On her new album, “Petal,” the pop superstar opens the spigot on what she’s described as an “unfiltered rage” to blast any number of feckless exes, a prying public obsessed with her body and her personal life — and not least herself for allowing anyone the power to hurt her in the first place.
“Tell me who’s to blame — is it the people or myself?” she wonders against the icy synth stabs of the title track.
Her answer, delivered as a sneering little aside: “Yeah.”
“Petal” marks a dramatic shift from Grande’s previous LP, 2024’s “Eternal Sunshine,” a tender and melancholy electro-pop collection that laid out a kind of emotional philosophy of heartbreak. She recorded the new album with the same team — the hit-making writer-producers Ilya Salmanzadeh and Max Martin — but here they go for a murkier, more percussive sound to match Grande’s dark mood.
Tolling electric guitar accompanies her in “Freak” as she muses on “all of the life I’ve been denied,” while “Oh Well” puts a jittery U.K. garage beat under her sneering farewell to an unnamed antagonist: “Good luck on your way to hell.” In “Hate That I Made You Love Me,” which debuted at No. 1 on Billboard’s Hot 100 when Grande released it as “Petal’s” lead single, she sings, “I’ve held your projections when you’ve felt so insecure,” over a trudging groove that moves like a funeral march.
These downcast observations arrive at what would seem to be a professional high point for Grande, who recently wrapped her extended stay in the “Wicked”-verse and who’s in the middle of a tour that’s drawn adoring fans to arenas across the country.
But perhaps that’s the point: Almost every song on “Petal” can be interpreted two ways — as a story about a broken relationship between two people or as a tale about the toxic connection between an idol and her audience. (More than once did this record make me think about Taylor Swift’s “The Tortured Poets Department.”)
“My pain is music — do you hear me everywhere?” Grande asks in “Warning Signs (Interlude),” which climaxes with a pithy diagnosis of pop stardom in the parasocial age: “You don’t deserve me / You know you don’t, you never have / But I want you to feel me / I wish someone could hear me.”
Complaints about celebrity can be pretty tedious, of course; sometimes it feels as though famous pop singers have forgotten how to write about anything other than life in the social-media fishbowl.
Yet “Petal” gets some creative traction from how Grande chooses to use her voice; instead of belting, she rarely rises above a whisper, which gives a spooky, slightly creepy quality to her thoughts on being endlessly scrutinized. The airiness of her singing provides some comedy too in a hard-edged song such as “Like I Do,” where after noting that “all that s— talk keeps me well-fed,” she tells whoever needs to hear it, “No one f— you like I do.”
Having gotten all this off her chest, Grande finishes the album by allowing in some light: Over a zippy new wave arrangement, “Bad Thing (Bunny Hop)” ponders the renewing energy of a fresh romance — or maybe a rekindled old one — while the glistening “Nowhere, Nobody” has her taking deep breaths with a lover she’s convinced might finally give her what she needs.
“Convinced” is probably the wrong word.
“Hard to believe in a perfect ending,” she admits, “But that’s all right.”
For a quarter century, Venezuelan politics has revolved around a single divide: chavismo versus anti-chavismo. Entire political careers were built around that struggle, as parties rose and fell according to their ability to interpret it. Leaders were judged less by what they proposed than by how effectively and fervently they opposed the regime.
No one has embodied that tradition more successfully than María Corina Machado. Her achievement was not simply electoral. She transformed anti-chavismo from a coalition of parties and personalities into something closer to a political identity.
That transformation helped make Machado the dominant figure in Venezuelan politics since 2024. It may also explain why the beast showing its fangs at the other side of the Western border deserves to be taken seriously by the opposition.
Political movements rarely remain the property of the people who built them. Over time, people begin to invest parts of themselves in them. They become attached not only to leaders, but to their own idea of what those leaders represent. Their loyalties gradually shift from individuals to identities, at that point, succession becomes possible.
The curse of the trailblazer
Colombia’s recent election offers an intriguing illustration of how this process can unfold. At first glance, Abelardo de la Espriella’s victory looked like a victory for the Colombian Right. It may turn out to have been something more interesting.
De la Espriella did not defeat Uribismo. If anything, he inherited it. Many of his voters still admire Álvaro Uribe and some probably voted for him repeatedly. What changed was not their opinion of Uribe, but their sense of who now spoke most convincingly for the political tradition he created.
The Tiger did not campaign against Uribe’s legacy. He campaigned as its most uncompromising heir, as he described himself “más uribista que doña Lina” (Uribe ‘s wife). His appeal rested on a simple proposition: Uribe had been right all along, but those who claimed to represent his legacy lacked either the conviction or the will to carry it through to its logical conclusion. This is a very different kind of political challenge. It does not seek to replace a movement. It seeks to inherit it.
De la Espriella’s voters didn’t change their opinion of Uribe, but their sense of who now spoke most convincingly for the political tradition he created.
That possibility should sound familiar to Venezuelans.
The question is not whether Machado is losing support. By any reasonable measure she remains the dominant figure in the Venezuelan opposition. The more interesting question is whether anti-chavismo, having become an identity in its own right, could one day develop ambitions, expectations and frustrations that exceed her ability to contain them.
The strange thing about political victories is that they rarely belong entirely to those who achieve them. Over time, successful leaders create constituencies, expectations and myths that acquire a life of their own. What begins as a political movement gradually becomes a political identity, and once identities take root they stop asking permission from the people who created them.
The comparison that comes most readily to mind is Winston Churchill. The British prime minister lost the first election after the Second World War, in one of the great paradoxes of democratic politics. The standard explanation is that Britons decided the war had been won and wanted someone better suited to building the peace.
Bukele, Trump and Milei often feature more prominently in the imagination of many Venezuelans than the leaders who shaped domestic opposition politics before Machado.
The Venezuelan case may eventually present the opposite problem. Machado’s future challenger, once one emerges, is unlikely to argue that the struggle against chavismo has ended. If anything, the argument would be the reverse: not that Machado was wrong, but that she stopped too soon.
If such a figure were ever to emerge in Venezuela, it would likely appear first as a sentiment rather than as a politician.
A nameless threat
One can already glimpse fragments of that sentiment across the Venezuelan diaspora, in Miami, Houston or Madrid among voters who remain deeply committed to the opposition but increasingly impatient with the pace of events, and Machado’s approach to Trump’s plan. Many admire Machado, some even revere her. Yet admiration and impatience are not mutually exclusive sentiments.
A decade ago, one of the most common criticisms of Machado was that she was too confrontational. Today, some of her critics seem to believe she has not been enough of a hardliner. The shift may appear subtle. It is anything but that.
What unites these constituencies is not necessarily ideology. Many disagree on policy, strategy and even on the nature of a future Venezuelan transition. What they seem to share is a growing impatience with the political habits that defined the opposition during the previous two decades. Their political reference points are increasingly international. Bukele, Trump and Milei often feature more prominently in their imagination than the leaders who shaped Venezuelan opposition politics before Machado.
The result is a political vocabulary that would have sounded unfamiliar not long ago. Arguments about negotiations and elections increasingly coexist with arguments about strength, authenticity, betrayal and whether the opposition has shown sufficient willingness to exercise power rather than merely seek it.
The Tiger represents a possibility: that the greatest challenge facing anti-chavismo in the years ahead may not come from its enemies, but from the unresolved question of what victory should look like.
None of this means that a Venezuelan Bukele is waiting in the wings, nor does it suggest that Machado’s position is immediately threatened. As things stand, the opposite appears true. But political identities rarely remain frozen in time. They absorb new influences, adapt to new frustrations and develop new aspirations. The question is whether anti-chavismo is beginning to do the same.
Perhaps someone like Abelardo The Tiger never comes. Perhaps Machado successfully leads Venezuela through a transition and remains the uncontested leader of the movement she helped build. That remains the most likely outcome.
But history suggests that political movements rarely remain suspended in a single moment forever. The forces that transformed Machado into the dominant figure of Venezuelan opposition politics, frustration, perseverance, impatience, conviction and a refusal to accept the permanence of chavismo, are not forces she alone controls.
That is why The Tiger matters. The point is not whether it materializes as a candidate, a faction or a movement. The point is that it represents a possibility: that the greatest challenge facing anti-chavismo in the years ahead may not come from its enemies, but from the unresolved question of what victory should look like.
For 25 years, Venezuelan politics revolved around how to confront chavismo. María Corina Machado provided the most compelling answer that question has yet produced. The shadow crouched in the woods is the possibility that a different question is beginning to emerge.
And predators have a peculiar habit. They tend to show up before people eventually give them a name.
The title of Violet Grohl’s debut album, “Be Sweet to Me,” started as an inside joke.
“‘Be Sweet to Me’ is a phrase that my best friend and I say to each other when we’re play-fighting,” says the rising singer. “It’s what we do to put an end to it. Like, ‘Oh, be sweet to me!’”
The phrase might also carry a double meaning, one Grohl is still parsing. At some point in the naming process, someone in her circle asked Grohl if she was making a plea. Remembering that moment, Grohl pauses to consider.
“I guess it can be seen as a pretext for the album. Just … be sweet,” she says. “But at the same time, it’s literally just what my best friend and I say to each other when we’re calling each other idiots.”
Intentional or not, no one could blame the 20-year-old for inserting an earnest request for audiences to proceed with kindness as she readies her debut album, which finally landed Friday.
The reasons are pretty self-explanatory: Grohl is the eldest child of modern rock icon Dave Grohl, the highly decorated founder and centerpiece of Foo Fighters and onetime drummer of Nirvana, and his wife, former model and TV producer Jordyn Blum. In an age of “nepo” accusations and internet dogpiles, it would be completely understandable for Grohl to feel anxious about her album’s reception.
But if she is, it doesn’t show. On a warm day in mid-May, Grohl appears relaxed and self-assured — but not arrogant — as she idles on a sofa in a cozy Studio City ADU owned by her publicist. Encased in a long, black sleeveless dress, she’s giving a mixture of off-duty rock star and summer goth. Her arms host an array of intricate tattoos; I spot a raven, a skull and a vintage lace fan. Next to her is a bulging Balenciaga mini bag, and a pair of oversized sunglasses on her head are perched atop a mop of jet black curls. The high contrast of her pale, makeup-less skin and swept back hair makes her round, gray-blue eyes appear even more pronounced.
“Everyone wants you to be an idealized version of … not even yourself, but of what they want you to be,” she says. “Sorry, that’s just not gonna happen with me.”
(Bella Newman)
Any time spent with her reveals that Grohl is the sort of person who is ultra-sensitive to the energy of places, people and even the long-deceased. In her free time, Grohl is an avid lover of anything paranormal. “The same time I got into horror movies, I started watching ‘Ghost Adventures’ on Travel Channel,” she says. “It totally sent me down this rabbit hole of the supernatural.”
When I ask if she’d ever made contact with any ghosts, Grohl nods emphatically before describing a trip to a hunting estate near the Scottish Highlands. “It is the most haunted place I’ve ever been in my whole life,” she says. “I walked into the house, and it was like a blast of cold air, chills everywhere. It’s this instinctual feeling of, I’m not alone here … I heard footsteps and disembodied voices, I saw shadows, I had crazy f–ing dreams. It’s so eye-opening, but it’s not evil or negative.”
Chilling films and Lynchian surrealism pervade the tracklist of “Be Sweet to Me,” which relies on symbolic lyricism to illustrate coming-of-age stories. From a sonic perspective, listeners will be thrilled to know that her debut does not just make for an entertaining listen — it’s a dedicated towpath to the very squealing heart of alternative rock, built by an artist who understands her music history on a granular level. Across a tight 11 tracks, “Be Sweet to Me” careens across late-’80s and ‘90s experimental genres, from ripping alt-rock on “Bug in the Cake” to hazy dream pop on “Mobile Star” to aggro Clinton-era alt metal on “Often Others,” and even a bit of chugging hardcore on “Cool Buzz.”
As many references as she brought to the recording process, led by producer Justin Raisen (a known collaborator of Charli XCX and Kim Gordon, who made the introduction), Grohl is not attempting to cosplay the grunge era. Instead of simply mirroring influences, she deftly puts her own spin on each arrangement with inventive, grabby arrangements, razor-sharp production and her versatile vocals, which can bellow like Courtney Love, murmur like PJ Harvey or turn ethereal like Elizabeth Fraser.
“Justin has a crew of musicians that he works with, and they’re all close friends of his,” Grohl explains of the album’s backing band, which Raisen assembled to mimic the Wrecking Crew, a loose collective of session players who appeared on some of the most beloved albums of the 1960s and ‘70s. “They’re the coolest, most talented, genuine music lovers, and seriously talented musicians … I’d never been in that kind of recording environment before. Everyone would throw out ideas or I would share a reference, and whatever it was about the song, [we’d ask] how we can build and make it a completely new, different thing.”
Growing up in Tarzana/Woodland Hills, Grohl says she’s been singing ever since she could speak. In a baby book, her mother wrote how Grohl, at 8 or 9 months, was “babbling and singing.” She took piano lessons with a teacher who taught her any Beatles song she wanted to learn. She later picked up the ukulele, and then a guitar. Now, it’s any piece of gear, from bass to drums to a lap dulcimer. “I just love messing around with different instruments and seeing all the different sounds I can make,” she says.
Grohl also had an ideal music-taste mentor in her father, who told his eldest all about Björk and acquiesced to playing Amy Winehouse’s “Rehab” on repeat. “I think I was 4 or 5, and I remember sitting in front of his computer, and he was talking about how she was from Iceland,” Grohl says of those days. “And I was like, ‘Oh, she’s the princess of Iceland. That was my idea of Björk from a young age. Björk’s ‘Hunter’ music video was a turning point for me.”
By adolescence, while on the road with the Foo Fighters, Grohl would make herself useful by assisting the band’s tour manager. She remembers: “I had a walkie-talkie, I would hand per diems out to people, I would run the envelopes around, and bring my dad a towel after the show, stuff like that.” The live-music atmosphere may have also sparked Grohl’s curiosity in songwriting, which she says began as a way of journaling. “I have cassette demos that I made with a tiny one-track recorder,” she remembers. “Then I started learning how to use Logic right before I turned 13, and that opened up this whole new world.”
One night in May 2018, on a break from the East Coast leg of the Foos’ Concrete and Gold tour, the elder Grohl headlined a benefit concert for the UCSF Benioff Children’s Hospital, where he encouraged his daughter, then only 12, to join him onstage to sing Adele’s “When We Were Young.” A few weeks later, back on tour, Grohl jumped onstage to help sing backup on a few tracks. “It wasn’t my first time singing on a stage, but it was my first time singing on a stage with that many people in [the audience],” she says of the second experience. “I was really scared, but once it was happening, and once it was over, I was like, ‘Oh, this is what I want to do. This is my purpose.’”
Chilling films and Lynchian surrealism pervade the tracklist of “Be Sweet to Me,” which relies on symbolic lyricism to illustrate coming-of-age stories.
(Bella Newman)
From there, Grohl became something of a live fixture — a beloved Foos adjunct performer. But clearly one with her own trajectory. In pre-pandemic 2020, Grohl joined the surviving members of Nirvana at the Art of Elysium Gala, where she sang “Heart-Shaped Box.” The next year, father and daughter recorded a duet of “Nausea” by L.A. classic punk favorites X. In 2022, Grohl opened the second tribute to late Foos drummer, Taylor Hawkins, with an aching rendition of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah.”
It should definitely be said that Grohl is hardly pulling a Jakob Dylan as it relates to her parentage — a detail that actually makes her appear that much more self-actualized and approachable, simply because she isn’t trying to circumvent reality or engage in a furious round of name-dropping. She freely discusses the long evening car rides around Los Angeles she’d take with her dad and two younger sisters during the pandemic, the car becoming a music-recommendation feedback loop, with older and younger generations trading off DJ duties. “My sister and I introduced him to Jockstrap,” Grohl chuckles when I ask what bands she introduced her dad to during those rides. “I’d play him old jazz standards, hip-hop. It was a constant thing.”
During those evening rides, Grohl also drank up the city’s otherworldly, vaguely haunted visage. “There’s something special about L.A. that I can’t fully describe,” she says. “There’s inspiration everywhere, so many beautiful people and historic buildings. I love art about L.A. — when people reference L.A. in their music, movies, or books. I grew up here, and I’ve lived here my whole life. I just feel that deep connection to it all.”
Like any great artist, Grohl is a product of her surroundings, and that can’t help but include a very specific, unlikely upbringing. In her own matter-of-fact way, Grohl shrugs as she acknowledges the inescapable pressure of her last name. “Everyone wants you to be an idealized version of … not even yourself, but of what they want you to be,” she says. “Sorry, that’s just not gonna happen with me. You’re not gonna convince me to change. I’m doing this because I love music, and that’s all I’ve ever known. Everyone’s gonna want me to be something, and I’m not the person that will give in to that.”
The presidents of Nigeria and the United States have announced the killing of Abu-Bilal al-Minuki, described as the second-in-command of ISIL (ISIS).
Donald Trump first made the announcement in a social media post on Friday, without disclosing when or where the joint Nigerian-US military operation happened.
On Saturday, Nigerian President Bola Tinubu said in a statement that al-Minuki, also known as Abu-Mainok, was killed “along with several of his lieutenants” during a strike on his compound in the Lake Chad Basin.
The Nigerian army described it as “a meticulously planned and highly complex precision air-land operation” carried out on Saturday between midnight and 4am (23:00 to 03:00 GMT) in Metele, in Borno state in northeast Nigeria.
Borno has been the epicentre of a long-running campaign by the Boko Haram armed group and its splinter faction, the Islamic State West Africa Province (ISWAP), which is linked to ISIL.
Who was al-Minuki?
Little is publicly known about al-Minuki, who had been under US sanctions since 2023.
Before pledging allegiance to ISIL in 2015, al-Minuki was a prominent Boko Haram leader, according to the Nigerian army.
An army statement described him as a “key” operational and strategic figure who provided guidance to ISIL entities outside Nigeria on media operations, economic warfare and weapons manufacturing.
“His death removes a critical node through which ISIS coordinated and directed operations across different regions of the world,” the army said.
It added that al-Minuki oversaw ISIL-linked operations across the Sahel and West Africa, including attacks against “ethnic and religious minority communities”. In 2018, he was linked to the kidnapping of more than 100 schoolgirls in Dapchi, in northeastern Nigeria’s Yobe state.
Emerging power
Al-Minuki is believed to have risen through the ranks of ISWAP following the disappearance of veteran commander Mamman Nur in 2018.
His reported ability to operate discreetly and avoid public attention helped him maintain influence over operations, while evading detection by regional and international security forces.
Cheta Nwanze, chief executive of the Lagos-based advisory group, SBM Intelligence, said al-Minuki had previously been declared killed in 2024 after a military operation in Kaduna state.
“That earlier announcement did not produce a lasting degradation of ISWAP’s capabilities,” he told Al Jazeera, warning that eliminating a single commander may have a limited impact.
Nwanze said the group will be able to recover as long as a growing “ransom economy” in Nigeria – which raised some $1.66m between July 2024 and June 2025, according to an SBM intelligence report – “remains intact”.
“The ultimate tool for control is the man on the ground with a gun, and the ultimate backing for that man is a functional social contract, which sadly Nigeria does not have,” he said. “Until the economic logic that feeds these groups is disrupted, the cycle will continue.”
Experts say leaders such as al-Minuki have been central to coordination between local fighters and ISIL’s broader network, but are not irreplaceable due to the group’s decentralised command structure.
“The killing of al-Minuki will disrupt ISWAP operationally in the short term,” Alex Vines, the Africa programme director at the European Council on Foreign Relations, told Al Jazeera.
“ISWAP has proven resilient to leadership losses, suggesting this killing will not be strategically decisive on its own.”
‘Inclusive governance reforms’
ISWAP has recently intensified attacks along the Nigeria-Cameroon border, targeting military outposts and humanitarian convoys.
These operations are seen as part of a deliberate effort to consolidate territory and demonstrate the group’s continued relevance despite ongoing pressure, including after Trump accused Nigeria of not doing enough to protect Christians in the country’s north from attacks.
The Nigerian government has rejected the claim, insisting that Muslims are also being targeted by armed groups. In recent months, dozens of US troops have been deployed to Nigeria to help in the fight against armed groups by providing intelligence sharing and technical support.
Tinubu said Nigeria “appreciates” the partnership with the US “in advancing our shared security objectives,” adding that he looked forward “to more decisive strikes against all terrorist enclaves across the nation”.
Vines said al-Minuki’s killing was “a tactical win” for the Tinubu administration, but ISWAP remains a “serious security concern”.
As for the US, eliminating al-Minuki is likely to be framed as a victory against ISIL’s Africa network. It will also reinforce Nigeria’s importance “as a key security partner and a reminder that bilateral relations are much better than a year ago”, Vines told Al Jazeera.
Nwanze said the joint nature of the strike signalled a deepening of US‑Nigeria security cooperation, but the collaboration “will face limits”.
“Washington’s willingness to engage is likely contingent on narrow counter‑terrorism objectives, not on a wholesale commitment to rebuilding Nigeria’s fractured security architecture,” he added.
Mubarak Aliyu, a political and security risk analyst, called the elimination of al-Minuki “a remarkable operational success”. He stressed, however, that “broader, inclusive governance reforms remain fundamental to solving the long-term security challenges in the wider region”.
Reporting from Sacramento — Susan Kennedy, the former top aide to Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger, has agreed to pay $32,500 in fines for shadow lobbying, or advocating for clients before a state agency without registering as a lobbyist, according to documents released Monday.
The state Fair Political Practices Commission’s enforcement staff says Kennedy failed to register though she attempted to influence the California Public Utilities Commission from 2012 through 2014 on behalf of her clients, Lyft Inc. and San Gabriel Valley Water Co. Kennedy was paid $201,000 for the lobbying work.
Kennedy served on the California Public Utilities Commission from 2003 to 2006. She was chief of staff to Schwarzenegger from 2007 to 2011 before she became a consultant.
She signed an agreement with the FPPC enforcement staff admitting to the violations of the state Political Reform Act.
“In this case, the violations were serious since the public and other interested parties were not informed of Kennedy’s lobbying activity,” the agreement says. “While Kennedy maintains she did not intend to qualify as a lobbyist, given her experience and sophistication, she should have been aware at the time that her activity qualified as lobbying.”
The agreement and fines are expected to be approved by the Fair Political Practices Commission on Feb. 15.
The panel has been investigating shadow lobbying for years at the state Capitol and has fined others who have tried to secretly influence state government.
The state defines a lobbyist as someone who receives $2,000 or more in a calendar month to communicate directly, or through an agent, with state officials for the purpose of influencing legislative or administrative action. Such people must register as lobbyists with the state and periodically report who is paying them, how much and for what purpose.
Kennedy failed to register and disclose her payments, resulting in eight violations of the Political Reform Act. In 2012, Lyft Inc. gave Kennedy a $15,000-a-month contract to help “strategic management” of Lyft’s public policy interests, the report said.
Lyft and other ride-hailing firms including Uber were under the scrutiny of the PUC for operating without its approval at the time, and Lyft agreed to pay a fine of $20,000 for operating without the agency’s authority.
After being retained by Lyft, Kennedy contacted CPUC President Michael Peevey, Executive Director Paul Clanon and other staff to convince them that the state should work with the ride-hailing firms, not shut them down.
At Kennedy’s prodding, the California Public Utilities Commission decided to adopt rules on the new industry regarding liability insurance, driver licensing and background checks, driver training programs and vehicle inspections.
James C. Harrison, an attorney for Kennedy, said she “moved immediately once the discrepancy was identified to provide the necessary information requested by the FPPC. Integrity and character are hallmark principles in how Kennedy conducts herself in business, which is why she is acting swiftly and looks forward to its resolution.”
