song

On the lamp-lit steps of a sombre gothic church, a young woman stands before a microphone. Beside her, a man plucks a slow melody from his guitar. Arrayed on chairs and cobblestones in front of them, a large crowd sits in an expectant silence. From a nearby balcony, laundry sways in the sultry Calabrian breeze.

The guitar quickens, and the woman issues a string of tremulous notes with all the solemnity of a muezzin. She clutches a hand drum, beating out a rhythm that draws the crowd to its feet. As people surge forward, stamping and whirling around the square, the singing intensifies and the drum’s relentless thud deepens. The festival of Sustarìa has begun.

“Sustarìa is a word in the dialect of Lago,” says Cristina Muto, who co-founded the festival in summer 2020. “It is a creative restlessness, which doesn’t let you sit still.” We’re speaking at a drinks party the evening before the annual event, on a terrace overlooking Lago’s clay-tiled roofs, when her brother Daniele appears with a jug of local wine in hand. “Welcome to Lagos Angeles, Calabrifornia,” he winks, pouring me a cup.

Lago is a hilltop village in the province of Cosenza, overlooking the Mediterranean. It’s surrounded by sprawling olive groves and small plots where families cultivate figs, chestnuts and local grains. Cristina and Daniele were born and raised in this grey-stoned hamlet, a medieval outpost of the Kingdom of the Lombards. Although their pride in Lago is palpable, few of the Laghitani I meet live here all year round. Like many young people from southern Italy, they have left in search of opportunities that are scarce in Calabria.

It’s against this backdrop that Cristina co-founded Sustarìa. “The trend is longstanding and severe,” she tells me, “but people still live here, and there are communities that thrive despite the problems. If more people stay or return, things will get better.” By spotlighting the allure of the region’s heritage, she hopes to play a part in this.

With agriculture historically shaping Calabria’s economy and its inhabitants’ daily lives, many traditions have agrarian roots. The dance that erupted on the festival’s first night was the tarantella. It features distinctive footwork, with dancers kicking their heels rapidly. “It’s a dance of the field workers,” Cristina says. “Some say it began as a way to sweat out venom from spider bites during harvests; others say tired workers in need of a creative outlet danced slowly and just with their feet, and over time the pace and range of movement increased.”

The vocals on display that night told of another aspect of the region’s history: its frequent colonisation. Calabria was variously conquered by Greeks, Romans, Byzantines, Normans, Arabs, Lombards and Bourbons. The folk songs we heard were replete with Greek scales and Arabic cadences, a melting pot of Mediterranean timbres.

After the concert, the crowd migrated to a field by a small waterfall on the outskirts of Lago for dinner featuring regional dishes: rosamarina (the pescatarian version of nduja, known as “Calabrian caviar” made from tiny fish); fried courgette flowers; cipolla rossa di Tropea (red onions from the popular beachtown of Tropea); and pecorino crotonese, a sheep’s cheese from the Crotone province.

Over dinner I spoke with two other festival organisers, Claudia and her husband Alberto. Claudia, a Lago native, returned permanently, after a career in aerospace engineering, to run the B&B Agriturismo Cupiglione with Alberto. Nestled in woodland a few kilometres from Lago, Cupiglione was founded 25 years ago by Claudia’s parents as a restaurant with guest rooms. After closing during the pandemic, it was renovated and reopened in 2023 as a B&B with seven rooms for up to 18 guests (doubles from €40). The change in direction paid off, and Cupiglione has since welcomed hundreds of visitors to the area, evenly split between Italian and international travellers.

During my stay, I’m lodging in a house on the edge of Lago, thanks to the Sustarìa team. Hospitality runs deep during the festival; organisers open up their homes and those of their relatives to anyone who enquires through social media. Other options abound during the festival and year-round, including B&Bs such as Cupiglione and A Casa di Ely (doubles from €60), a short walk from where I stayed.

The following afternoon, I return to the field before aperitivi, where I meet up with Cristina, who explains the growth of her initiative: “Initially, it was just locals who came to Sustarìa, but then people from other parts of Italy and even other countries started coming. Every year it grows.” This year, there are nearly 600 people in attendance.

Eric, a Londoner studying in Zurich, is one such international guest. Eric also attended Felici & Conflenti, a festival in late July hosted by friends of the Sustarìa team, which focuses on preserving and reviving the region’s ancient music. It has held 11 editions over as many years, each one featuring a winter and summer instalment, to which more people flock each year. It takes place in Conflenti, a small inland village nestled at the foot of the Reventino mountain, at the confluence of two small rivers (hence its name).

“Thanks to their work and research, instruments that were becoming extinct, like the zampogna [Italian bagpipe], are finding new life,” Cristina says.

The three of us sit chatting over plates of crisp taralli (wheat crackers) as twilight fades, and a reedy piping starts up from across the field. I stroll over, and catch sight of someone playing the zampogna, which looks like a set of bagpipes improvised from foraged materials, and is truly ancient – it counts the Roman emperor Nero among its historical admirers.

The next morning, we head to the hilltop town of Fiumefreddo Bruzio, a short drive from Lago and officially recognised as one of “Italy’s most beautiful villages”. Clinging to the western slopes of the Apennines, this medieval village offers panoramic views of the swelling coastline, which traces the Tyrrhenian Sea. Its narrow, meandering streets are lined with squat houses made of the local grey stone, quarried from the surrounding mountains. We wander around Il castello della Valle, a sprawling 13th-century Norman castle partly destroyed by Napoleonic troops, but retaining a splendid portale Rinascimentale – or Renaissance gate – still in excellent condition.

At Palazzo Rossi, on the edge of town, we take a seat at a cafe and sip local craft beer as we admire the view of the active volcano Mount Stromboli, across the water.

“You should see it in the winter,” Cristina says. “The air is cooler, so it becomes even clearer. Everything here is completely different in the winter, but most people don’t see it as visitors come mainly in the summer,” she adds with a note of regret.

The sun starts to sink into the horizon. In the square, a band starts setting up for an evening gig. A waiter brings over a plate of bread and olives to our table, on the house. “Things are quieter but not empty. There are almost as many events as in summer. And you get to see how the locals live during the rest of the year.” Cristina tears off a piece of bread. “And, of course, the hospitality never changes – people are always welcomed with open arms.”

Sustarìa will return to Lago for its sixth instalment on 1-3 August 2026. There is a winter edition of Felici & Conflenti in Calabria on 27-29 December 2025; its next summer instalment is in July 2026

When Xavier “X” Atencio was plucked by Walt Disney in 1965 to be one of his early theme park designers, he was slotted on a number of projects that placed him out of his comfort zone.

Atencio, for instance, never would have envisioned himself a songwriter.

One of Atencio’s first major projects with Walt Disney Imagineering — WED Enterprises (for Walter Elias Disney), as it was known at the time — was Pirates of the Caribbean. In the mid-’60s when Atencio joined the Pirates team, the attraction was well underway, with the likes of fellow animators-turned-theme park designers Marc Davis and Claude Coats crafting many of its exaggerated characters and enveloping environments. Atencio’s job? Make it all make sense by giving it a cohesive story. While Atencio had once dreamed of being a journalist, his work as an animator had led him astray of a writer’s path.

Atencio would not only figure it out but end up as the draftman of one of Disneyland’s most recognizable songs, “Yo Ho (A Pirate’s Life for Me).” In the process, he was key in creating the template for the modern theme park dark ride, a term often applied to slow-moving indoor attractions. Such career twists and turns are detailed in a new book about Atencio, who died in 2017. “Xavier ‘X’ Atencio: The Legacy of an Artist, Imagineer, and Disney Legend” (Disney Editions), written by three of his family members, follows Atencio’s unexpected trajectory, starting from his roots in animation (his resume includes “Fantasia,” the Oscar-winning short “Toot, Whistle, Plunk and Boom” and even stop-motion work in “Mary Poppins”).

For Pirates of the Caribbean, Atencio is said to have received little direction from Disney, only that the park’s patriarch was unhappy with previous stabs at a narration and dialogue, finding them leaning a bit stodgy. So he knew, essentially, what not to do. Atencio, according to the book, immersed himself in films like Disney’s own “Treasure Island” and pop-cultural interpretations of pirates, striving for something that felt borderline caricature rather than ripped from the history books.

Xavier “X” Atencio got his start in animation. Here, he is seen drawing dinosaurs for a sequence in “Fantasia.”

(Reprinted from “Xavier ‘X’ Atencio: The Legacy of An Artist, Imagineer, and Disney Legend” / Disney Enterprises Inc. / Disney Editions)

Indeed, Atencio’s words — some of those quoted in the book, such as “Avast there! Ye come seeking adventure and salty old pirates, aye?” — have become shorthand for how to speak like a pirate. The first scene written for the attraction was the mid-point auction sequence, a section of the ride that was changed in 2017 due to its outdated cultural implications. In the original, a proud redheaded pirate is the lead prisoner in a bridal auction, but today the “wench” has graduated to pirate status of her own and is helping to auction off stolen goods.

At first, Atencio thought he had over-written the scene, noticing that dialogue overlapped with one another. In a now-famous theme park moment, and one retold in the book, Atencio apologized to Disney, who shrugged off Atencio’s insecurity.

“Hey, X, when you go to a cocktail party, you pick up a little conversation here, another conversation there,” Disney told the animator. “Each time people will go through, they’ll find something new.”

This was the green light that Atencio, Davis and Coats needed to continue developing their attraction as one that would be a tableau of scenes rather than a strict plot.

Tying it all together, Atencio thought, should be a song. Not a songwriter himself, of course, Atencio sketched out a few lyrics and a simple melody. As the authors write, he turned to the thesaurus and made lists of traditional “pirating” words. He presented it to Disney and, to Atencio’s surprise, the company founder promptly gave him the sign off.

“Yo Ho (A Pirate’s Life for Me),” Atencio would relay, was a challenge as the ride doesn’t have a typical beginning and ending, meaning the tune needed to work with whatever pirate vignette we were sailing by. Ultimately, the song, with music by George Bruns, underlines the ride’s humorous feel, allowing the looting, the pillaging and the chasing of women, another scene that has been altered over the years, to be delivered with a playful bent.

The song “altered the trajectory” of Atencio’s career. While Atencio was not considered a musical person — “No, not at all,” says his daughter Tori Atencio McCullough, one of the book’s co-authors — the biography reveals how music became a signature aspect of his work. The short “Toot, Whistle, Plunk and Boom,” for instance, is a humorous tale about the discovery of music. And elsewhere in Atencio’s career he worked on the band-focused opening animations for “Mickey Mouse Club.”

“That one has a pretty cool kind of modern instrument medley in the middle,” Kelsey McCullough, Atencio’s granddaughter and another one of the book’s authors, says of “Mickey Mouse Club.” “It was interesting, because when we lined everything up, it was like, ‘Of course he felt like the ride needed a song.’ Everything he had been doing up to that point had a song in it. Once we looked it at from that perspective, it was sort of unsurprising to us. He was doing a lot around music.”

Xavier “X” Atencio contributed concepts to Disneyland’s Haunted Mansion, including its famous one-eyed cat.

(Reprinted from “Xavier ‘X’ Atencio: The Legacy of An Artist, Imagineer, and Disney Legend” / Disney Enterprises Inc. / Disney Editions)

Atencio would go on to write lyrics for the Country Bear Jamboree and the Haunted Mansion. While the Haunted Mansion vacillates between spooky and lighthearted imagery, it’s Atencio’s “Grim Grinning Ghosts” that telegraphs the ride’s tone and makes it clear it’s a celebratory attraction, one in which many of those in the afterlife prefer to live it up rather than haunt.

Despite his newfound music career, Atencio never gave up drawing and contributing concepts to Disney theme park attractions. Two of my favorites are captured in the book — his abstract flights through molecular lights for the defunct Adventure Thru Inner Space and his one-eyed black cat for the Haunted Mansion. The latter has become a fabled Mansion character over the years. Atencio’s fiendish feline would have followed guests throughout the ride, a creature said to despise living humans and with predatory, possessive instincts.

In Atencio’s concept art, the cat featured elongated, vampire-like fangs and a piercing red eye. In a nod to Edgar Allan Poe’s story “The Black Cat,” it had just one eyeball, which sat in its socket with all the subtlety of a fire alarm. Discarded eventually — a raven essentially fills a similar role — the cat today has been resurrected for the Mansion, most notably in a revised attic scene where the kitty is spotted near a mournful bride.

Xavier “X” Atencio retired from Disney in 1984 after four-plus decades with the company. He drew his own retirement announcement.

(Reprinted from “Xavier ‘X’ Atencio: The Legacy of An Artist, Imagineer, and Disney Legend” / Disney Enterprises Inc. / Disney Editions)

Co-author Bobbie Lucas, a relative of Atencio’s colloquially referred to by the family as his “grandchild-in-law,” was asked what ties all of Atencio’s work together.

“No matter the different style or no matter the era, there’s such a sense of life and humanity,” Lucas says. “There’s a sense of play.”

Play is a fitting way to describe Atencio’s contributions to two of Disneyland’s most beloved attractions, where pirates and ghosts are captured at their most frivolous and jovial.

“I like that,” Lucas adds. “I like someone who will put their heart on their sleeve and show you that in their art.”

Rapper RBX has sued Spotify, alleging that the Swedish audio company has failed to stop the artificial inflation of music streams for artists like Drake and is hurting the revenue other rights holders receive through the platform.

RBX, whose real name is Eric Dwayne Collins, is seeking a class-action status and damages and restitution from Spotify. RBX, along with other rights holders, receive payment based on how often their music is streamed on Spotify, according to the lawsuit, filed in U.S. District Court in L.A. on Sunday.

Spotify pays rights holders a percentage of revenue based on the total streams attributed to them compared with total volume of streams for all songs, the lawsuit said.

The Long Beach-based rapper said that rights holders are losing money on Spotify because streams of some artists are being artificially inflated through bots powered by automated software, even though the use of such bots is prohibited on the platform, according to the lawsuit.

For example, the lawsuit notes that over a four-day period in 2024 there were at least 250,000 streams of Drake’s “No Face” song that appeared to originate in Turkey, but “were falsely geomapped through the coordinated use of VPNs to the United Kingdom in attempt to obscure their origins.”

Spotify knew or should have known “with reasonable diligence, that fraudulent activities were occurring on its platform,” states the lawsuit, describing the streamer’s policies to root out fraud as “window dressing.”

Spotify declined to comment on the pending litigation but said it “in no way benefits from the industry-wide challenge of artificial streaming.”

“We heavily invest in always-improving, best-in-class systems to combat it and safeguard artist payouts with strong protections like removing fake streams, withholding royalties, and charging penalties,” Spotify said in a statement.

Last year, a U.S. producer was accused of stealing $10 million from streaming services and Spotify said it was able to limit the theft on its platform to $60,000, touting it as evidence that its systems are working.

The platform is also making efforts to push back against AI-generated music that is made without artists’ permission. In September, Spotify announced it had removed more than 75 million AI-generated “spammy” music tracks from its platform over the last 12 months.

A representative for Drake did not immediately return a request for comment.

RBX is known for his work on Dr. Dre’s 1992 album “The Chronic” and Snoop Dogg’s 1993 album “Doggystyle.” He has multiple solo albums and has collaborated with artists including on Eminem’s “The Marshall Mathers LP” and Kris Kross’ “Da Bomb.” RBX is Snoop Dogg’s cousin.

Artificial intelligence continues to change the way that the entertainment industry operates, affecting everything from film and TV production to music. In the music industry, companies have sued AI startups, accusing the businesses of taking copyrighted music to train AI models.

At the same time, some music artists have embraced AI, using the technology to test bold ideas in music videos and in their songs.

There’s no shortage of bands commemorating their glory days as decade anniversaries of albums fly by. Yet few landmark releases feel not only fresh but forward-thinking 20 years after they were recorded. My Morning Jacket stumbled onto this kind of brilliance in October 2004 when it released its fourth studio album “Z.” Across 10 tracks of lush, euphoria-driven rock ‘n’ roll, the band captured a notable tone shift in its sound that melded Southern rock, haunting folk, psychedelic soul laced with jam band energy. It’s a set of songs that still make up a huge chunk of the bands live show. In September the band performed the album in its entirety to a sold-out Hollywood Palladium for its 20th anniversary.

“We still play these songs all the time,” said frontman and principal songwriter Jim James in a recent conversation. “So it’s not like we broke up after we released ‘Z’ and then we got back together 20 years later to play these songs, and it’s such a trip. We’ve been playing them nonstop for 20 years.”

Shortly after the release of its 10th studio album “is,” the band put out a deluxe reissue of “Z” that includes four B-sides and a whole album’s worth of demo versions of songs like “Wordless Chorus,” “Off the Record” and Dodante. Recently James spoke to The Times about the enduring power of “Z” and the joy of going back to the beginning of the album’s origins to give himself and his fans a new appreciation for the groundbreaking sound the band created.

The rerelease of “Z” was prefaced earlier this year with a full-album show at the Palladium. What was it like revisiting the album on stage first before it came out (again) on vinyl and streaming?

This is our fourth album now to hit the 20-year mark. So we’ve got some experience now doing these album shows. And it’s funny because some of the earlier albums we don’t play all the songs from them so we had to go back and relearn a lot of songs. But the songs from “Z” we pretty much play all the songs all the time. So it’s pretty hilarious how it involved no effort. It just involved playing them in that order of the sequence of the album. But we kind of laughed about that. We’re like, man, we don’t really even have to do any research or anything. We were all kind of reflecting just on how grateful we are that we like playing all the songs still. It’s such a great feeling to play songs for 20 years and never really get tired of them. People still want to hear them and there’s still excitement there, and they still feel fresh. It’s really a beautiful thing.

This was your first album using an outside producer. What was that like for you as the songwriter to step in the studio with John Leckie to help you realize your vision with “Z”?

It was so great, because I really needed somebody who could work with me and not let our egos clash too much. John was just really great about coming in and respecting what I wanted to do, but also voicing his opinion and what he liked and what he didn’t like and when he thought we could do better. And it was just really so refreshing and so good for us to have him there. I mean, his track record speaks for itself, he’s somebody who you can trust right off the bat, just because of all the things they’ve done in the past. He’s such a soft-spoken gentleman but he also has this hilarious, brutal honesty about him, which was always really great.

Your lineup had also changed between the previous album “It Still Moves” and “Z” — adding keyboard player Bo Koster and guitarist Carl Broemel who are still in the band today. So was that like stepping in the studio with the “new guys” for the first time?

It was really nerve-racking and really exciting all at once. We had some touring experience under our belt with Bo and Carl, so we kind of knew that it was working out on that level, but we’d never really recorded before, so it was a real test for all of us. And I think we all knew that. So everybody brought their A game to the session and we took it really seriously, but we also had a lot of fun and just really kind of got to know each other. That was good to do that out in the middle of nowhere, out there in the Catskills, up at the studio. It gave us some time to really bond without a lot of the real-world stuff coming in or other people coming in. So I think that was really important, that we did it that way.

Do you remember what song came out of the sessions first?

“It Beats 4 U” was the first one, because that was one we had already played live before we started recording. So I think that was the first song that we started messing with. But I think they all were kind of coming to life around the same time. So by the time we got in there to start unpacking them, I had already written them and kind of made the demos of them and stuff.

It’s great that you included so many demo versions of your songs on this rerelease. What was the process like of locating these, sifting through and sequencing which ones you wanted to put on the album?

Well, I love demos for a lot of my favorite bands — I love it when I get to hear the demos from the albums. So I’m always saving all that stuff; with my own stuff I’m always compiling all the demos, because that’s half the fun to me. Because sometimes you get this just like a beautiful glimpse into the song. Quite often, I end up liking the demo more than I like the actual album, song because you get a whole, whole new view of it. It’s also interesting when you’re sequencing for vinyl, because you don’t have unlimited time so you kind of got to pick and choose, and that kind of forces you to just choose the best. There’s a whole other round of band demos and then there were my demos, so there were a lot of things to choose from. But it kind of helps me to look at it in vinyl format. There’s still something about the vinyl time limit that helps with quality control. Just kind of pick the ones that I feel are most effective and then try and make a fun sequence so that hopefully, if somebody’s into them, it’s kind of like you get a bonus album that you can listen to.

We had four true songs, B-sides, that we really love too, that weren’t demos. So that was really nice to finally get those out, because those had been on different soundtracks. And then one wasn’t even released. So I don’t think that those weren’t even on streaming or anything for years and years. So it’s really cool to have those out kind of everywhere now, because I’ve always liked all those songs and been proud of those songs too. And I think most bands know the feeling of you know when you make a record. Sometimes songs just don’t fit the record, even if you still love the songs.

MMJ during the “Z” era.

(Sam Erickson)

Were you playing any of those live at the point where you released the album the first round, or did you shelve them for later?

We’ve always played “Where to Begin” live — off and on. We’ve also tried “Chills” a couple times, and I think we did “How Could I Know” a couple times. We’ve never played “The Devil’s Peanut Butter,” we kinda forgot that one existed until this whole [album rerelease] process started, and I found that song again. So we’ll probably play that one somewhere out on the next leg.

Was this process something that you enjoy doing, like, in terms of your how to, sort of like, reexamine an album?

I really love it because I just feel so grateful that anybody even gives a s–, you know? I mean, so there’s that part of me that’s just so grateful to even still be in the game, talking about this. But beyond that, it’s really cool for me because it’s like jumping in a time machine and going back and looking at that point in my life and getting perspective on where I am now, and seeing how I’ve grown and asking “where have I changed? Where have I not changed?” I look back and with all of these albums as they come up to this 20-year mark, and I see I’ve always been really mean and hard on myself, on Jim, but I know that Jim was doing the best he could at each time. That’s the one thing I’ve always kind of been able to see, to get myself through, to not be too hard on myself. I know I was giving it everything I had, so whether I would change things about it as I am today or not — we all look back on the past, and maybe there’s things we’d do differently, but it gives me a lot of comfort to know that I was trying as hard as I could, and all the guys in the band were trying as hard as they could. It really makes me feel proud of us for just putting in the time and effort.

A little over a year ago, Madi Diaz lay in bed in an apartment near Dodger Stadium sweating out a gnarly case of COVID-19.

The Nashville-based singer and songwriter had traveled to Los Angeles to record the follow-up to her album “Weird Faith,” which came out in early 2024 and would go on to earn two Grammy nominations, including one for a beautifully bummed-out duet with her friend Kacey Musgraves. But after three or four days of work in the studio, Diaz became sick just as the Dodgers were battling the Mets in last October’s National League Championship Series.

“I could literally see the stadium lights — there were drones everywhere and people honking and lighting things on fire,” she recalls. “I was just like, Why, L.A. — why?”

Her suffering in a city she once called home was worth it: “Fatal Optimist,” the LP Diaz eventually completed in time to release this month, is one of 2025’s most gripping — a bravely stripped-down set of songs about heartbreak and renewal arranged for little more than Diaz’s confiding voice and her folky acoustic guitar.

In the album’s opener, “Hope Less,” she wonders how far she might be willing to go to accommodate a lover’s neglect; “Good Liar” examines the self-deception necessary to keep putting up with it. Yet Diaz also thinks through the harm she’s doled out, as in “Flirting” (“I can’t change what happened, the moment was just what it was / Nothing to me, something to you”).

And then there’s the gutting “Heavy Metal,” in which she acknowledges that enduring the pain of a breakup has prepared her to deal with the inevitability of the next one.

“This record is me facing myself and going, ‘I have to stay in my body for this entire song,’ ” Diaz, 39, says on a recent afternoon during a return trip to L.A.

What makes the unguardedness of the music even more remarkable is that “Fatal Optimist” comes more than a decade and a half into a twisty-turny career that might’ve left Diaz more leathered than she sounds here.

Beyond making her own albums — “Fatal Optimist” is her sixth since she moved to Nashville in 2008 — she’s written songs for commercials and TV shows and for other artists including Maren Morris and Little Big Town; she’s sung backup for Miranda Lambert and Parker McCollum and even played guitar in Harry Styles’ band on tour in 2023.

Yet in a tender new song like “Feel Something,” about longing to “be someone who doesn’t know your middle name,” Diaz’s singing reveals every bruise.

“Music is a life force for Madi,” says Bethany Cosentino, the Best Coast frontwoman who tapped Diaz as a songwriting partner for her 2023 solo album, “Natural Disaster.” “She has to do it, and it’s so authentic and so real and so raw because it’s not coming from this place of ‘Well, guess I gotta go make another record.’ ”

“If she doesn’t put those emotions somewhere,” Cosentino adds, “I think she’ll implode.”

Which doesn’t mean that putting out a record as vulnerable as “Fatal Optimist” hasn’t felt scary.

“I was gonna say it’s like the emperor’s new clothes,” Diaz says with a laugh over coffee in Griffith Park. “But I know I’m not wearing any clothes.” Dressed in shorts and a denim shirt, her hair tucked beneath a ball cap, she sits at a picnic table outside a café she liked when she lived in L.A. from 2012 to 2017.

“For a second, I was like, Damn, I wish I’d brought my hiking shoes — could’ve gone up to the top,” she says. “I would absolutely have done that as my masochistic 28-year-old self. Hike in the heat of the day? Let’s go.”

Diaz points to a couple of touchstones for her LP’s bare-bones approach, among them Patty Griffin’s “Living With Ghosts” — “a star in Orion’s Belt,” as she puts it — and “obviously Joni Mitchell’s ‘Blue,’ ” she says. “That’s just a duh.”

Like Mitchell, Diaz achieves a clarity of thought in her songs that only intensifies the heartache; also like Mitchell (not to mention Taylor Swift), she can describe a partner’s failings with unsparing precision.

“Some ‘I’m sorry’s’ are so selfish / And you just act like you can’t help it,” she sings in “Why’d You Have to Bring Me Flowers,” one of a handful of what she jokingly calls “folk diss tracks” on “Fatal Optimist.” It goes on: “Bulls— smile, in denial / We’ve been circling the block / We’ve been in a downward spiral.”

“There are definitely a couple songs on this record where I felt apologetic as I was writing it,” she says. “Then when I finished it was just like: It had to be done.” She grins. “They’re tough,” she says of her exes. “They’ll be fine.”

Asked whether any of her songs express her feelings in a way she wasn’t capable of doing with the ex in question, she nods.

“I’d say I could get about halfway there in real life,” she says. “It’s almost like I couldn’t finish the thought within the relationship, and that was the signal that we couldn’t go onward. Or that I couldn’t go onward.”

Has writing about love taught her anything about herself and what she wants?

“I travel a lot — I’m all over the place,” she says. “And I really like to come and go as I please. But it’s funny: In retrospect, I think maybe I was chasing a relationship that was a little more traditional, even though I don’t know if I can actually be that way. So that’s a weird thing to be aware of.”

Madi Diaz in Pasadena.

(Annie Noelker / For The Times)

Diaz grew up home-schooled in a Quaker household in rural Pennsylvania and learned to play piano and guitar when she was young; when she was a teenager, her talent took her to Philadelphia’s Paul Green School of Rock, whose founder was later accused of abuse and sexual misconduct by dozens of former students, including Diaz. (“It was a really toxic place,” she told the New York Times.)

She studied at Berklee College of Music in Boston before dropping out and heading to Nashville, where she started making her name as a singer-songwriter operating at the intersection of country and pop. After a few years of fruitful grinding, she came to L.A. to “see how high the ceiling was,” she says, and quickly fell in with a group of musician friends.

“We used to love going to the Smog Cutter,” she says of the shuttered Silver Lake dive bar, “to have a couple Bud Lights and sing Mariah Carey really poorly.”

Diaz was making money writing songs — Connie Britton sang one of her tunes on the soapy ABC series “Nashville” — but she struggled to achieve the kind of liftoff she was looking for as an artist. “Turned out the ceiling was quite high,” she says now with a laugh.

Along with the professional frustrations came “a nuclear explosion of a breakup” with a fellow songwriter, Teddy Geiger. “They were going through a huge identity shift,” Diaz says of Geiger, who came out as transgender, “and we worked in the same industry, and it just kind of felt like there wasn’t a place for me here.”

Diaz returned to Nashville, which didn’t immediately super-charge her career. “I was bartending at Wilburn Street Tavern and making Jack White nachos,” she recalls. “He would never remember this, but I remember. I was like, This is my life now.”

In fact, her acclaimed 2021 album “History of a Feeling” — with songs inspired by the complicated dynamics of her and Geiger’s split — finally brought the kind of attention she’d been working toward. She signed with the respected indie label Anti- (whose other acts include Waxahatchee and MJ Lenderman) and scored the road gig with Styles after he reached out via DM; she also became an in-demand presence in Nashville’s close-knit songwriting scene.

“I don’t know of anybody in town that doesn’t love Madi,” says Little Big Town’s Karen Fairchild, who adds that Diaz “has instincts about melodies that are all her own. Sometimes I’m thinking, ‘How’s she gonna fit that into the phrasing?’ But she always does.”

For “Fatal Optimist,” Diaz took an initial pass at recording her songs with a full band before deciding they called for the minimalist setup she landed on with her co-producer, Gabe Wax, at his studio in Burbank.

“We did it with no headphones, no click track, no grid,” she says. “It speeds up and slows down, and it goes in and out of tune as instruments do.” (One unlikely sonic inspiration was a singles collection by the pioneering riot grrrl band Bikini Kill, which she hailed for its “still-kind-of-figuring-it-out energy.”)

Diaz describes herself as a perfectionist but says “Fatal Optimist” was about “trying to find our way through the cracks of imperfection to break the ground and sit on the surface. I feel so proud that we let it live there.”

She’s touring behind the album this fall, playing solo shows — including a Nov. 20 date at the Highland Park Ebell Club — meant to preserve the album’s solitary vibe.

“I don’t know if I’d really thought that through when I made the decision,” she says with a laugh.

As good as she is on her own — and for all the torment she knows another relationship is likely to hold — “I’m a die-hard loyalist,” Diaz says. “I’m still looking for connection more than anything else.”

When Gigi Perez took to the stage at the Austin City Limits Festival earlier this month, it felt like the universe was holding up a mirror, reflecting back all the growth she’d done in the four years since her last performance there.

Back in 2021, the Cuban American singer-songwriter had a newly-minted record deal and a handful of viral SoundCloud singles — the wistful acoustic guitar track “Sometimes (Backwood)” and the devastatingly raw “Celene.” The 2021 edition of ACL was the first festival she ever performed, and though her early afternoon slot at one of the smaller stages attracted a few dozen audience members, Perez had spent so many years dreaming of the opportunity that it didn’t matter. She was happy just to be there.

This month, Perez returned to Austin no longer an emerging artist, but as a rising star. Her mega-viral single, the lovesick folk ballad from 2024, “Sailor Song,” had topped the U.K. singles chart and earned more than 1 billion streams on Spotify. On the back of its success, she spent the first half of this year opening for Hozier in support of her 2025 debut LP, “At the Beach, in Every Life.”

So when she took the stage at ACL in October, this time it was for a coveted golden hour set, with a sea of people stretched out before her — and a chorus of voices singing along to her every word.

“It was magical,” Perez told De Los. “There were people there who were actually at my first set in 2021, standing in the front. It meant a lot to me. I think that there’s a shock that I still experience with people coming to my set at a festival.”

At 25 years old, Perez has lived more life than most. Born in New Jersey and raised in West Palm Beach, Fla., the singer grew up in a devoutly Christian Cuban household, the middle child of three sisters.

As a teenager, the religious values she’d been steeped in were beginning to clash with her own realizations about her sexuality — and music provided a lifeline. The queer artists she listened to, like Hayley Kiyoko and Troye Sivan, tapped into feelings she hadn’t been able to articulate, and inspired her to write music that would allow her to express them in her own words.

At 18, just as she was preparing to head to the Berklee College of Music in Boston, her grandmother and uncle passed away, just weeks apart from each other. These dual losses set off a wave of grief and sparked difficult questions about her faith. She was struggling to regain her footing over the next year when, just months into the pandemic, her family experienced the sudden loss of her older sister Celene.

Perez felt unmoored. Her whole life, Celene had been a north star, a guiding light who inspired her to take up music, and who wanted to be a singer herself. Perez did what she knew how: wove her pain and anger and devastation into music, writing the soul-stirring tribute, “Celene.”

“The other day, I thought of something funny, but no one would’ve laughed but you,” she sings. “And mom and dad are always crying. And I wish I knew what to do.”

(Cat Cardenas / For De Los)

Her first original songs gained traction on TikTok, getting the attention of Interscope Records. From there, her career began to take off. She opened for Coldplay and Noah Cyrus, releasing her first EP, “How to Catch a Falling Knife,” in April 2023. Then, just months into a string of performances scheduled in London that summer, the label released her from her contract.

“I remember just being dumbfounded,” she said. “It was this immediate, very deep sense of fear and failure.”

But the funny thing about grief — that all-consuming force that had dragged her out to sea multiple times over the last several years — was that as suffocating as it could be, it was also surprising and unpredictable. So despite the depth of complicated emotions washing over her, Perez was acutely aware that this news was nothing compared to the loss of her sister. “So many things that happen in my life don’t affect me in that same profound way,” she said. “That was one of the things that made me. I don’t know, it’s hard to find the words even now.”

Growing up, Celene had her sights set on Broadway. She introduced Gigi to several musicals, from a bootleg version of “Legally Blonde,” to her first live theater experience in “Wicked,” to the cast album of Lin–Manuel Miranda’s “In the Heights.” They played one song from the soundtrack, “Breathe,” on repeat. It’s sung by the character Nina, the daughter of immigrants in Washington Heights, who returns home in shame after having to drop out of Stanford University.

“That’s how I was feeling at the time,” Perez professed.

In London, she listened to the song on repeat. Then, she started writing. From the beginning, her style has always been instinctual; a freeform jam session where she sits at the piano or with her guitar and just lets her ideas flow out. The title came to her first — “At the Beach, in Every Life” — and the song poured out of her, nearly word for word.

“I remember the first time I played those chords on the piano, I had no idea what was going to happen,” she said. “I just knew something was opening up inside me, but I had no idea how deep the well was going to be, or that I was going to be an artist who gets to travel the world. I just had these desires, these visions, but to really live it is something else.”

After finishing out her commitments in the U.K., she moved back home to Florida. From her childhood bedroom, she began to rebuild. She taught herself music production and kept writing more songs. Without intending to, the puzzle pieces of the last few years of her life began to fall into place, and the grief that had consumed so much of her story finally had an outlet.

“At the Beach, In Every Life” details a breaking down of Perez’s walls. Her sadness and regret washes over tracks like “Sugar Water” and “Crown,” building into fiery passion on “Chemistry” and “Sailor Song,” before cresting into the haunting resolution of the title track that closes it out. It’s a portrait of loss and yearning, made up of vivid recollections from her childhood, her family, and her previous relationships. In short, it’s the album she wishes she could’ve listened to five years ago when her pain seemed insurmountable.

“I had just been operating blind for so long,” she said. “Being able to share my experience of loss in this specific way, it’s something that my 20-year-old self would be in disbelief of. At the time, it was like being without air, the isolation was so suffocating.”

Not long ago, Perez’s sadness could sometimes make her self-conscious. She wanted to share what she was going through, but she also didn’t want to be defined by it. “I didn’t want to be that girl who was always talking about her sister, but there was this very genuine desire to cry out for help, or acknowledge her,” she said. “Everyone is different, but for me, I needed to acknowledge her in order to be well.”

Fans of Gigi Perez at the barricade during her performance at this year’s Austin City Limits Festival in Austin, Texas.

(Cat Cardenas / For De Los)

Now, not even five years later, it feels like she’s finally turned the page and started a new chapter. “I’ve been able to build a life around my grief, and honor the loss of my sister in a way that’s helped me,” she said. “I don’t know exactly what healing should look like, but her death affected me and continues to affect me in these very profound ways. This is the best case scenario for me, because I get to share it with others — that’s one of the things that makes it so difficult to navigate: the feeling that no one understands you.”

“Knowing that we’re not alone has really saved my life,” she said. “I used to be the person thinking, ‘What’s the point of being alive?’ But knowing there are other people with the same question, I know now that we can hold each other’s hands through that. That’s given me a purpose and that helps me continue to move through it.”

In the process of writing the album, Perez found ways to bring both of her sisters along for the ride. There are voice memos from Celene, along with a snippet of her singing on “Survivor’s Guilt.” But there’s also “Sugar Water,” a track she co-wrote with her younger sister, Bella, who joins her onstage to perform the song on tour. “Anyone who has two sisters knows the chaos and intensity that can bring,” she said. “But we loved each other, and we still do. My relationship to what it means to be a woman was shaped by having sisters, and Celene and Bella are the closest reflection that I have of myself.”

Amid this wild, almost unbelievable year, Perez has been grounded by her family’s presence. Her mom is part of her management team, and her dad has joined them on the road.

“There’s something to be said about being in it so much that it’s almost hard to physically feel it on the level you want to,” Perez said. But over the last few weeks, as she’s gotten the opportunity to revisit the places where she first found her footing as a performer, she’s had the opportunity to reflect on just how much she’s grown since then.

For now, she plans on heading back home to Florida once her tour is over to spend time reflecting on everything. “I think that’s when I’ll start to see the confetti fall,” she said. “Life is uncertain, and we never know what it’s going to throw our way, but this was a year that I prayed for. And I think it was a year that a lot of people who love me prayed for too. So for that, I’m very grateful.”

David Ball of Soft Cell, whose delectably sleazy synth-pop arrangement drove that English duo’s 1981 hit “Tainted Love” to the top of the U.K. singles chart, died Wednesday. He was 66.

The producer’s death was announced in a post on Soft Cell’s website, which didn’t state a cause but said that Ball died at his home in London. On Facebook, the duo’s singer, Marc Almond, wrote that Ball’s health “had been in slow decline over recent years” due to an unspecified illness.

“It is hard to write this, let alone process it, as Dave was in such a great place emotionally,” Almond said on Soft Cell’s site. “He was focused and so happy with the new album that we literally completed only a few days ago. It’s so sad as 2026 was all set to be such an uplifting year for him, and I take some solace from the fact that he heard the finished record and felt that it was a great piece of work.”

Ball and Almond performed as Soft Cell at last month’s Rewind Festival in England; the LP they’d just wrapped is set to be titled “Danceteria” after the New York City nightclub that became an incubator of new wave and synth-pop in the early ’80s.

Soft Cell was an “experimental electro band [writing] weird little pop tunes about consumerism,” as Almond told the Guardian in 2017, when the duo decided to record a cover of “Tainted Love,” which the soul singer Gloria Jones had introduced to little success in 1964.

Ball devised his take on the song using his “dodgy old Korg synths” as well as a state-of-the-art Synclavier that cost more than £100,000, according to the Guardian. Soft Cell’s cover felt “twisted and strange,” Ball said, which suited the “weird couple: Marc, this gay bloke in makeup, and me, a big guy who looked like a minder.”

With Almond’s panting vocal over Ball’s sexy yet sinister production, “Tainted Love” hit No. 1 in the U.K. the same year as the Human League’s “Don’t You Want Me” and “Prince Charming” by Adam & the Ants. In the U.S., “Tainted Love” peaked at No. 8 on Billboard’s Hot 100 in 1982.

Today the song has been streamed more than 1 billion times on Spotify, kept alive in part by Rihanna’s prominent sample of “Tainted Love” in her 2006 hit “SOS.”

Ball was born May 3, 1959, in Chester, England, and grew up in an adoptive family in Blackpool. He and Almond formed Soft Cell in 1979 after meeting as students at Leeds Polytechnic, where Almond was known for a performance art piece in which “he’d be naked in front of a full-length mirror, smearing himself with cat food and shagging himself,” Ball told the Guardian.

The duo released its debut album, “Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret,” in 1981, then followed it with two more LPs before splitting in 1984. “Few groups took as much pleasure in perversity,” said Rolling Stone, which called “Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret” a “conceptual salute to the sex industry.” In 2022, Pitchfork said the duo’s debut offered “a snapshot of pre-AIDS queer life at its heady peak.”

After Soft Cell’s breakup, Ball collaborated with Genesis P-Orridge of Throbbing Gristle and formed a dance group called the Grid with the producer Richard Norris; he also worked in the studio with the likes of Kylie Minogue, the Pet Shop Boys and David Bowie.

Soft Cell reunited in 2001 and again in 2018; the statement on the band’s website said “Danceteria” would come out in early 2026. According to the statement, Ball’s survivors include four children.

On the night of September 24, 2025, Hollis Frazier-Herndon performed an acoustic rendition of his song “Eldest Child” for a sold-out crowd at USC’s Shrine Auditorium. During his croon of the lyrics, “Eldest child, eldest child, I know your momma and your daddy so goddamn proud. They don’t know me, no. They don’t know me now,” the artist known as 2hollis went from a fractured growl to a sweet silky falsetto to a full collapse into tears.

It was a moment of raw catharsis as well as a culmination. During a pre-show interview backstage, Hollis revealed the hidden meaning behind the lyrics. He said the figurative “momma and daddy” are actually his fans, whose expectations he’s glad he’s fulfilled, even though they “don’t actually know each other” in real life. Thus, a sold-out crowd enthusiastically singing back at him evoked an emotional release. In tandem with that though, is the fact that this was 2hollis’ first show in his hometown since his Altadena childhood house burned down in the January 2025 fires. The embrace from his extended community after he persevered through that tragedy and continued to ascend to musical stardom was palpable.

“I’m at a place now where I feel like, in a way, it’s sort of a phoenix situation,” Hollis said about his post-fire rise from the ashes. “The whole town burned down. It was terrible and insane. But it weirdly felt like that needed to happen [to make the new album what it is]. I don’t know, it’s hard seeing somewhere you grew up just be a deserted place.”

On the day before the release of his fourth album, “star,” in April, 2hollis posted a picture of a burnt-edged tarot card with the same title. He added a message explaining that the star card was the only thing he and his mother found intact when they returned to Altadena to assess the damage. It was also later reported by 032c Magazine that atop a tall hill behind Hollis’ family property existed a wooden and metal star statue filled with lightbulbs that would glow at night. That star, which Hollis and his childhood friends would hike up to, also burned. The album “star,” 2hollis’ best version of his signature crystalline hardstyle EDM, meets grimy rage trap, meets velvet emo pop punk, emerged directly and impactfully from the remains of the roaring flames.

At the end of the full throttle album opener “flash,” Hollis said he added recorded sounds of the wind chimes from his Altadena home porch, triggered by the Santa Ana winds in the lead up to the fire. You can also hear faint gusts and flame sounds emerge sparsely throughout the project. He let the weather itself dictate the type of immersive experience the album could be, even as it also chronicles his layered chase for notoriety and glory.

“There are a lot of self-reflective moments, and it is very personal and emotional, but it’s also like one big party,” he explained. “I feel like, in a f—ed up kind of way, that’s what a fire is, too. It’s so big and full of visceral anger and emotion and almost a sad kind of wave. But then, also, it’s lit.”

2hollis is a visual thinker, thus he envisions scenes and uses optical inspiration to craft his imaginative rave-like soundscapes. Grammy-winning producer Finneas, during a recent interview with Spotify, recalled a time in the studio with 2hollis when he described a sound he was trying to capture as “a crystal with a pretty face on it.” This is a regular practice. Backstage, he described the process of juxtaposing an RL Grime-esque intense trap drop with a synth piano inspired by the movement and presence of a porcelain Chinese lucky cat he kept in his bedroom studio at the Altadena house. This was for his song “burn” from “star,” a scorcher which also happened to be the last song recorded in his home before the flames hit.

For 2hollis’ most openly psyche’d song on the album, “tell me,” where he professes lyrics like, “Everybody I don’t know tryna know me these days I don’t even know who I am,” his mental visual for the ending electro drop is illuminating. “I always imagined heavy rain there and lightning shining on someone’s face,” Hollis said about a perhaps heroic moment linked to the fire. “And it’s also like a face-off. Maybe me versus my ego on a rainy war field at the end of ‘Squid Game.’”

2hollis often creates outlandish alternate worlds he hopes to thrust his listening audience into. “I think there’s become this thing with a lot of artists where they feel the need to be relatable,” he proclaimed questioningly. “That’s cool, but I want [to present] the fantasy of, ‘Let me listen and pretend I’m not me for a few minutes.” In a time of constantly looming shaky ground, Hollis presents escapism as mindful.

2hollis

(Sandra Jamaleddine)

2hollis, at times, appears in tandem with a white tiger. The animal bears the name of his first album and appears on stage at his shows as a large figurine that roars vehemently behind him during song transitions. As much as it feels a part of his fantastical sonic world, it is also deeply tied to his personal story.

On a follow-up call from backstage at a later show in Detroit, Hollis recalled a period of debilitating psychosis he experienced at 18 years old. He mediated and prayed to Archangels as an attempt to pull himself back together. When he invoked the spirit of the Angel Metatron, he would picture a white tiger destroying all the darkness and “demonic shit” around him. “It was wild and sounds insane, but it really helped me come out of it,” he said.

The more one speaks to Hollis, the more one realizes he embodies the Shakespearean line “All the world’s a stage.” Even in the most wholesome times in his life, as a little league baseball player and school theater kid, he would get a similar “butterfly in the stomach feeling” from the performance of it all. But by that same token, he is also someone who values solitude and garnered his appreciation for it from Altadena itself.

Hollis describes it as a place of “untouched, unscathed innocence.” A place where he could walk his dog up to the star behind his home, meditate, and look at the city of LA in the distance. “I go back there all the time even though there’s nothing there anymore,” Hollis said from Detroit about his home’s unending pull. “It’s just comforting to be there by myself. The energy that was there before didn’t die.”

That far-gone youthful time alone is where Hollis dreamed of the world he’s in now. He said, if he could, he’d say to that wide-eyed yet apprehensive kid, “Dude, you’re doing it, you were right, you knew. Now it’s beautifully harmoniously coming together.” On “tell me” 2hollis raps that he’s equal parts scared of “press,” “death,” and “judgment.” But now, with overwhelming chaos in his rearview, he proclaims, “I’m running headfirst into everything. I’m not dying. I’m not scared of sh—.”

2hollis performs at Shrine Auditorium on Monday.

So far this postseason, whenever Dodgers fans heard “Báilalo Rocky” ring through the loudspeakers, that meant two things were coming — pitcher Roki Sasaki was about to throw some vicious splitters in relief, and a Dodgers win was likely just a few outs away.

Sasaki’s walkout music has taken on a life of its own, in part because of the only-in-L.A. culture clash that has a sensational Japanese pitcher embracing a Latin club hit as he dominates the postseason. It’s helped cement Sasaki’s appeal among the Latino Dodgers faithful, and given the song a huge global boost as the Dodgers prepare for the start of World Series today.

Here’s a primer on how Sasaki found his hype track, and how it’s become the breakout hit of L.A. this fall.

So who wrote “Báilalo Rocky?”

The version of the song Sasaki walks out to is by Dj Roderick and Dj Jose Gonzalez and vocalist Ariadne Arana (there’s another popular version by Arana, the Dominican MC Yoan Retro and GMBeats Degranalo).

The song is a super-infectious and chantable dembow-house track, and its Spanish hook — “¡Báilalo, Rocky! / Ta, ta, ta, ta / Suéltale, suéltale” — is an invitation for a guy to dance and cut loose. But here, it’s directed at the young phenom Sasaki to bedevil hitters when he comes out in relief. The way Arana pronounces the hook makes it sound like she’s singing right at the Dodgers’ Roki.

That’s a left-field choice for a 23-year-old pitcher from Japan in his first year in L.A.. How did Sasaki discover it?

Dodgers veteran second baseman Miguel Rojas turned him onto the song during spring training this year, where it became a dugout favorite. (The whole dugout is known to pound on the railing when the track comes on.) Sasaki started using it in April, before a four-month recovery from a right shoulder impingement.

The theme song “was actually MiggyRo’s idea,” Sasaki said to press in Japanese last week. “I’m really happy the fans are enjoying it.”

There’s a delightful incongruity to the modest, laser-focused young Japanese pitcher walking out to a lascivious Latin club banger. But as Sasaki has rebounded from an injury-plagued midseason to become the Dodgers’ lights-out reliever in the postseason, ”It’s been special,” Rojas told press last week. “I feel like it just fits him really well.”

For her part, Arana loves the song’s new life as a hit Dodger theme. “The Dodgers are my team,” she’s said.

Has Sasaki’s blessing boosted the track?

Definitely. The song was already popular in Latin music circles, and it’s become a go-to cover and source material for Latin artists like corridos tumbados singer Tito Doble P and Lomiiel. Even other athletes, like Spanish soccer superstar Lamine Yamal, have gotten in on the track as a meme. It’s racked up tens of millions in Spotify and YouTube plays, where nearly every comment is now Sasaki-related.

But naturally, the only place to really hear it is under a cotton candy sky in Elysian Park.

Has it helped Sasaki’s pitching?

In September, Sasaki was pitching for triple-A Oklahoma City and seemed unlikely to win a roster spot back in L.A. anytime soon. Two months later, however, after clutch saves and eye-popping velocity against the Reds, Phillies and Brewers en route to the World Series, he’s having “One of the great all-time appearances out of the ‘pen that I can remember,” as Dodgers manager Dave Roberts called it.

Sasaki’s not the only Dodger with an unexpected Latin walkout track — last year’s World Series hero Freddie Freeman takes the plate to Dayvi and Victor Cardenas’ “Baila Conmigo (ft. Kelly Ruiz).”

But if the Dodgers take home the title thanks to clutch Sasaki saves, Rojas hopes for a full “Báilalo Roki” edit. “I think he deserves a video and the lights go down and all that stuff,” Rojas told MLB.com. “I think that’s the next step for him.”

Every night before going to bed, Ela Minus shuts off her phone.

Oftentimes, the Colombian artist-producer won’t even turn it back on until the following afternoon. One day, in mid-September, when Minus logged on, she received an unexpected flurry of messages from both close friends and people she hadn’t spoken to in years. Each notification was congratulatory, but Minus had no idea what had transpired the night before.

It turns out the Latin Grammy nominations had been announced — and her song “QQQQ,” off her 2025 sophomore album, “Día,” was nominated for Latin electronic music performance.

“I was very confused. Nobody said what was going on in their messages. They were just telling me congratulations,” says Minus, who laughs about the moment over our Zoom call. She dialed in from Mexico City, a few hours before catching a flight to Italy to kick off a new leg of her “Día” tour.

“As soon as I figured out that I was nominated, I turned my phone off again. I needed a second to myself. To be completely honest, it was not even a little bit in my radar. I didn’t even know we submitted anything.”

Since its release last January, “Día” has left lasting impressions on critics and fans alike. In 10 synth-powered tracks, Minus channels her fluctuating emotional state as she navigated a period of reckoning — characterized by a life almost entirely lived in airplanes, hotel rooms and foreign studios — through ominous synthesizer chords and blasts of vigorous dance beats.

Much like her music, her path to Latin Grammy-worthy acclaim has been anything but linear.

“It’s not like I started singing on television, and now I’m at the Latin Grammys. It’s been an interesting path of continuous surprises and unexpected turns,” says Minus. “Not to praise myself, but every time I’ve taken an unexpected turn or been presented with it, something amazing comes out of it.”

“Every time I’m in L.A. for a longer period of time, I feel like I retire into myself more. Staying downtown too, felt very aggressive, yet familiar to me,” says Minus, of how L.A. influenced her latest record.

(Alvaro Ariso)

Minus was born as Gabriela Jimeno Caldas, in Bogotá, Colombia. She got her start in music as a drummer in a local punk band called Ratón Pérez, which she joined at the age of 12. Her percussion skills led to her leaving Colombia to attend the Berklee College of Music, where she double majored in jazz drumming and music synthesis. At school, she was introduced to hardware and software synths, and continued to explore her drumming abilities by experimenting with electronica.

After working as a touring drummer and helping design synth software, Minus’ solo career started to take off with the release of her 2020 debut album, “acts of rebellion.” She created the entire project by herself, from the depths of her at-home studio in Brooklyn. Composed of icy club beats and steadfast synthetics, she describes the album as “sonically concise,” in that she intentionally used limited instrumentation.

When approaching her 2025 follow-up record, she says that she yearned to pick up new instruments, switch up the process and hopefully end up with an entirely different result.

In a sudden turn of events, her rent in New York quadrupled because of COVID-19 inflation rates, and she had to leave the city. She says her life quickly became a “mess.” But her next steps were clear as ever — instead of settling into a new apartment, she took on a nomadic lifestyle, with making new music as her only goal.

“I wanted to start and finish a record in the moment, while all of this is happening, and when I’m feeling this way,” says Minus, who says she was feeling a self-imposed artistic pressure. “I figured I could postpone my personal life out of wanting to make this record.”

Over the course of six months, she hopped from city to city, living out of her suitcase and renting recording studios. She ended up in places like London, Mexico City and Seattle. The repetitious process of packing up and settling into new places allowed her to easily decipher which tracks she wanted to keep pushing and which ones she would leave behind.

Along her journey, she lived in downtown Los Angeles for a short period of time. She says she finds the city to be a bit “alienating” with a “uniquely heavy” energy. To her luck, the city’s ethos aligned with the sonic soundscape she was building out in “Día.”

“Every time I’m in L.A. for a longer period of time, I feel like I retire into myself more. Staying downtown too, felt very aggressive, yet familiar to me,” says Minus, who noted the lack of people walking, the amount of traffic in the streets and the boundless nature of Los Angeles.

The album began at a low point in Minus’ life, where she seems to be going through an identity crisis. Over spacey sirens and an accumulating bass line, on “Broken,” she admits to being “a fool / acting all cool” and being on her knees, without a sense of faith. Throughout the first several tracks, she confronts her inner monologue through candid lyrics, offering herself a reality check.

“Producing beats with really low bass lines feels comfortable to me. It makes me want to open up naturally to get to the point of writing lyrics and singing. When the production is more sparse, like with a guitar, it’s harder to write more vulnerably. It feels kinda cheesy,” says Minus.

“In myself, there’s this constant cohabitation of dark and light and aggressive and sweet sounds,” she continues. So when vulnerable feelings come out, the really hardcore, distorted sounds follow.”

Songs like “Idk” and “Abrir Monte” simulate the experience of being submerged as a muffled, yet pounding bass line takes charge. Other times, as in “Idols,” Minus’ dissected blend of club pop and dark ambient sounds lends a grimy, industrial feel to her mechanical melodies. She captures the commonplace (yet cathartic) experience of losing yourself in a sweaty mass of limbs on a dance floor.

The Latin Grammy-nominated track “QQQQ” marks a turning point in the album. It was a song she wrote in a matter of hours to depict her own mindset change. “I was very aware that [for] the first half of the record, there was a lot of tension. I just needed a moment of release for this [album] to land fully. I needed a moment of uncontrollable sobbing on the dance floor.”

The album ends with her resolving to confront her struggles with self-acceptance, with the frankly written “I Want To Be Better” — which escalates with the feverish punk pulse of “Onwards.”

To her, the album is equal parts apocalyptic and hopeful, reflecting both the chaos of the outside world and her newfound inner peace. Since making the record and performing it frequently, she says she’s internalized the lessons she learned along the way. “When you’re going through something, sometimes the only thing you can trust is time. Your perspective will change, maybe for better or for worse.

“Time heals,” adds Minus. “That’s something I learned for sure.”

Ela Minus will be headlining at the Echoplex in Echo Park on Oct. 29.

If you watched 54 Ultra’s music video for “Upside Down” and came away thinking it was a relic from 1980s music programs like “Solid Gold” or “Night Tracks” — you’d be forgiven for making the assumption.

Aside from the 25-year-old’s vintage wardrobe, hairstyle, and ‘stache that harks to that decade, the song itself — a silky, boppy ballad that channels the energy of groups like the Chi-Lites or solo acts like Johnnie Taylor — sounds and feels ripped from the era in a manner that’s hard to faithfully re-create these days.

That old-school vibe isn’t exactly how 54 Ultra started off when he began putting out solo music three years ago, but it’s what he’s settled into nowadays. The artist, whose real name is JohnAnthony Rodríguez (and yes, his name is supposed to be written together), hails from New Jersey and is of Puerto Rican and Dominican descent.

The name he settled on, 54 Ultra, came by way of uniting Frank Ocean’s 2011 album “Nostalgia, Ultra” and the historic nightclub Studio 54. It was sometime between 2019 and 2020 that he interned at a few different recording studios, songwriting in his spare time with the intention of writing and producing music for others.

“I remember I was trying to find a way to make a living out of music and introduce myself to other artists,” he says over the phone, recalling all the demos he had recorded and presented to artists he’d cross paths with.

“People would be like ‘Who’s singing this? Who demo’ed this?’ And I’d say ‘It was me.’ And then they’d say, ‘You keep it.’ After that [happened] a couple of times I realized that I might as well put it out by myself.”

His first solo singles, like the high-energy “What Do I Know (Call Me Baby)” and “Sierra,” were firmly rooted in the indie rock family tree. It wasn’t until more recently, first with “Where Are You” and later “Heaven Knows,” that Rodríguez began to explore a more retro and soulful approach.

The latter track made an appearance in a 2024 “rhythm and soul” playlist curated by Mistah Cee, an Australian DJ and music selector, who included the song between Bobby Caldwell’s “My Flame” and Earth, Wind & Fire’s “Devotion.” The segues between tracks are seamless, in no small part due to Rodríguez’s immaculate production and fealty to the tempo of the times. His was the only contemporary track on the playlist, but it fooled many who eventually caught on to the rest of his work.

“On YouTube, I remember that was a nice boost, because people would comment, ‘Who came from Mistah Cee?’ Or, ‘Who thought this was an oldie?’ or whatnot,” he says.

To date, it’s not only Mistah Cee’s most viewed playlist by a wide margin (5.6 million and counting) but also 54 Ultra’s most-streamed song on Spotify with 27 million. “That was a very organic wave of things happening, and I’m very grateful for that also because I didn’t expect [it] at all,” says Rodríguez.

Latin soul, of the kind that recalls the doo-wop and boogaloo era of the 1950s and ‘60s, has seen a resurgence in the past few years. Artists like Chicano Batman, Thee Sinseers, Los Yesterdays and the Altons, as well as solo acts like Jason Joshua and Adrian Quesada, have made inroads with listeners and on the radio. Rodríguez is enthusiastic about this opportunity to show different facets of Latin culture and music through this genre.

“I just feel like I’m grateful to be a part of that family, or that idea that people relate all the music together and being a part of that scene is pretty nice,” he says.

Despite his Gen Z status, he notably lacks the “smartphone face” that’s rampant among pop artists and celebrities — and is partial to dressing in an anachronistic way, which he pulls off with gusto. It might be easy to assume his regular getup is a result of wanting to match the music, but Rodriguez insists he was already dressing that way much before he ever considered dabbling in soul. There is a kind of freedom he associates with the wardrobe of that time.

“[The clothes] were never a costume or a gimmick,” he says. “Whether I did music or not, I enjoyed how it fits because that [period] just has the best clothes. I think that was peak menswear. No one cared about any type of gender assignment with clothing; everybody wore what they wanted, and all the measurements were the same … it seemed like everybody had fun back then. They weren’t worried so much about what people thought.”

“[The clothes] were never a costume or a gimmick,” says 54 Ultra of his vintage style.

(Max Tardio)

He shouts out Blood Orange, a.k.a. artist-composer Dev Hynes, as a major inspiration for him. “That’s my favorite guy,” he says. But at the same time, he offers an eclectic list of artists whose music lights fires for his own output; Brazilian musicians like Jorge Ben Jor, Lô Borges and Evinha have made his rotation, along with some moody ‘80s bands like the Smiths, the Cure and Siouxsie and the Banshees.

“And Prefab Sprout,” he adds excitedly. “That’s my jam. That stuff’s crazy.”

His reputation has grown this past year, putting him in rooms he never expected to be invited to. Earlier this year he found himself producing the song “All I Can Say” for Kali Uchis, off her 2025 album, “Sincerely,” and recently opened for her during a concert stop in San José.

Earlier this month, he kicked off a world tour promoting his latest EP, “First Works,” that will take him from D.C. and Brooklyn to London and Paris. The schedule includes multiple stops in California, including two in Los Angeles: Oct. 26 at the Roxy Theatre and Oct. 28 at the Echoplex.

For Rodríguez, a tour like this is the culmination of everything he’s worked toward in his admittedly still nascent but steadily growing career. He confirms that he’s been chipping away at a debut LP, which will brandish a more “fast and punchy” rock sound that recall his days playing basement shows.

“Anytime anybody asked me what I wanted to do, I would say: ‘I want to perform anywhere I can and for anybody, wherever that may be.’ I’ve always wanted things to resonate, and I’ve always wanted it to make sense.”

Published on
21/10/2025 – 9:22 GMT+2

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Kenny Loggins has reacted to Donald Trump using his song ‘Danger Zone’ in the president’s “disgusting” AI-generated video showing himself wearing a crown, flying a “KING TRUMP” fighter jet and bombing a crowd of protesters with feces.

The video was published as a response to the historic “No Kings” protests which took place across the US on Saturday.

The American singer-songwriter recorded the hit song for the soundtrack of the 1986 Tom Cruise movie Top Gun. He has now called for Trump’s video to be taken down on copyright grounds.

In a statement to Variety, Loggins said: “This is an unauthorized use of my performance of ‘Danger Zone.’ Nobody asked me for my permission, which I would have denied, and I request that my recording on this video is removed immediately.”

He continued: “I can’t imagine why anybody would want their music used or associated with something created with the sole purpose of dividing us. Too many people are trying to tear us apart, and we need to find new ways to come together.”

“We’re all Americans, and we’re all patriotic. There is no ‘us and them’ — that’s not who we are, nor is it what we should be. It’s all of us. We’re in this together, and it is my hope that we can embrace music as a way of celebrating and uniting each and every one of us.”

Well put – especially considering the video has provoked widespread outrage online, with many expressing dismay over the way it shows Trump’s clear disdain for people exercising their right to protest.

Social media users accused Trump of having “the maturity and decorum of a 12-year-old boy”, while others commented: “Can’t believe that’s a president of a country.”

Many posts also pointed out that Trump’s “childish” and “disgusting” AI post revealed a transparent representation of his genuine feelings toward the American people. “It tells you everything you need to know about what he thinks about the people of America who are, in fact, America,” one person commented, while another added: “Him taking a dump on the country is the most honest thing he’s ever posted.”

This is far from the first time that Trump and his administration have used artists’ work without authorisation.

There is an extensive list of musicians who have objected to Trump’s authorized use of their songs. These include ABBA, The Rolling Stones, Bruce Springsteen, Rihanna, Neil Young, R.E.M., Woodkid, Beyoncé and Semisonic.

Sinead O’Connor’s estate previously issued Trump with cease-and-desist orders, while Isaac Hayes’ estate sued him for 134 counts of copywright infringement.

Céline Dion also condemned the use of her song from the Oscar-winning film Titanic, ‘My Heart Will Go On’, which was used at one of Trump’s rallies. Dion’s team questioned the song choice, writing: “And really, THAT song?”

Another band which added their name to the ever-growing list of artists who have sued Trump over the illegal use of their songs in campaign videos was The White Stripes. Last year, the rock band highlighted the “flagrant misappropriation” of their hit song ‘Seven Nation Army’. Jack White captioned a copy of the legal complaint in an Instagram post with: “This machine sues fascists.”

The most recent example to date is Metallica, who forced the US government to withdraw a social media video that used their song ‘Enter Sandman’ without authorisation.

This weekend’s “No Kings” protests saw millions of Americans marching against Trump’s administration, opposing the president’s “authoritarian power grab.”

The 18 October protest, the third mass mobilisation since Trump’s return to the White House, drew nearly 7 million people across all 50 states according to organisers. This figure would make it the largest single-day mobilisation against a US president in modern history.

Sam Rivers, the founding bassist of the band Limp Bizkit, has died at age 48, the band announced Saturday.

“Today we lost our brother. Our bandmate. Our heartbeat,” the band wrote in an Instagram post. “Sam Rivers wasn’t just our bass player — he was pure magic. The pulse beneath every song, the calm in the chaos, the soul in the sound.”

The post did not cite a cause of death.

Formed in Jacksonville, Fla., Limp Bizkit and lead singer Fred Durst rose to prominence in the late ’90s and early 2000s with its mix of rock and hip-hop.

Rivers also sang backup vocals for the band, which topped radio charts with songs including “Break Stuff,” “Nookie,” “Re-Arranged” and “My Way.”

“From the first note we ever played together, Sam brought a light and a rhythm that could never be replaced. His talent was effortless, his presence unforgettable, his heart enormous,” the band wrote in the post. “We shared so many moments — wild ones, quiet ones, beautiful ones — and every one of them meant more because Sam was there.”

The tribute was signed by Durst, along with band members Wes Borland, John Otto and DJ Lethal.

“He was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of human. A true legend of legends. And his spirit will live forever in every groove, every stage, every memory,” it said. “We love you, Sam. We’ll carry you with us, always. Rest easy, brother. Your music never ends.”

In a comment on the post, Leor Dimant — also known as DJ Lethal — asked people to “please respect the family’s privacy at this moment.” He added that fans can “give Sam his flowers” by playing his bass lines all day.

“Rest in power my brother,” Dimant wrote. “You will live on through your music and the lives you helped save with your music, charity work and friendships.”

If you are not prepared for it, fame can be downright deadly. Alanis Morissette knows that better than anyone. Thirty years ago, she released her third studio album, “Jagged Little Pill,” which won five Grammys, including album of the year and best rock album, and went on to sell 33 million copies.

So, Morissette has a complicated relationship with fame. Now, she will be examining that and many other dimensions of her incredible three-decade career in a new Vegas residency at Caesars Palace that begins Wednesday and runs until Nov. 2.

As Morissette explained in a wide-ranging talk with The Times, the Vegas show will be much more than a concert. The show will take on a narrative feel that will showcase her humor, improv, wellness and all the other traits that have defined her over the years.

I love that you paired with Carly Simon on the song “Coming Around Again” because I see such a kinship based on you two over generations. There is so much in common between “You’re So Vain” and “You Oughta Know.” Not the least of which is I am sure you are both beyond over being asked, “Who is the song really about?”

Right, because what people don’t understand, and I can’t speak for Carly, but there’s a difference between revenge and revenge fantasy. I’m all about the revenge fantasy and punching pillows and gyrating and sweating and losing your s— in art. And Lord knows I’m unmeasured in other areas day-to-day, too, so it’s not like I’m some paragon of containment, but yeah, just the revenge thing, there’s a lot of schoolyard stuff going on. That’s all I’ll say for the moment.

Obviously, this is 30 years of “Jagged Little Pill.” I remember seeing Bruce Springsteen in ’88, when he did “Born to Run” acoustic. Every night when he introduced it, he would say, “I was thinking about how much that song was me, and how much I don’t want it to be me.” And I thought that was so interesting because, of course, there are songs you want to be you. So, what songs did you want to be you?

Yeah, there are so many songs that I would write about potential. So, I’d be in a relationship, and I would be writing about what I wanted to the point where whomever I may have been dating at the time, if I shared the song with them, sometimes they would say, “Who’s this about? This can’t possibly be about me.” I’m like, “Well, you know what? You’re onto something there. This is about what I wish we could be.” I think about also a song, because I’m working on the Vegas show, so we’re integrating so much. And I think the song “Not the Doctor” is probably one of the ones that I realized the naivety of having written, like, your issues just get away from me. Having been married now for 15 years, I realized that your partner’s challenges, you take each other on — all of it. So, there’s a little bit of knowledge now that makes “Not the Doctor” funny to sing.

And then “Incomplete” is a song that is a manifestation, as you just described, that I would be good. It’s like a prayer manifestation. There’s a song, “Knees of My Bees,” that I wrote about what I wished. In praise of the vulnerable man, it was what I wished. So yes, there’s some composites being made where I take seven people whom I had a similar pattern repeat, and I just lop them all into one song as one person and unify the communication; there’s no holds barred.

Has there been talk about extending the show? It does sound like you are putting a crazy amount of work into a show that right now lasts little more than a week.

For a long time — and a lot of journalists have said, “Yeah, right,” when I say this — but my energy doesn’t go into outcome. Whether the show is seen three times or 300,000 times, that’s not up to me in this moment. I’m creating stories and sharing parts of myself that I have hidden for the ’90s imperative of staying in your lane or it’s career suicide. So, I’m still unlearning that, which is the reductiveness of the ’90s, where you have to stay one thing. Then, well, what is one supposed to do if they have multiple talents or multiple intelligences dying to be expressed? We’re going to contain that so that we can keep the ’90s credo going. So, over the years, it’s just been, can I bring these other aspects of self into the whole expression of me through academia, through movement, through channeling, through live shows, through interviews right now? There are so many ways to express, and the ’90s really did say, “You do it one or two ways; you step out of that and your career is over.” Thank God that messaging is softened.

How have you seen culture and values change over your career?

It used to be “I want to be a millionaire,” and now everyone wants to be a billionaire. It used to be “I want to look 21 forever,” now it’s “I want to look 14 forever.” And then it used to be “I want to have fame as a means to an end for activism.” Now it’s just “I want fame as an end,” so it’s an interesting value system snapshot right now. And so many of us are flying in the face of it, so I’m not really worried about that. But the value system has gotten smaller almost, as though fame in and of itself is going to correct our attachment wounds. It doesn’t work, and I’m constantly raising my hand going, I thought fame would result in this profound sense of community that I’d be amongst my people and we’d be petting each other’s heads by the fire. That was not the case.

I think for anyone who comes out the other side of fame, there has to be a tremendous sense of gratitude that you survive it.

That’s a big piece of this Vegas show without me nailing it on the head or belaboring the point. It’s like, “How are some of us still here?”

How do you express that in the show? And it is interesting given your passion for wellness and mental health, it is in Vegas. Which has never been known for either.

Yeah, Vegas has been known for addiction and gambling, acting out, sexual acting out. What is Vegas known for? “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.” It’s been known for that, but I believe that there’s a whole seismic shift going on. I have never underestimated people who come to my shows. Even in workshops, people are like, “Alanis, it’s too much.” And my thought is, “No, it’s not.” People can close their eyes, they can walk out, they can shut the radio off, they can take a break in the cafeteria. Part of why I love that it’s Vegas is that there’s this ceilinglessness in terms of no holds barred again, like I want to wear a boa. You want to do a backflip. Apparently, we’re doing a backflip. What has happened over the years is that again, it was this one-lane push, stay in your lane. And while this was all happening, there were all these other archetypal imperatives getting at me, like what about dancing? What about comedy? What about article writing? What about keynote speaking? What about workshop leading? What about channeling? There are all these other forms of expression that I live for. So, in some ways, I was cultivating them maybe privately. That’s just who I am. And I integrated it into every lyric.

Sinéad [O’Connor] said this perfectly, I don’t know word for word what she said, but the essence was you love the art, but you hate the artist. She said something about, “I appreciate that my audience wants everyone to hear more angry emotions from me through my songs, but then I have to be angry. And no one takes that into consideration.” I was like, “Yeah, because we’re used in the best way possible.” Artists are used as a screen upon which people identify themselves or people find who they are by hating and loving and trolling and attacking and it’s all projection, everything’s f— projection. So yeah, I just think people who are in the public eye have an experience inside of a social construct that is so violently unusual. And there’s no empathy afforded to them for that, other than maybe from people like you and me.

“There are all these other forms of expression that I live for,” says Alanis Morissette. “So, in some ways, I was cultivating them maybe privately. That’s just who I am. And I integrated it into every lyric.”

(Shervin Lainez)

How did you learn to deal with it? Unfortunately for Sinéad, she never was able to handle the fact that people were so hateful toward her, even though it had nothing to do with her.

I know, and basically that is the lack of handbook that is egregious, because so many people who were in the public eye are now physically gone. So much of it is their temperament, and I used to do talks at the neurobiology conferences at UCLA, and I would bring up the idea of temperament needing to be taken into consideration, whether it’s around suicidality or anything. Most artists are highly sensitive empaths. That is a version of neurodivergence over excitability, high-achieving, profound subtle awareness and attunement. All of these qualities that make the sweetest artists. And yet that temperament in a world that is doing what you just described Sinéad receiving, which is projecting hate, hate, hate, hate, hate. There’s no handbook on how to go, “Hey, we’re going to do shadow work here. We’re going to talk about rejection. We’re going to talk about if anyone’s saying anything that brings something up for you, bring it into therapy. Look at that part. Look at what they’re saying.” Also, always from me, look at the opposite. If you’re being invited to look at the part of you that is an a—. Always also look at the part of you that is deeply, deeply kind. For me, that’s the wholeness journey.

Being older, what have you learned about how to deal with all this?

I really do believe, Steve, that I could write a f— handbook now. I feel like if you and I got together, I could write the handbook, and we just hand it out to all the new celebs.

Do you now feel a responsibility to be able to pass your wisdom on to the new generation like Billie Eilish and Olivia Rodrigo?

I feel great passion about it. I happen to be someone who is hilariously conscientious and intensely empathic. I’m always blown away by them, and then I see people like Olivia and I just think, “Oh, everything’s going to be okay. We’re all going to be okay if Olivia exists; we’re good.” [laughs]

What happened to your book?

What’s interesting is I did two years worth of narrative storytelling that we recorded. Initially it was for a memoir, or some version of what was being asked for was a memoir. That’s kind of a hard “no” for me because we’re using all the pieces that feel relevant to this particular story. The reason I didn’t want to do the memoir is ’cause there’s no way to articulate a life. There’s way to articulate snapshots. There’s a way to articulate chapters, maybe. But there’s no way to articulate, like, this is my sentimental life story. It’s not possible. So that’s why songs are so great. It’s like four minutes of a moment. Let’s just keep writing these moments and capturing these moments and that’s what Vegas is for me: a moment.

One of the things I’ve talked about with artists that they love so much about Vegas residency is you get to mix it up night to night. But it sounds like you’re going to have a show, so are you going to be incorporating different stuff or is it going to be more of a narrative story?

Both. For me as an actor, I’ve always enjoyed improv. I love it when there’s a general sense of structure for something, but then go off within it. This is the way I’ve always been, both sides of the brain. I want some structure and predictability and some version of a set list, which we already have. But then within some of the interstitial stuff and the scenes and the comedy and the physicality and the movement, yeah, it’s a movable feast. We’ll see what happens. I am completely out of my wheelhouse publicly, not privately, because I was in improv teams since I was 14. And I think comedy is one of the best forms of activism art, I really do, maybe even above music. So, we’re integrating all these forms of art. And I’m not thinking about any outcome. It’s really amazing to write a record, write a song, write an email, frankly, with no agenda. The agenda is just “let’s express ourselves.” And that’s plenty.

Do you feel like you’re having more fun now at this point in your career than any other point?

I have the most fun with collaborating. So, I can’t say this is any more fun, but I can say that there’s more people. So, in the past, it’s been me alone writing or me and my bestie writing or me and Glen [Ballard] writing. So, in some ways it was insulated, isolated and with the musical and with Vegas, let’s multiply those collaborators by at least five. What I’ve said a few times, and I still stand by it, is that for me, the happiest place is in this communal “can’t swing a dirty sock without hitting a master” kind of environment, and it is truly six plus six is a thousand for us.

Do you feel like, as you’re getting older, people are embracing you more?

Yeah, I make more sense. There was a period of time where I didn’t make any sense and perhaps there wasn’t that much resonance. And then 25, 30 years later, I feel like I’m starting to make sense to the world in a way that I didn’t expect to happen. I just always thought, “Oh, I’ll be on that smallest part of the bell-shaped curve forever and I’ll probably be kind of lonely there. And that’s just what it is in this lifetime.” But here I am 30 years later and I’m starting to get a sense that what I’ve been talking about this whole time is resonant for people. And I can’t tell you how healing that is for me.

Madonna’s “MDNA.” Bruce Springsteen’s “The Rising.” Mariah Carey’s “Memoirs of an Imperfect Angel.”

According to the Recording Industry Assn. of America, none of these albums — each the 12th studio LP by its respective maker — has sold 4 million copies in the United States in the decade or more since it was released.

Yet that’s what Taylor Swift just did in a single week with her 12th album, “The Life of a Showgirl,” which Billboard reported Monday had moved 4.002 million copies in the seven days between Oct. 3 and 9.

That figure, which combines sales and streaming numbers, represents the biggest opening week for an album in modern history, breaking the record set by Adele 10 years ago when her “25” moved 3.482 million units in its first week.

Swift marked the achievement on Instagram on Monday with a note to her 281 million followers.

“I’ll never forget how excited I was in 2006 when my first album sold 40,000 copies in its first week,” she wrote. “I was 16 and couldn’t even fathom that that many people would care enough about my music to invest their time and energy into it. Since then I’ve tried to meet and thank as many people as I could who have given me the chance to chase this insane dream. Here we are all these years later and a hundred times that many people showed up for me this week.

“I have 4 million thank you’s I want to send to the fans,” she added, “and 4 million reasons to feel even more proud of this album than I already was.”

The speed with which Swift hit the 4-million mark is undeniably impressive. Morgan Wallen’s “I’m the Problem,” the biggest album of 2025 so far, has sold and streamed the equivalent of 4.2 million copies, according to the trade journal Hits. But “I’m the Problem” has been out since mid-May; “Showgirl” will almost certainly have surpassed Wallen’s LP by the end of this week (if it hasn’t already).

What’s more remarkable is where “Showgirl’s” blockbuster success comes in the arc of Swift’s career.

Madonna and Springsteen were both in their early 50s when they released their 12th LPs; Carey was 40 when “Imperfect Angel” came out. Swift, in contrast, is only 35 — one advantage of starting out professionally as a teenager.

Still, Swift has been a star for nearly two decades, a point at which many pop musicians have shifted the focus of their work to touring even as they continue to make new records generally ignored by all but their most devoted fans. In 2024, according to Pollstar, Madonna’s and Springsteen’s latest road shows — each drawn from a catalog packed with hit songs — were among the year’s 10 highest-grossing tours.

And indeed Swift has been amply rewarded on the road: At No. 1 on Pollstar’s list was her Eras tour, which sold more than $2 billion in tickets across 149 dates on five continents.

Yet unlike virtually every other veteran act in music, Swift’s recording business is growing along with her live business.

“Everything that’s happening here is historic and unprecedented,” said Hits’ editor in chief, Lenny Beer. “Maybe if the Beatles had stayed together, we’d have seen something like it.”

Also worth considering: Nobody seems to think “The Life of a Showgirl” is Swift’s best album. Reviews have been mixed, and even some fans have expressed disappointment with the record on social media — a once-unthinkable development among the fiercely loyal Swifties.

So how did the singer pull off such a feat?

First, a little math: Of “Showgirl’s” 4 million units, approximately 3.5 million were sales of either digital or physical versions of the album (including CDs, cassettes and vinyl LPs); the remaining half-million came from streams of the album’s songs on platforms like Spotify and Apple Music, which the data firm Luminate counts toward what it calls streaming equivalent albums.

“Showgirl’s” 12 songs racked up 681 million streams in all, Billboard said — the fourth-biggest streaming week of all time, behind Swift’s “The Tortured Poets Department” and Drake’s “Scorpion” and “Certified Lover Boy.” But the album’s sales number is the largest ever recorded since Luminate started tracking sales electronically in 1991.

Among Swift’s strategies to get to that number was selling more than three dozen editions of the album, each with its own artwork and bonus material designed to lure collectors. On vinyl alone, “Showgirl” came out in eight so-called variants, which helped drive the album’s first-week vinyl sales to a modern record of 1.3 million copies.

Offering something for sale doesn’t necessarily mean anyone will buy it, of course. Yet Swift was positioning “The Life of a Showgirl” as a juggernaut from the moment she announced it. Appearing with her fiancé, the NFL player Travis Kelce, on his “New Heights” podcast in August, the singer described the album as a return to the hit-making ways of albums like “Red” and “1989” after the relatively experimental “Folklore” and “Tortured Poets Department.”

To make “Showgirl,” she reteamed with the Swedish producers Max Martin and Shellback, with whom she’d collaborated on some of her biggest singles, including “Blank Space,” “Bad Blood” and “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together.” On “New Heights” she and Kelce talked about the new album as a “180” from the moody confessions of “Tortured Poets,” whetting appetites for the kind of crisply hooky Taylor Swift songs that blanketed Top 40 radio in the mid-2010s.

Promised the football star: “12 bangers.”

Fans visit an activation for Taylor Swift’s “The Life of a Showgirl” at the Westfield Century City mall on Oct. 4.

(Christina House/Los Angeles Times)

Once “Showgirl” was out, Swift jumped into the promotional fray with more gusto than she’d summoned in years, sitting for numerous radio interviews and putting in appearances on Graham Norton’s, Jimmy Fallon’s and Seth Meyers’ late-night shows; the weekend after the album’s release, a glorified sizzle reel called “The Official Release Party of a Showgirl” played in AMC movie theaters across the country.

On Monday, Swift kept the conversation going with the announcement that two Eras-related projects are headed to Disney+ in December: a six-part behind-the-scenes docuseries and a concert film of the tour’s finale in Vancouver.

“One of the hardest parts of ensuring you have a record-setting first week is making sure that everyone who could possibly be interested in your album knows about it,” said Bill Werde, director of the Bandier Program for Recording and Entertainment Industries at Syracuse University. “I’m not sure anyone has ever covered that need the way Taylor did with this album cycle.”

Yet “The Life of a Showgirl” has not been greeted as enthusiastically as some of Swift’s earlier work.

Pitchfork said “her music’s never been less compelling,” while The Guardian called the album “dull razzle-dazzle from a star who seems frazzled.” Fans on TikTok have complained that Swift’s lyrics — which take up her romance with Kelce, the burdens of fame and an apparent beef with Charli XCX — are unusually shallow; some have even formulated a kind of tradwife critique of “Showgirl” in which Swift is seen as upholding regressive ideas about marriage and domesticity.

The album has also attracted criticism from people who say Swift’s songs recycle familiar elements from other pop tunes without giving credit: the Jackson 5’s “I Want You Back” in “Wood,” for instance, and the Jonas Brothers’ “Cool” in the LP’s closing title track.

“When every song is a derivative of another song, that’s an issue,” said one hit songwriter who asked not to be named in order to speak freely. “That one song is the Jonas Brothers song — the exact same melody. And here’s how lazy that is: It’s the same key and the same tempo.”

In Werde’s view, Swift’s place atop the pop hierarchy makes such carping inevitable. “Anytime an artist gets this big, there’s going to be backlash,” he said — a take with which Swift would likely agree.

“I welcome the chaos,” she said in an interview with Apple Music’s Zane Lowe. “The rule of show business is: If it’s the first week of my album release and you are saying either my name or my album title, you’re helping.”

Even so, the polarized reaction to “Showgirl” — Swift’s 15th album to debut at No. 1 on the Billboard 200 — raises questions about the breadth of Swift’s popularity as compared to its depth. Should the album’s gargantuan numbers be taken as a sign that she appeals to a wide spectrum of pop music lovers or to a committed group of hardcore Swifties willing to spend untold amounts of money to demonstrate their loyalty?

“Showgirl’s” second-week stats should provide the beginnings of an answer, given that they won’t be shaped by one-time sales of all those limited-edition variants.

Then again, another unprecedented chart achievement from the album’s first week is already shedding some light on the matter: “The Fate of Ophelia,” the album’s lead single, is the first song ever to debut inside the top 10 of Billboard’s Pop Airplay chart — an indication of the heavy Top 40 radio play it’s getting along with the millions of daily streams that have kept it atop Spotify’s U.S. Top 50 tally since the song came out.

That’s one banger certified, with more perhaps to come.

More than two decades after their peak, the music of Yellowcard is a pop punk message in a bottle. The note that washed ashore from a simpler time describes the image of a young, sharply-dressed band full of aspirations, thrashing on their instruments — violin included — in the echoey tomb of an underground parking garage in the music video for “Ocean Avenue” as the chorus kicks into overdrive.

“If I could find you now, things would get better, we could leave this town and run forever, let your waves crash down on me and take me away,” frontman Ryan Key sang ecstatically at the top of his lungs.

That hit song, the title track of 2003’s “Ocean Avenue,” created a tidal wave of success that changed the course of their career from struggling artists to a world-touring headliner and darlings of MTV’s Total Request Live.

“The first time it happened, we were really young,” Key said, gingerly grasping a spoon with his heavily tattooed hand while stirring a cup of hot tea. “We were quite literally a garage band one minute, and then we were playing on the MTV Video Music Awards and David Letterman and whatever else the next minute.”

It’s a moment that hasn’t escaped his memory 22 years later. Now, he and his bandmates — violinist Sean Mackin, bassist Josh Portman and guitarist Ryan Mendez — are far from the ocean but not too far from water as they look out at a sparkling pool from the window from a suite at the Yaamava’ Resort and Casino in Highland. A couple hours from now, the band will play a splashy pool party gig for 98.7 ALT FM. The set will include a raft of all the old hits, including “Ocean Avenue” of course, as well as their first new songs in almost a decade.

Before the release of the first singles for the new album, “Better Days,” it might’ve been easy to write off their 11th album as another release destined to be overshadowed by their early catalog. However, with the right amount of internal inspiration and outside help from Blink 182 drummer Travis Barker, who produced and played all the drums on the album, the result was a batch of new songs that haven’t simply been washed out to sea. Quite the opposite, actually.

Prior to the album’s release, the title track “Better Days” reached No. 1 on the Billboard Alternative Airplay chart. This achievement came after a 22-year wait since their first appearance on the chart with the “Ocean Avenue” single “Way Away.” Key also notes that it’s the first time fans are using the band’s new music for their TikTok videos instead of “Ocean Avenue.”

“That’s crazy,” Key said. “Everyone is using ‘Better Days.’ I don’t think we’re alone in that. I think for bands in our scene, new music is getting a lot of love and a lot of attention again, and it’s amazing to see.”

It’s been about three years since the band reemerged to play a reunion set at RiotFest in Chicago, following their 2017 farewell show at the House of Blues in Anaheim. At the point they were ready to call it quits, the band was struggling to sell enough tickets to their shows to keep the dream alive. For Mackin, fatherhood forced him to also consider his family’s financial stability, prompting him to enter the corporate workforce as a sales rep and eventually becoming a service director for Toyota. At one point, he was responsible for managing 120 employees. “I just thought that was going to be what I was going to do to take care of my family for the next 20 years,” Mackin said.

After Yellowcard’s hiatus, Key continued playing music in several projects that distanced themselves from the pop punk sound — including recording solo work under his full name William Ryan Key, touring with bassist Portman at his side. Key also produced a post-rock electronic-heavy project called Jedha with Mendez, and the pair also does a lot of TV and film scoring work. For a long time, Key and his bandmates mourned the loss of what they had with Yellowcard. It was the most important thing in Key’s life, though he said he didn’t realize how much the band truly shaped him until it was over.

During their hiatus, band members took day jobs. One member managed 120 Toyota employees before the 2022 Riot Fest reunion reignited their passion.

(Joe Brady)

“Ungrateful is not the word to use about how I felt back then. It’s more like I didn’t have the tools to appreciate it, to feel gratitude and really let things happen and and stay in the moment and stay focused. Because I was so young, I was so insecure about my place, my role in all of it,” Key said.

But after some time away, the raucous 2022 Riot Fest reunion show relit the band’s fire in a way they hadn’t expected. They followed up with a 2023 EP “Childhood Eyes” that pushed the band to take things further with a new full album. Along with these plans came the stunning news that Barker would sign on to produce and play drums for them on the project. For a band that grew up idolizing Blink 182 and Barker specifically as the band’s red-hot engine behind the kit who spent the last 20 years evolving into a music mogul, it was a surreal experience.

“We look at him like a general. It was never lost that the best drummer of our generation is playing drums with us,” Mackin said. “We know him as Travis now, but man, this guy is just oozing talent — he’s doing all these amazing things and he doesn’t seem overrun by it, not distracted one bit. While we were recording, he was right there with us.”

Key says he was initially intimidated singing in front of Barker in the studio and had a few moments where negative, self-conscious thoughts were getting the better of him in the vocal booth during recording. Instead of getting annoyed, he says Barker helped ease his anxiety with a few simple words.

“Travis came into the booth, closed the door, put his hand on my shoulder, and he said, ‘You’re gonna do this as many times as you need to do it. I’m gonna be here the whole time.’” Barker was truly speaking from experience. He told Key at the time that he’d just recorded 87 rough takes of his parts on “Lonely Road,” his hit song with Jelly Roll and MGK. “That was a real crossroads for me,” Key said.

The aspect of the album that feels most akin to “Ocean Avenue” was that Barker never really allowed them to overthink anything when it came to songwriting, a skill the band had unwittingly mastered as kids back in the “Ocean Avenue” days by writing songs on the fly in the studio with little time to care about how a song might end up before they recorded it.

“There’s something about the way we did this record with Travis, where we would walk in and did it in a way we haven’t done in 20 plus years with him saying ‘We’re gonna write and record a song today,’” Key said. “ It was a return to that style of songwriting where you have to kind of get out of your comfort zone and just throw and go.”

The final product moves swiftly over 10 songs, the track list starts with a flurry of energy from the bombastic opening drums of “Better Days” that propel a song on inner reflection on the past. It moves on to the high-energy heartbreak of “Love Letters,” featuring Matt Skiba of Alkaline Trio. Avril Lavigne lends her soaring vocals to the unrequited love song “You Broke Me Too.” Songs like “City of Angels” and “Bedroom Posters” track episodes in Key’s life where his band’s hiatus took a negative toll on his outlook on life but also about looking for a way back to rediscovering himself. The album wraps with the acoustic lullaby “Big Blue Eyes,” which Keys wrote as a tribute to his son.

Though the songs on “Better Days” frequently wrestle with self-doubt and uncertainty, the response from fans has been surprisingly supportive, Key said.

“I cannot recall seeing this level of overwhelming positive feedback. People are just flipping out over these songs,” the frontman said. “The recording was such a whirlwind. When I listen to it, it’s still kind of like ‘When did I write that song?’ It happened so fast, and we made the record so fast, but I’m glad we just did it.” Despite the success, Key is hesitant to label the band comeback kids, “probably because we are officially passed kids label,” he said.

“Maybe it’s the return of the gentlemen?” Mackin joked.

Blink-182 drummer Travis Barker produced the album, helping the band recapture the spontaneous energy that defined their 2003 breakthrough “Ocean Avenue.”

(Joe Brady)

Whatever they call themselves, coming back to the band after so many years of different experiences has made Yellowcard’s second shot at a career feel all the more rewarding.

“Because you feel like you know you’re capable of something other than being in this band, capable of connecting with your family in a way that you couldn’t when you were on the road all the time,” Mackin said. “There’s things that happened in that break that set us up for success as human beings, not just as creative people.”

For Key, it’s about taking all the lessons they’ve learned as a band and applying them to their future, realizing that the album’s title refers not just to the past behind them, but what lies ahead.

“This record needed to be the ultimate revival, the ultimate redemption song for our band,” Key said. “And so far it’s, it’s proven to be that.”

PRINCESS Charlotte loves Netflix smash K-Pop Demon Hunters, a six-year-old fan claims.

Ivy Brown wrote asking if the ten-year-old had seen the animated musical, calling it the “best movie ever”.

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K-Pop Demon Hunters is currently Netflix’s most popular film ever and has been streamed a whopping 236 million times.

Within a week, a letter from Kensington Palace arrived at Ivy’s home in Wokingham, Berks.

It said: “You may be interested to know Golden from K-Pop Demon Hunters has been played during Changing the Guard at Buckingham Palace.”

It also thanked Ivy for her “support for Princess Charlotte”.

She said: “I think that Charlotte loves K-Pop Demon Hunters, so I’m happy.”

Asked where she keeps her letter, she added: “I keep it safe, I keep it in the kitchen.

“I took it to show-and-tell at school.

“I told my friends that I had a letter from Princess Charlotte and they were like, ‘Really?’

“Then I showed it to them and they were like, ‘Wow!’”

Her mum Louise said: “It was lovely to get such a personal note.

“Ivy was ecstatic.”

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A Grammy Award for best new artist. Four top 10 hits since September 2024. Sold-out gigs packed with admirers in pink cowgirl hats wherever she goes.

At 27, Chappell Roan has unquestionably become one of pop’s new queens. But let it never be said that this powerhouse singer and songwriter rules without mercy.

As her band vamped on the intro to her song “Hot to Go!” on Friday night, Roan surveyed the tens of thousands spread across the leafy grounds surrounding the Rose Bowl in Pasadena.

“We’re gonna teach you a dance,” she said, though few in the audience probably needed the lesson at this point in Roan’s ascent. For more than a year, social media has been awash in video clips of Roan’s fans doing a “Y.M.C.A.”-like routine in time to the frenzied chorus of “Hot to Go!”

But wait a minute: “There’s a dad in the crowd that’s not doing it,” Roan reported with practiced disbelief. The band stopped playing. “There’s a dad that’s not doing it,” she repeated — less incredulous than reproving now.

“But he looks really, really nice, so I’m not gonna do anything about it.”

Roan’s show Friday was the first of two in Pasadena to wrap a brief U.S. tour.

(Brian Feinzimer/For The Times)

Friday’s show, which Roan said was the biggest headlining date she’d ever played, was the first of two at Brookside at the Rose Bowl to conclude a brief run of U.S. concerts she’s calling Visions of Damsels & Other Dangerous Things. The performances in New York, Kansas City and Pasadena can be seen as something of a victory lap after the slow-building success of her 2023 debut album, “The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess,” which beyond “Hot to Go!” has spun off numerous other hits including “My Kink Is Karma” and the inescapable “Pink Pony Club.”

That last song, which has more than a billion streams on Spotify and YouTube, documents a young queer woman’s sexual awakening at a West Hollywood gay club; Roan’s music sets thoughts of pleasure, heartache and self-discovery against a gloriously theatrical blend of synth-pop, disco, glam rock and old-fashioned torch balladry.

Having spent this past summer on the European festival circuit, she’s said that Visions of Damsels represents “the chance to do something special before going away to write the next album”; the mini-tour also keeps her in the conversation as nominations are being decided for next year’s Grammys, where she’s likely to vie for record and song of the year with “The Subway,” one of a handful of singles she’s released since “Midwest Princess.”

Yet as clearly as it showcased her natural star quality — the stage was designed like a gothic castle with various staircases for Roan to descend dramatically — this was really a demonstration of the intimate bond she’s forged with her fans, many of whom came to the show dressed in one of the singer’s signature looks: harlequin, majorette, prom queen, construction worker.

An hour or so into her 90-minute set, Roan sat in a giant throne with a toy creature she called her tour pet and recalled her move to Los Angeles nearly a decade ago from small-town Missouri.

“I had a really, really tough time the first five years,” she said, adding that she’d lived in Altadena when she first arrived. (In a bit of now-infamous Chappell Roan lore, she was dropped by Atlantic Records in 2020 after the label decided “Pink Pony Club” was not a hit.) She talked about how much she loves this city — “F— ICE forever,” she said at one point to huge applause — but bemoaned the “weird professionalism” she can feel when she’s onstage in L.A.

“I know there’s a lot of people in the music and film industry here, and I don’t want you to think about that,” she said. “Don’t f—ing talk about it. Don’t talk about work here. I just want you to feel like you did when you were a kid — when you were 13 and free.” She laughed.

“I’m just gonna shut up — I’m so dumb,” she said. Then she sang the lovelorn “Coffee” like someone confessing her greatest fear.

Roan said Friday’s show was the biggest headlining date she’d ever played.

(Brian Feinzimer/For The Times)

Though the castle set was impressively detailed, Roan’s production was relatively low-key by modern pop standards; she had no dancers and no special guests and wore just one costume that she kept removing pieces from to end up in a kind of two-piece dragon-skin bikini.

But that’s because at a Chappell Roan show, Chappell Roan is the show: a fearsomely talented purveyor of feeling and attitude whose campy sense of humor only heightens the exquisite melancholy of her music.

Her singing was immaculate yet hot-blooded, bolstered by a killer band that remade songs like “Good Luck, Babe!” and “Red Wine Supernova” as slashing ’80s-style rock; Roan covered Heart’s “Barracuda” with enough strutting imperiousness to compete with Nancy Wilson’s iconic guitar riff.

“The Giver” was a stomping glitter-country hoedown, “Naked in Manhattan” a naughty electro-pop romp. For “Picture You,” which is about longing to know a lover’s secrets, Roan serenaded a blond wig plopped atop a mic stand — a bit of absurdist theater she played completely straight.

The heart of the concert was the stunning one-two punch of “Casual” into “The Subway,” Roan’s most grandly emotional ballads, in which her voice soared with what seemed like total effortlessness.

After that is when the singer noticed that kindly dad shirking his duties in “Hot to Go!” Maybe the poor guy was just too dazzled to take part.

After 15 years, four records and a buzz-making barrage of shows, tours and festivals, the moody, multifaceted music of north London’s Wolf Alice is huge in the U.K., thanks to uniquely seductive soundscapes, visceral live shows and a relentless hunger for experimentation that melds rock, shoegaze and alternative pop.

With their latest studio album, “The Clearing,” the members are primed for the next level of success in the U.S., and it comes via songs that reflect their growth as individuals and as a collective.

Consisting of lead singer Ellie Rowsell, guitarist Joff Oddie, bassist Theo Ellis and drummer Joel Amey, Wolf Alice provides both feminine and masculine perspectives on life that feel resonant and real, with sonic approaches that can go from raging one moment to restrained the next. They’ve honed their sound even as they’ve continued to experiment with it. The result is exciting for them and for fans, now more than ever.

“This tour has been incredible. It’s definitely been the busiest and had the biggest shows we’ve ever played in America,” Ellis tells The Times via Zoom, noting that the band’s upcoming Wiltern date in Los Angeles on Oct. 13 is almost sold out.

Wolf Alice’s connection to Los Angeles is especially significant at this phase of its career. “The Clearing” was recorded here with famed producer Greg Kurstin (Adele, Miley Cyrus), who brought his pop sensibilities to the project, even as he encouraged the band to follow its own eclectic instincts, dipping into synthy, dancy elements and balladry with bite.

“We’ve had a different producer every album, so every experience has been quite different,” says drummer Amey, who joins our Zoom later. “He was just a very calm and positive force in the studio that made all of us feel very comfortable, to be able to be the best versions of ourselves … And it did come at a time where maybe even the four of us were second-guessing ourselves. We’d been in this headspace for a while about how we wanted to treat the sonics of the record. You can get stuck in that cycle … But he was so positive that he could help us get there, and he did.”

As Taylor Swift’s latest record brings scrutiny to the construction and thematics of pop music and its presentation, Wolf Alice’s seductive sway and wistful grit feels comparatively effortless, even if it’s just as accessible.

Buzz in the U.S. started after a killer set at Coachella 2016, but we caught Wolf Alice the following year at Dave Grohl’s Cal Jam in 2017. Its emotive alt-rock melodies and charisma more than held its own next to headliners including fellow-Brit Liam Gallagher and the Foo Fighters themselves (who the band has also toured with). The material, largely off its first and second albums, “My Love Is Cool” and “Visions of a Life,” respectively, offered a compelling blend of sharp riffage and dreamy textures, which reminded us of everyone from Smashing Pumpkins to Cocteau Twins at the time. Standout tracks we noted included the dissonant “Yuk Foo” and the sassy hit “Don’t Delete the Kisses.”

After another shimmering genre-blending release, 2021’s “Blue Weekend,” and now “The Clearing,” it’s almost a decade later, and the band is even harder to codify. The members are also bonafide touring and festival vets.

“In the U.K., festival culture is, like, a whole thing. The U.S. is kind of getting more like that too,” Amey says. “But European and U.K. festival culture is a rite of passage for a teenager … it’s ingrained. If you’re starting a band, you’re thinking about festivals at some point. So we love playing them. We played Glastonbury this year, and it just felt like a really wonderful way to say, ‘We’re back, here’s some new stuff,’ and also a celebration of the old stuff.”

Old or new, creative imagery has been a consistent component of Wolf Alice’s expression. Building upon the cinematic qualities of its music, its videos elevate not only its narratives but also its rock-star personas as well.

“This album explores themes of performance which I think is prevalent in the music videos and musically, in rock ’n’ roll which we also explore,” frontwoman Rowsell shares by email. “In the past Wolf Alice have shied away from performance videos so this marks a new vibe for us.”

“Bloom Baby Bloom,” which features an “All That Jazz”-style dance sequence (with choreography by L.A.’s Ryan Heffington, known for his magical movements on the Netflix cult fave “The OA” and in Sia’s “Chandelier”) brings out the drama and audacious expression of the song, especially Rowsell’s soaring vocals. It also highlights the band’s maturation and liberation as established artists at the height of their performing powers.

Similarly, “Just Two Girls,” a sweet ode to female friendship that’s a cool, ’70s soft-rock filler track on record, becomes more of a defiant anthem for feminine freedom on video.

“It’s a wonderful license of expression in which you can kind of do whatever you want,” reflects Ellis on the videos. “It’s absurdist in its nature and there are really interesting formats to explore. We’ve had some great experiences in America making them.”

The band has also had memorable moments on Amercian late-night TV, including “Jimmy Kimmel Live!” and “The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon,” turning in wild appearances that reflect its name (inspired by a book about feral children raised by wolves).

And while good old-fashioned live performance has helped its popularity grow, the band acknowledges that the music industry is different — even from when it started 15 years ago, with streaming’s domination and platforms like TikTok exposing music to new audiences. For a band driven by its own interpersonal chemistry, interactions and influences, it’s not top of mind.

“We’re not concerned with how it’s going to be distributed to people fundamentally, as we’re creatively trying to satisfy ourselves,” Ellis says. “I don’t think the mechanics of [music discovery] are affecting what we’re making in the studio or the creative process. There’s so much for a band to create nowadays, and to worry about … from our perspective, the music is what comes first and then everything else is hopefully just kind of a fun way of presenting it to the world.”

Words don’t mean much for Kacey Musgraves and Carín León as Texas meets Sonora in the music video for their latest single, “Lost in Translation.”

The song, which dropped in August, is about how intimate connections between people can transcend languages and borders.

The newly-released video shows the pair gallivanting across the streets of the vibrant and not-so-tourist-filled streets of Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. Interspersed between scenes of the two musicians dancing and longing for each other are standalone shots of young Vallartenses donning colorful outfits and interacting with wildlife, while older men play card games and young adults perform dance routines.

In a press release for the single, Musgraves expressed how essential Mexican music has been in her own musical journey and formation.

“Growing up singing traditional country and western music, I’ve always loved exploring the borders of country and where it blends with other styles like Norteño and some regional Mexican sounds I heard a lot of in Texas,” she said.

The recording session for the song came about when the duo warmed up by singing one of León’s favorite songs: Juan Gabriel and Rocío Dúrcal’s “Fue Un Placer Conocerte.”

The collaboration isn’t León’s first bilingual rodeo; he collaborated with country singer Kane Brown for the 2024 single “The One (Pero No Como Yo)” and teamed with Leon Bridges for 2024’s “It Was Always You (Siempre Fuiste Tú).”

Last month, it was announced that León would be the first Latino artist to headline Las Vegas’ Sphere next year. The Mexican singer is set to perform three concerts as part of the city’s Mexican Independence Day celebrations, which are scheduled for Sept. 11, 12 and 13, 2026.

Musgraves has long been a champion for Mexican music. At a recent show in Mexico City, Musgraves performed a rendition of the ranchera classic “Tú, Solo Tú” alongside Mariachi Oro de América.

“Mucho respeto to the Mexican community. This is a tribute to your endless passion, hard work and valiance. (I could literally cry right now as I’m typing this bc I love y’all so much),” Musgraves wrote in an Oct. 4 Instagram post. “I am forever inspired by you and the Ranchera spirit. See y’all at the carne asada?”

Back in 2019, the “High Horse” artist sang a cover of Selena Quintanilla-Pérez’s hit “Como La Flor” at the Houston Rodeo.

“I love the queen Selena just as much as you do,” she told the crowd at Houston’s NRG Stadium. “This is our chance to honor her, by singing as loud as we can together.”