childhood

IN northern Arkansas on the banks of South Fork Spring River in the region known as the Ozarks, you’ll find a tiny settlement called Saddle.

Today, it comprises a modest Baptist church, an old timber-clad general store turned events venue (now up for sale) — and very little else.

Not so far away, out in the wilds, is the farm where country star Ashley McBryde grew up.

It is the place where she first picked up a guitar and discovered her passion for music, the starting point of her journey to the world stage.

Along the way, she rebelled against her strict preacher father, sang in biker bars, acquired the striking collection of tattoos adorning both arms and fought alcohol addiction.

Yet her inspirational climb has taken her to country music’s spiritual home, the Ryman Auditorium in Nashville and the O2 Arena in London for the C2C festival.

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And next month she will support a titan of the genre, Garth Brooks, at Hyde Park in front of 65,000 people.

Since becoming sober in June 2022, Grammy-winning McBryde is making some of the best music of her life, and she’s doing it by returning to her roots.

On one of the rousing songs on her fifth studio album, the aptly titled Wild, she sings these lines with mighty conviction…

“It’s in my throat, it’s in my bones, it’s on my boots and in my blood. That Ozark streak sureе runs deep and it sticks to me like that Arkansas mud.”

I tell her that my only experience of her childhood stomping ground is the TV series Ozark about a Chicago family who decamp to the area, for money- laundering reasons as you do, where they encounter small-time hillbilly criminals.

“Yeah, I’ve known some characters like those,” says McBryde with a knowing smile. “They did a great job on Ozark.”

She is one of a new breed who has learned to accept “the Nashville machine” while remaining true to themselves.

“I’ve done a good job, not a perfect one, of being inside the machine but also sticking to my guns,” she affirms.

“It’s an industry that asks the brunette to be blonde and the girl that’s 5ft 3in to be 6ft.”

At times, McBryde felt she was “falling short of being shinier, blonder, skinnier” but, she adds hand on heart: “You’re just not getting rid of what’s in here.”

In the same bracket, you will find two big bearded male artists keeping it real — Luke Combs and Chris Stapleton, who are among America’s biggest selling artists right now.

These are the natural successors to the original country “outlaws,” who include McBryde’s hero Kris Kristofferson, fellow Arkansawyer Johnny Cash and last man standing Willie Nelson.

She delivers kick-ass songs, drawing on rock and roll as much as anything, but she can also turn her intuitive talents to tear-stained balladry or a country-pop masterclass like recent single What If We Don’t.

I’m meeting the vivacious 42-year-old during her whistle- stop visit to London, and we find ourselves beside a picture window overlooking Kensington Gardens filled with people catching the glorious spring sunshine.

I can’t help sensing the contrast between the swish hotel suite in a teeming capital city and Ashley McBryde’s isolated upbringing that is, in part, the inspiration for her new album.

Taking my cue from the name of her album, I ask her if she was a “Wild” child.

“I think I was a good kid but I was also in trouble a lot,” she replies.

“I asked a lot of questions that people didn’t want to answer. They didn’t care for a child who wanted to know why things had to be a certain way.

“But I was always out in the woods, dreaming up this or that. I would be one of the X-Men, making swords and guns out of sticks.”

The youngest of six, she paints a picture of her childhood that conjures up classic American literature — Little Women, Tom Sawyer or Little House On The Prairie.

In fact, every night her “angel” of a mother would read her a chapter of the latter book as well as one from the Bible.

“I didn’t own shorts until I was an adult,” continues McBryde.

“Because my legs would get so ate up with tick bites from being out in the briars and thorns. It was a very physical existence.

“We worked real hard. We had cows, chickens and horses but my favourite thing about it was I could go wherever I wanted.

“I could go out walking for a whole day. I remember one time I asked mom if I could camp out for the night.

“She said, ‘Why would you want to do that?’ And I said, ‘I just want to cook my soup on a campfire’.

“She was like, ‘Well, knock yourself out’.”

But there was a duality to life in this rustic idyll because McBryde’s farmer and preacher father, William, imposed his strict religious beliefs at home.

This perhaps explains why she has been singing the late Randall Clay’s storming Rattlesnake Preacher live for several years and why, finally, her studio version opens Wild in such uncompromising fashion.

“There was freedom even though we lived in a very, very rigid household,” says McBryde.

“It was all right as long as what you wanted to do was within the parameters of what was considered to be right.

“So there was nothing wrong with going for a walk or riding a horse or digging a hole or learning to play a guitar. Those things were totally OK.

“But it was very much a case of the man being the head of the family, the way Christ is the head of the church — and anything that went against that could go to hell. There was no break.”

Although she was generally expected to attend church on “Wednesday night, Sunday morning and Sunday night,” sometimes even that was off-limits “if they were doing something that my father deemed not in alignment with his book”.

This brings McBryde to an extraordinary revelation: “To my knowledge, my father has still not listened to my music.”

That said, she admits that he had to hear one of her songs, Bible And A .44, written about him and appearing on her debut EP in 2016, Jalopies & Expensive Guitars.

It includes the lines: “He taught me how to hunt and how to love the Lord/He carried a Bible and a .44/And they just don’t make ’em like that no more.”

McBryde says: “I sang it to him after I wrote it. He told me, ‘You painted me in an awful nice light. I wish all of it could be true.’

“And I said: ‘You don’t see what I see because you’re not looking at what I’m looking at.’

“It was a nice way to give him a break from being the villain because a lot of the time he was. There were really great qualities about him, too.”

As for her beloved mother Martha, she says: “She’s an absolute angel. I don’t think she’s ever done anything wrong.

“She can make you an outfit right now while she’s making you a casserole while she’s praying for someone who has lost a limb.”

It was in this old-school world that McBryde developed her love of making music, becoming enchanted by the songs of the rugged Kristofferson and the more polished John Denver.

“I knew I wanted to be a singer and a songwriter from a really young age, even before I was a teenager.”

She knew she was on the right path when, after leaving home, she “started making enough playing in bars not to wait tables anymore and to keep the lights on in my apartment”.

A rebel at heart, McBryde recalls playing biker dives and, like the clientele, she got tattoos, wore leather and drank heavily.

As she tried to get a foothold in the country music scene, there wasn’t much hope “for a non-blonde who was covered in tattoos”.

“I did meet a lot of friction,” she says. “Some labels were not in any way interested.”

But her irresistible talent was spotted by, among others, Eric Church, another country star who likes to say it how it is.

“He was a great champion,” says McBryde. “A great name to be associated with because of the way he makes records and the way he approaches music.

“For him to say, ‘I like this songwriter’ does open a door.”

Evidence of that door being opened arrived in 2018 when McBryde’s major label debut, Girl Going Nowhere, was released on Warner Nashville, including one of her signature songs, A Little Dive Bar In Dahlonega.

It’s about resilience in the face of a break-up and, among its references to drinking is the line, “We’ve all got a number we don’t wanna drunk dial.”

I guess it alludes to another aspect of McBryde’s life because, running parallel to her early years in the business, was a dependence on alcohol, which she’s finally coming to terms with.

One of her new album’s most captivating songs is the beautifully sung ballad Bottle Tells Me So.

“I didn’t want to have a problem with alcohol but, like it or not, it’s part of my story,’ admits McBryde. “And I didn’t want to talk about it for a long time.

“I was either drinking, drunk or hung over at all times – and that’s really tough.”

In 2022, matters came to a head when, on the advice of her team, McBryde went into rehab.

Now proudly four years sober, she says: “Writing Bottle Tells Me So was a way to acknowledge it without saying, ‘I’m sober and you should be too.’

“You don’t want to preach but life is so much better for me now that I don’t drink.

“In that song, I’m not saying I’m never going to drink again. There’s no shame involved.”

In explaining why a habit that began while “acting cool and hanging with friends”, McBryde says: “I’ve heard it said that the addicts of all types aren’t addicted to any substance.

“They’re addicted to not feeling their feelings. I would say that is spot on for me.

“Not consuming alcohol anymore is probably the simplest part of becoming sober. You have to completely re-meet yourself and rewire everything.”

McBryde says she feels “1000 per cent” better, both physically and mentally. “I look better and I feel better. Despite still feeling anxious, I’m stronger than I knew and that makes me happy.”

She recalls her first show after leaving after getting sober: “I left treatment on Tuesday, got in the bus on Wednesday and was on the stage on Thursday.

“It was my first time being more than 30 days dry and it was the most terrifying, coolest thing I will ever experience.

“I was worried and asked myself, ‘What if I can’t do this?’ But I got out there and was spot on. Bullseye! Now I’m at the top of my game.”

McBryde is undoubtedly dialled in on Wild, produced with sparkle and empathy by John Osborne of country duo Brothers Osborne.

“John’s magical, playful and curious,” she says. “When I try something, he will say, ‘If you love it, we keep it. If you hate it, we toss it.”

It’s a healthy state of affairs for an artist who is increasingly cherished by the country music establishment in Nashville.

She says: “My friends and I always joke, ‘You can never change where the machine is headed unless you climb inside the machine.’

“I want to make music that people will hear. I like being able to make your guts hurt.

‘And the only way to get it heard is to abide by certain rules.”

One her proudest achievements is becoming a member of Grand Ol’ Opry, showcase for the greats from Hank Williams (even if he did get banned) and Patsy Cline onwards.

“I love it,” says McBryde. “Just thinking about it now, I smile so big. My face is complete cheese.”

And there we have it. Ashley McBryde, force of nature, born and raised in the Arkansas Mud but reaching for the stars.

ASHLEY McBRYDE Wild

4.5 STARS

Jonnie Park has always gone by many names. The most Google-able is his hip-hop moniker “Dumbfoundead,” which he’s gone by for decades as a seasoned battle rapper and an artist who’s put out a jaw-dropping 13 albums while becoming one of the kings of legendary Leimert Park hip-hop crew, record label and open mic Project Blowed. As a resident of L.A.’s Koreatown since childhood, he’s still known as “The Mayor of K-town.” To his friends, he’s just “Dumb.” Of all the aliases and titles he’s fought for, “author” might seem to be the most unlikely. But as a professional when it comes to producing scathing hot bars in battle raps, it felt only right to put his journey down the warpath of rhymes on paper in his debut memoir “Spit: A Life in Battles,” released April 14 on Third State Books.

The memoir (which includes a foreword by Park’s longtime friend, R&B star Anderson .Paak) recounts razor-sharp memories starting from childhood, including the harrowing story of his family’s immigration from Argentina to L.A. when he was 3. He talks frankly about the perils and prejudice of growing up Korean American in Southern California and thrusting himself into the hip-hop scene, where, after stumbling in as an outsider to Black culture, he ultimately found his voice on stage. It speaks to the foundation that later served him well as an actor, podcaster, comedian and recently TV writer for season 2 of the hit show “Beef.” But he says his reputation as a battle rapper is the one that will always matter most.

Recently Park spoke to the Times about the hardest parts of writing his new memoir, the importance of Project Blowed and taking his underground rap mentality with him from the gutter to the stars.

For your memoir you purposely take the parts of your life from childhood until about age of 30, the peak of your hip-hop career. What was it like to go back and take that journey again?

To me, it’s always kind of the core of who I am. Even as a multi-hyphenate, I always say I’m first and foremost a battle rapper. It was such a pivotal moment at a time in my life and I take that label with me wherever I go, so it doesn’t feel too distant. But to actually be in that arena feels very distant. I look back and I just think about the audacity of a young Asian kid in that world. I’m just like “Wow, I really had the balls to do this at one point.” And I still love the subculture of battle rap. It’s something I’m a part of and a story that I want to tell in all these other mediums — whether it’s screenwriting or developing a TV show, I still feel like there’s a lot to be done with that subculture.

Why was it important for you to help your readers learn about the technical aspect of battle rap and what it takes to be a battle rapper?

There’s a lot more layers to it than people know. Obviously we know Eminem’s “Eight Mile” was the height of the story of where battle rap got to, and it did a great job of that. Obviously it’s been many years since then. But I also wanted to let people know that the people involved in this subculture aren’t just in poverty trying to make it out and get on a record label. This is a real subculture that people obsess over and I just wanted to find an excuse to nerd about it and also teach people this kind of new era of battle rap. I also highlight some of my peers really deserved it, and including the open mic I went through called Project Blowed. That’s the one thing I love about this book is that I can immortalize some of my personal heroes and places that I hold dear to my heart.

But mechanics of how our brains work when freestyling is something I find interesting. People always ask me “How do you guys freestyle or battle?” And I was really nervous about explaining it. I just didn’t know how I would do that. I had the help of my co-author, Donnie Kwak, who I’ve known for many years. He’s never written a book either, but he’s just kind of like a big brother to me and we’ve had many conversations about this. So being able to break that down was really cool for me. And I still really love that chapter about freestyling and battling for dummies.

Dumbfoundead’s memoir “Spit” chronicles his rise through underground battle rap, offering deeper insight into the subculture.

(Lenne Chai)

What was it like for you as you were discovering your voice through open mics at Project Blowed?

Project Blowed freed such a big part of me. I think when I saw the other rappers there, and they were taking [rapping] to heights I never imagined, the styles of raps that I would see here, from there, were so unorthodox. At that point, I was listening to everything on the radio along with mix tapes and stuff. But this was not even that. This wasn’t even like the underground mix tapes. It was the most raw and purest form of rap. It was so weird and abstract, even for me, just the young Korean kid at the age of 14 that hadn’t gone south of Pico Boulevard, growing up on Third Street, and all of a sudden I’m on 43rd. It was like another world for me. Next thing I know, I’m immersed in this world where there’s black kids that are into anime, punk rock and rapping their a— off. And I’m like, “This is insane!” So it did a lot for my perception of everything, more than just hip-hop.

Why was it so important for you to kind of showcase your Korean from not only the standpoint of a rapper but also as a writer?

Definitely the Korean American part was very important to me, because we see Korean culture, Korea especially being this global powerhouse, and what we know of it is the “Squid Games,” and the K-Pop of it all. And so I did want to share this more in the perspective of a Korean American. Even more specifically, in Southern California, in Los Angeles, there is a different vibe of Asian American life than the rest of the country. I’m the epitome of that. A lot of our parents have these wholesale businesses downtown or dry cleaners or liquor stores. Growing up in K-town, a lot of Korean families have a dad who’s an alcoholic, and there’s a lot of domestic violence situations. I think through my story, a lot of people will see themselves in these situations.

Jonnie Park, a.k.a. Dumbfoundead, writes in his memoir about growing up in Koreatown.

(Third State Books)

I think it also just speaks to all the different layers of struggle, battles that you and your family have gone through. Were there any aspects of this book that were really challenging for you?

The hardest part was definitely writing about my father, and knowing that this book is going to be out in the public because it’s so revealing. There’s affairs, there’s businesses that he worked at that are named. These families do exist — I grew up with that family that my dad had an affair with. I don’t talk to them or anything, but it’s all in the book. And I did want to be honest, I just felt like this is a place to do it if I’m going to do it. I don’t know if my dad will read it, but if it ever got translated into Korean, he’s definitely reading it. I still don’t have a great relationship with my father and I just feel like there wasn’t, there’s not much of a closure to that still. And maybe the book will help open up some new conversations between him and I. So that part was a little difficult, and also talking about some of the domestic violence in my house. Growing up with my dad and my mom, it made me feel for my mom a lot.

The beginning and the end is the most difficult part, because the end really discusses kind of like that insecurity as an artist, and where I’m at in my life as an artist, seeing a lot of my friends becoming extremely successful. I really wanted to be honest about that. The book doesn’t necessarily end with me being triumphant and feeling at ease.I still feel that as an artist, and I think that’s why it’s just an ongoing battle.

Describe what that’s like having come out of that underground rap scene and showing your skills to the world in TV and film while holding on to that underground mentality.

Even being in a writer’s room for “Beef” Season 2 — that was my first writer’s room — felt like a cypher. Knowing when to jump into the conversation at the right time, and knowing when to fall back. That just tells you that the skills that I acquired from freestyling and battle rap, I was able to take into the real world and apply it in so many different places.

I think it’s so interesting that I got that “Beef” Season 2 gig because the showrunner and the creator of the show really loves my perspective on Asian American culture on my podcast [“Fun With Dumb”], just based off of that. I got to a place in my life where I just felt very comfortable being vulnerable and self-deprecating through all the things I’ve done in battle rap. I was able to apply it to podcasting, too. And to have that humor and wit and that vulnerability, that comedic sense that I’ve acquired from battling and freestyling, one thing just led to the other. I still have the same kind of slate of stories and ideas that I’ve been trying to get made for many years. That includes stories on battle rap, K-town and being Korean, American. Those are always kind of the things I take with me to whatever I’m trying to make right now, and maybe once I make those, I can move on, but I’m still working on that.

The late Argentinian football legend’s childhood home has been converted into a soup kitchen serving those affected by President Javier Milei’s austerity measures.

At 523 Amazor street in Fiorito, a Buenos Aires suburb where the “Golden Boy” experienced extreme poverty growing up, locals can now receive meals and clothing assistance.

This neighbourhood of about 50,000 residents living in modest brick homes features numerous murals commemorating the career of the iconic number 10, who passed away in 2020 at the age of 60.

As a criminal negligence trial begins on Tuesday against the seven-member medical team responsible for Maradona’s final care following brain surgery, his childhood community continues his legacy of compassion.

Neighbours visit “Diego’s house” carrying containers that volunteers fill with chicken stew and other meals prepared in large cauldrons in the yard, while cumbia music – Maradona’s preferred genre – plays in the background.

“Diego would say there is a lot of hunger and we have to help, because the need is so great,” explained Diego Gavilan, who benefits from the kitchen’s services.

Gavilan, who collects cardboard and scrap metal, began visiting the soup kitchen after Milei implemented radical free-market reforms following his December 2023 election.

“You can’t make ends meet,” Gavilan noted.

Despite statistics showing poverty reduction under Milei, primarily due to decreasing inflation, family finances remain in crisis, according to Central Bank reports. Increased imports and plummeting consumption have resulted in more than 20,000 business closures.

Gavilan appreciates receiving assistance from Maradona’s former home: “He suffered so much hunger here as a child. For the people of the neighbourhood to receive a plate of food is special.”

The facility operates without dining accommodations. Volunteers prepare food over open fires in the yard, distributing it in bags to those waiting at the entrance.

Maradona frequently referenced his humble origins in an area without running water or paved streets. Sixty-six years after his birth, hardship remains visible on the faces of those queueing for food.

“People are going hungry,” said Maria Torres, one of the centre’s cooks, who believes Maradona would approve of his childhood home’s charitable repurposing.

DESPITE winning dream roles, Anya Taylor-Joy admits her real wish is to retreat from Hollywood and live on a farm.

The 29-year-old is one of the world’s best-known actresses but has spent years feeling nervous on the red carpet, struggled to watch her award-winning performances and now wants calm.

She voices love interest Princess Peach in the new Super Mario Galaxy movie, which is released on April 1.

But Anya described her ideal life as “on a farm”.

She said: “I want goats, chickens, ducks, horses — all of it. I want to work, come into the city when I want to, then disappear and ride all day.”

The film is the follow-up to 2023’s The Super Mario Bros. Movie, which grossed more than £1billion worldwide.

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Princess Peach is the main female character and head of state of the Mushroom Kingdom.

Anya said: “I was so touched by how strong she is and how cool. The fact that’s going to be a role model kids can have nowadays is unbelievable. I left feeling very inspired by her.”

Anya knows all too well that life can be difficult as a child.

She was born in Florida, then lived in Argentina for five years where she rode horses in the idyllic countryside.

Her African-Spanish mum, a psychologist, and Scottish-Argentine dad, who raced powerboats, then moved the family to London when she was six — and things became dramatically different.

Anya was bullied, “locked in lockers, barred from classrooms, not invited to things” and did not speak English.

Watching films helped her navigate through the traumas.

She told the Happy Sad Confused podcast: “I’ve never been good at being cool, this is why I didn’t get along well with people in school.

“If I like something, I love it and it just pours out of me.

“But if I was sad, like if my hamster died, my parents could put me in front of a movie and I would feel better at the end of it.

“I could get lost in something like that.”

It was her love of movies that eventually helped her learn English.

She says: “I learned English when I was eight. I stuck it out for two years in London, refusing to speak English because I wanted to go home. Then eventually I was like, ‘I have no friends, this is going to be a needed skill’.”

Anya told her parents she was going to be an actress.

But first, after being “picked up” outside Harrods, she became a model at 16.

She was recruited by Sarah Doukas, boss of Storm model agency, who had discovered Kate Moss.

But at first Anya thought she was a stalker.

She said: “It was absurd. A black car comes up, starts chasing me. I pick up my dog, start running and a head comes out of the window and they say, ‘If you stop, you won’t regret it,’ and I stop.

“It was the head of a modelling agency. I don’t encourage other people to do this.

“I had no idea what I was doing, but luckily it worked out and my parents came with me the next day to the modelling agency.”

Her parents always supported her. Anya said: “They’d had six kids, so were like, ‘Oh, just do whatever you’re going to do’.

“I’m so grateful for the approach my parents have had because I did some pretty ballsy things in my teenage years and luckily they paid off, but they were always supportive.”

She did many auditions before getting her breakthrough role at 19 in film The Witch.

Anya said: “I thought that audition went so badly. I truly thought I had messed that up massively because I had a huge panic attack before I went into it, and luckily that really worked for the scene.”

It was then that Anya found where she truly belonged.

She said: “Going into work every single day felt like such a joy.

“I could breathe because I’d found a place where I was doing something I loved, with people who didn’t think I was a psychopath. And I could have fun with it. I loved every second of making that movie.”

She found it “mind blowing” that The Witch was a hit and forced herself to watch the performance.

Anya said: “It’s like getting hit by a bus. I personally don’t agree with not watching your films, it’s not all about you. It’s a whole bunch of other people who have done a lot of work and different departments that you have to go and support, because they deserve it and you love them. So I have to watch it.

“But the first time, I always feel I’ve let people down and I’m always like, ‘Oh, I messed it up’.

“Then I process it and the second time I watch it, it’s slightly more palatable and I’m able to lose myself a bit more.

“By the third time I’m just like, ‘OK, whatever’. You just have to get over yourself and applaud the people you care about that worked with you.”

Anya became a household name in 2020 after starring in Netflix series The Queen’s Gambit, which led to a Golden Globe for Best Actress.

She went on to roles in horror film Last Night In Soho, black comedy The Menu and the apocalyptic film Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga. Anya said she works “very hard, very gratefully hard” because she feels lucky to do a job she feels passionate about.

But it is not always easy. Despite her modelling background, Anya struggles with the limelight.

She said: “When I first started doing red carpets, I couldn’t handle the notion of being pretty.

“I was like, ‘I don’t do that’. I am a scummy, mud-caked ferret and striving for anything different felt disingenuous and scary.”

She has even been known to dress up “like an East Berlin spy” at times so nobody recognises her.

Now she is trying to make time for some balance in her life.

She said: “I’ve been living on film sets for five years and, occasionally, I think it would be nice to find out what Anya would do with three months if she wasn’t playing another person.

“So I’m trying to be more careful with my time there.

“You spend 18 hours a day thinking, behaving and breathing as another human being. That doesn’t leave a lot of time to figure out what it is that you like.”

And the person she wants to spend it with is her husband, US musician Malcolm McRae, who she married in 2021.

The couple split their time between homes in the Hollywood Hills and London.

She said: “I’ve finally found someone who will happily sit in silence with me, reading. We’re basically 80 years old and seven at the same time, and it works really well.

“When you are together, you are really valuing the time you have. Everyday, mundane activities are so full of joy.

“I love going to the petrol station with him and filling up the car and going to get breakfast.”

But right now, her focus is all on Princess Peach.

Anya told US Today: “She wants to find out where she comes from and is on a quest for adventure and prioritising herself a little bit more.”

Princess Peach sounds very much like the actress playing her.