagradX,” Marquez’s body is documented vulnerably; easing into her own identity becoming a painfully honest artistic process, which the audience is now invited to watch.
“I feel like I don’t paint very often because when I do, it’s just so emotionally intense. Like when Olivia Rodrigo wrote that she’s scared of her guitar because she couldn’t lie to it, that’s how I feel about painting,” Marquez said. “I can’t lie to my painting.”
Neveah Marquez (Perry Picasshoe) wears long, flowing red clothes.
(Carlin Stiehl / For De Los)
Aside from her self-portraits, Marquez includes photographs of her ice blocks project, in which she placed 25-pound blocks where immigration enforcement raids took place in the Inland Empire last year. These were once safe places that she says have been “desecrated with fear.”
Marquez’s personal journal, which documented her inner joys and struggles over the last year, is also open on a table in the exhibition for guests to read through, draw over, or tear. For Marquez, “SagradX” was the catalyst to “let everything out.”
“If the show is about vulnerability, I need to practice that for myself as well. Otherwise, you would see in the work that there’s a blockage, you can sense when artists aren’t fully honest,” Marquez said. “I want people to question, ‘What is sacred to you?’ If I give you access to something sacred to me, what will you do with that?”
Good vibes weren’t invented in Marin County. But reading “Morning in Marin,” David Perlis’ history of the place and its outsize cultural influence for much of the 20th century, you get the sense it served as America’s leading countercultural way station.
Book Review
Morning in Marin
By David Perlis
Heyday Books: 384 pages, $35
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Hosts of spiritual-minded sorts called it home: Alan Watts popularized Zen Buddhism in the ’60s, alongside poets Gary Snyder and Kenneth Rexroth. Francis Ford Coppola decamped there to write his script for “The Godfather,” and it’s where his compatriot George Lucas conjured up the “Star Wars” universe. (The cuddly Ewoks in “Return of the Jedi” were named after the region’s Miwok tribe.) Jack Kerouac sought enlightenment there; his compatriot Neal Cassady was imprisoned there, in San Quentin. It was the Grateful Dead’s retreat, Robin Williams’ launchpad, and the solid ground upon which Philip K. Dick questioned reality.
Why all these people, in this place, at that time? Perlis, an artist, radio host and Marin native, doesn’t strive for sociological or demographic explanations. His strategy is to sinuously move from moment to moment, artist to artist, as if in one continuous tracking shot, pausing only for a moment to catch some of the interesting characters he spots along the way. Over there, film critic Pauline Kael; and there, poet and sitcom star Suzanne Somers; and look, there’s bar-band singer Hugh Cregg, who’ll eventually use the stage name Huey Lewis.
Author David Perlis
(Jordan Blackman)
Still, Perlis breaks the flow just enough to offer a few reasons why the region became America’s affluent bohemia. It is, of course, gobstoppingly gorgeous, with Mount Tamalpais, Stinson Beach, Point Reyes and Bolinas practically designed to be edenic retreats. (Fairfax, he writes, is “ribboned with waterfalls, tufted with moss.”) Its isolation made it a counterculture haven for those looking to avoid San Francisco’s bustle: Gay poet Elsa Gidlow made her home there in the 1940s, among the first of many misfit pioneers. Wreckage from the 1906 earthquake was used to build the first “arks,” houseboats in Sausalito, providing a quirky infrastructure. Add some slow-growth initiatives, and you get artsy scrimping arrivistes; add LSD, legal until 1966, and you have a party.
So by the late ’60s, Marin had become a haven for a particular type: creative, interested in Eastern spirituality and profoundly disinterested in social convention (not to mention conspicuously white). Perlis’ portrait of the county at the height of the decade suggests a region that had escaped — or at least refused to look at — the worst of America’s turmoil. “Despite atomic bombs, rampant racism, political violence, and the war in Vietnam and Marin, there is hope, a sincere, emphatic belief, in an imminent inner revolution,” he writes. “When Zen, acid, or whatever your trip is, opens enough minds that people can outgrow this absurd, unwinnable conflict with nature and themselves.”
Perlis writes that with a slight smirk — of course nobody outgrew the conflict. Sure, a lot of people made a mint on the dream of transcendence: The Grateful Dead became a premier touring act, Lucas taught the country the ways of the Force and Sausalito’s Record Plant became the studio of choice for Sly Stone, Fleetwood Mac and more. But in the process, Marin became a kind of parody of itself, satirized by the writer Cyra McFadden in her 1977 novel, “The Serial.” In a world of what Perlis calls “swimmable wealth,” enlightenment sure looked a lot like narcissism in caftans. “I have no idea how I manage to do it,” Dick muses about his productivity at one point, prompting Perlis to bluntly break into the narrative: “I do. Drugs.”
Perlis could have gone further than that. One of the peculiarities of the Marin cultural scene, at least in Perlis’ reckoning, is that it hardly seems like a scene at all. Otis Redding and Frank Herbert and Linda Ronstadt and Anne Lamott and Shel Silverstein and Van Morrison all had little in common and interacted even less; if Marin was an incubator, it’s one where every egg hatched a different, brand-new species. Communal activity seemed relegated to the checkout aisles where locals kibbitzed over “The Serial,” or druggy extravaganzas that would in time claim Dick and various Dead members and associates as victims.
The irony, as the region stumbled into the ’80s, is that between its wealth and carefully cultivated isolation, Marin came to exemplify the ethos of conformist America: every man for himself. The actor Peter Coyote resisted: “When a Buddhist is thinking about shooting out traffic lights, it’s time to leave,” he quips. Others dug in: Huey Lewis and the News climbed the charts with a song titled “Hip to Be Square,” though to his credit, he explains to Perlis that it was meant to be a song about the difficulty of reconciling affluence and bohemian values. The man knows where he lives.
Perlis’ book isn’t a dismissal of Marin’s cultural moment, or even really a critique of it: His story is more something to be wondered at, like fog rolling over Mount Tamalpais. And Perlis’ storytelling skills make it seem like good fun as he pingpongs from artist to artist, each somehow inventing a meaningful, or at least recognizable, cultural touchstone. Marin gave us New Age music and Pablo Cruise; it also gave us Jim Carroll’s indelible punk classic, “People Who Died.” But one of the things to wonder at amid the good vibes is whether a different, more coherent, more sober scene would have been more meaningful, more enduring.
A regular contributor to The Times, Athitakis is a writer in Arizona and the author of “The New Midwest.”
I wasn’t born in Los Angeles, but it’s the city that raised me. I moved here fresh out of college with a doe-eyed dream of stepping into the kind of art scene I’d read about in history books. Instead, it quickly became clear that I wasn’t going to be able to just waltz in with my Southern charm and big smile; there would need to be some sort of hack into the art world — a place rife with unspoken roles and gatekeeping — if I wanted to get anywhere as a non-nepo artist.
After years of blister-inducing heels-on-the-ground gallery hopping and late-night schmoozing, I found myself falling in love with this city and slowly realizing that the best parts of L.A. were rarely found in mainstream spaces. There’s an inventiveness here that comes from the sprawl of the city — artists like myself who are constantly improvising, building their own ecosystems because nothing is handed to them. I fell in love with how “never-ending” the artist’s practice can feel in Los Angeles, how a studio visit can veer into an hours-long conversation about life. It made the city feel less like a scene to fit into and more like a living, breathing network you have to contribute to before receiving anything back.
In 2014, Alex Benzer and I decided to put our hard-earned knowledge to work by creating Curate LA: a community-driven platform designed to pull back the curtain on the Los Angeles art world by mapping under-the-radar exhibitions and adventurous artist-run spaces, and connecting our audiences directly with artists, curators, galleries and collectors through candid interviews, weekly guides and real-time event recommendations. Because despite appearances, an art scene isn’t held up by pristine white walls; it’s built by the artists sharing a cig and an idea outside on the sidewalk, the gallerists stocking the free booze and championing new voices, and the person you meet sitting at the front desk who tells you about the cute spot around the corner with affordable bites.
For me, an ideal L.A. weekend is a little bit of all of that: a great studio visit that turns into an unexpected conversation, stumbling onto an unconventional exhibition of an artist I’ve never heard of, eating something delicious with friends who I ran into at a show opening, and ending the night at a bar where half of the room just spilled out from the gallery down the street. What I’ve made for you is my personal, slightly circuitous, weekend guide to Los Angeles’ sprawling creative landscape. These are my snapshots of the places and people that I return to, the ones that have fed me, surprised me, taught me something or made a long day of circling the block to find parking impossible to forget.
Greg Ito with “Personal Effects,” 2026, “The Spectrum Within,” 2025 and “Love is a Vessel,” 2026.
Eduardo Medrano at John Doe Gallery.
Vita Kari in front of “My Girlfriend Named Herself After a Water Bottle,” 2024, at their DTLA studio. Kari wears Barrio Drive.
Samala Meza in her DTLA studio with works in progress.
Devin Troy Strother on the roof of his studio overlooking DTLA.
Commonwealth and Council Team (L to R clockwise): Isabel Einaudi, Audrey Bui, Brenda Reyes-Chavez, Oliver Sweet and Young Chung.
Holcomb in front of the Prince. Styled by Jocelyn Corona, wearing AYANEGUI, TANAMACHI and Vacr.
Jerson Hondall in the library of Gagosian Gallery, Beverly Hills.
Jonny Negron in his Los Feliz studio featuring works in progress “virtue signal” and “tellurian lube.”
LAST Projects exterior in Lincoln Heights with co-founder Ilona Berger and pup.
Huevos a la Mexicana breakfast burrito at Lupita’s Restaurant in Cypress Park.
Ever Velasquez outside of Charlie James Gallery on Chunk King Road, Chinatown.
Human Resources exterior in Chinatown.
Drinks at El Prado in Echo Park.
Aleza Zheng in her South L.A. studio featuring “The Unbearable Lightness of Being,” 2026, “Of Providence,” 2026 and “All That Is In Heaven,” 2026.
Dominique Clayton at Harun Coffee in Leimert Park.
Jamal Hasef in front of his mural “Sky is the Limit,” 2026 on 11th & Vernon in Leimert Park.
Holcomb in front of Watts Towers in Watts, wearing Desigual and styled by Jocelyn Corona.
Books purchased from Reparations Club in Mid City (L to R): “Assata: An Autobiography,” “Love Poems’ by Nikki Giovanni, “Directed by Desire: The Collection of Poems” by June Jordan and “Communion: The Female Search for Love” by bell hooks.
Shelley Holcomb is an artist, curator, writer and cultural leader, whose work spans painting, installation, storytelling, advocacy and making art more accessible.