song

Herb Alpert walks up a long driveway at his rambling Malibu estate, wincing slightly after having woken up around 3 a.m. with a cramp in his left calf.

“It’s still kind of seizing,” the trumpeter says as he leads me past a garden lush with moist-looking tropical plants.

This, Alpert accepts, is the reality of life at 91. Yet the only reason he’s out here racking up steps by the hundreds on a recent morning is because he was tooling around in his sculpture studio before I arrived. And the only reason the sculpture studio is so far from his music studio — there’s also a studio devoted to his painting — is because of his huge success over the last 60 or so years.

“So I can’t really complain,” he says.

A Los Angeles native who got his start writing songs like Sam Cooke’s “Wonderful World,” Alpert has lived here in Malibu since 1972, a decade after he released “The Lonely Bull,” his debut album with the Tijuana Brass. The LP’s title track, inspired by a bullfight Alpert caught in Mexico, went to No. 6 on Billboard’s Hot 100; more than a dozen finger-snapping Top 40 hits followed, including “A Taste of Honey,” “Spanish Flea” (also heard as a theme song on TV’s “The Dating Game”) and “This Guy’s in Love With You,” which took a rare Alpert vocal turn all the way to No. 1.

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What’s more, these inescapable tunes came out on Alpert’s own label, A&M Records, which he “formed on a handshake,” as he puts it, in 1962 with his business partner Jerry Moss. The label quickly became one of the biggest independent record companies in music, with acts such as Carole King, the Carpenters, the Police, Peter Frampton and Janet Jackson, as well as a beloved recording studio complex on La Brea Avenue. (Moss, who with Alpert sold A&M in 1989 for a reported $500 million, died in 2023.)

After years working on his own and with his wife, the singer Lani Hall, Alpert revived the Tijuana Brass name in 2024 and launched a tour that will stop Sunday night at the Hollywood Bowl. We sat down in his gear-stuffed music studio to talk about it and much more.

I’m sure you heard that John Mayer and McG bought the former A&M Studios last year. I wondered what your emotional investment is in the place at this point.
I don’t have an emotional investment. Once I left the lot, I was out of there — I didn’t look back. I wanted to paint, I wanted to sculpt, I wanted to make music. I wasn’t thinking about the business.

What’s an A&M success story you took particular pride in?
Cat Stevens. I heard this kid — he was a kid at the time — at the Troubadour, just him and a guitar, and I got goosebumps. It was so beautiful and so honest.

What was Karen Carpenter like?
She was a doll. She didn’t know how great she was — didn’t think she was a great singer. One hell of a drummer too. Go onto YouTube and search Karen Carpenter’s solo on drums — it’ll knock your socks off. But she was innocent. She was lucky to have [her brother] Richard because Richard knew what to do with her in a very gentle way.

Even at the Carpenters’ smoothest, I hear deep sadness in Karen’s singing.
I think that’s a standard ingredient to great artists. Listen closely to Miles Davis and you’ll hear the same thing.

Karen struggled with her mental health, which her fame didn’t help. Did you ever feel responsible for what she went through?
I’ve gone over that question so many times in my head: If I hadn’t picked them out and signed them, would the same result have happened?

Where have you landed?
I don’t have an answer.

In a recent documentary about you, you’re talking about “Wonderful World” and you say that nobody knows what a hit record sounds like. That’s your feeling now based on years of experience. But did you think you knew when you were young?
I didn’t know then either. “Wonderful World” was a demo that Keen Records put on a shelf. When Sam started selling records on RCA Victor, they pulled it out as a lark, and it ended up one of the biggest-selling singles Sam ever had. I’ve told this story before, but at A&M a guy played a record for me — I said, “Man, this record stinks.” Well, I was turning down “Louie Louie.”

Why didn’t you understand “Louie Louie”?
It was out of tune. It was too long. I didn’t know what the hell they were saying.

That’s why it’s great.
Probably so. But did they have another hit record? Sam used to say, “Close your eyes when you listen to a new artist — don’t get swayed by whether they’re beautiful or they’re handsome or they can dance their ass off.”

OK, but you were like a heartthrob in the ’60s.
What am I now — chopped liver?

I don’t think you can say your success had nothing to do with your looks.
I don’t think it did. You know that sadness you were talking about? It’s in my horn.

I agree. But it didn’t hurt that you looked great.
It didn’t hurt once I had a hit record. It wouldn’t have given me a hit record.

Jerry Moss, left, and Herb Alpert in 1974.

(Michael Putland / Getty Images)

Let’s talk about your song “Rise.”
Got lucky with that.

In what way?
My nephew Randy, who’s one of my managers, he wanted me to take some of the Tijuana Brass records and do a little disco number with them. So we go into the studio with a bunch of great musicians, start playing “Taste of Honey” at 120 beats per minute. I got nauseous — I said, “Man, I ain’t doing this.”

Nauseous?
The record was big, and I didn’t want to tamper with it. But Randy had written this song called “Rise” with a friend of his. He wanted me to play that at 120 beats per minute too. I said, “Lookit, man — let’s slow this thing down and let people dance closer together.” We recorded it live in the studio. Julius Wechter was playing marimba — dear friend of mine. I said, “What do you think of this thing? Pretty cool, isn’t it?” He turns around and says, “I hate it. That beat — the four-on-the-floor is killing me.” I expected a different answer from him. But it didn’t matter.

What’d you make of the Notorious B.I.G.’s sampling “Rise” for his “Hypnotize”?
How could you not like that record? These guys that take your bass line and make a record by pressing a button — I think that’s cheating a bit. But there’s 70 zillion streams on that song. Can’t deny it.

“Rise” was also sampled by the rapper Nas for his song “Power, Paper & P—.”
I don’t know how to comment on that one.

A lot of musicians from your generation have been selling their catalogs lately. Have you considered it?
There’s no reason to — I don’t need the money.

I wrote about Frankie Valli a few years ago, and he and Bob Gaudio seemed eager to have this company Primary Wave out there finding ways to —
Monetize the catalog. I get it. But they don’t have to do that with us. I don’t know if you know what’s happening, but I’m in the heyday of my career right now.

Right now?
It wasn’t my idea to get the Tijuana Brass back together again. My nephew, he’s a social media guy, and he went around the world to see what songs of mine were selling the most. Turned out there were about 18 songs. I started listening to the 18, and at the end, I felt happy, I felt joyous, I felt a smile was on my face. I thought, Man, let’s try this — this might be interesting. We started doing it, and we’ve been sold out 50 concerts in a row.

It strikes me that without the Tijuana Brass, you weren’t playing the Hollywood Bowl.
Hell no, I wasn’t.

What’s that say to you?
That the music is touching people. The times we’re living in, there’s a lot of doubt with what’s going on, and I think people are getting some positive energy from it.

You’re a lifelong Angeleno. Lots of well-to-do folks say that L.A. has gone to hell in a handbasket. What’s your take?
I think it’s pretty much the same all over the country.

Which is?
Gone to hell in a handbasket. People are confused about where they’re going, whether they’re gonna be able to have enough food on the table, whether they can afford gasoline. I’m not saying it’s all bad — it’s just hard to make sense of a lot of it for a lot of people, including the guy you’re talking to.

Your music has pulled from any number of cultures. Do you think it speaks of your Jewish identity?
Most definitely. My father was born in a shtetl outside Kyiv — didn’t speak Russian, spoke Yiddish. He brought his mandolin with him when he was 16 years old on a boat by himself and landed at Ellis Island. He used to play songs for me on the mandolin. When his nostrils flared, I knew he was into it. That kind of got me.

Jewish meets Mexican feels very L.A. to me.
I think we’re all a product of our surroundings. In high school I used to go see Gerry Mulligan and Chet Baker, and I was touched by them. Of course, they were loaded.

What kind of guy was Chet Baker?
A troubled guy who was a brilliant musician. I gave him one of my horns, and he pawned it the next day. He was sweet but he didn’t have a hold on his emotions.

Not great for living, obviously. But good for music?
Well, you’re opening up a whole can of worms. I mean, why did so many great jazz musicians get hooked on drugs? Maybe guys that were hung up on being a human being, they found that getting stoned helped them through the struggle. I recorded Stan Getz the first time he ever recorded without drugs. It was at A&M — he was wearing this red silk shirt that had sweat stains under both arms. He had like 75 reeds on the ground because he couldn’t pick out the right one. He finally found the right reed, got over the anxiety and started playing — same Stan Getz you heard throughout his career. These guys were under the assumption that being stoned would change what they played. I don’t think that holds any water.

Was there a time you thought it might be true?
I did experiment with grass once. Turned on a recorder, took a puff, started playing some jazz. Took another puff, started playing some more jazz. I listened to that recording the next morning — it was terrible.

(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)

Can we do a little Herb Alpert trivia to finish?
Do I have a choice?

“A Taste of Honey” won record of the year at the Grammys in 1966.
You’re gonna ask why.

You beat the Beatles’ “Yesterday.”
No kidding?

The year after “Taste of Honey,” you were nominated for record of the year again with “What Now My Love.” That one you lost. Remember what you lost to?
Not “Louie, Louie.”

“Strangers in the Night.”
That’s a real pop song. Love the guy, but not my favorite by him.

What’s your favorite Sinatra song?
“Only the Lonely.”

“This Guy’s in Love With You” — great vocal performance. Why didn’t you do more?
I’m not a singer.

Sure you are.
I know it’s a great performance. But it was one take, man — I did that in one take.

This is what I’m saying.
Look, I had an interesting guy in the sound booth who did the arrangements named Burt Bacharach.

I read that you talked with Burt a few times a week until he died.
I did, and not about music. We talked about football, basketball, politics, you name it.

What’s your basketball team?
Lakers.

Hard to be a Lakers fan these days.
Easy to be a critic.

In an era hallmarked by what experts call a “sex recession,” Six Sex is a symbol of liberation.

The Argentine baddie fashions herself as a baby-voiced, bikini-clad fembot, beamed in from the clubs of Buenos Aires — and has become known for cheeky, instructive celebrations of desire. Her songs are designed to galvanize like-minded club rats into Dionysian revelry, or, in the case of the song “How to Make Your Ass Bigger,” squats.

To a certain subset of the Latine underground, she represents a pure-hearted hypersexuality. Yet, for the artist behind the persona, Francisca Agustina Cuello, this wasn’t always the intention.

“I don’t know if it was because I still had to keep my innocence or what, but I didn’t envision the project that way,” she said, calling from a hotel room in Barcelona. “That response sort of came about from the people, towards me. So, I said OK, I’m making it my own.”

In doing so, Cuello has churned out six thumping EPs as Six Sex, a campy character that she describes as a “fable” — a mix of “fantasía y hedonismo.”

That dynamic is taken to extremes on her debut album, “Ultra”, released June 6. It’s a dark and propulsive journey through decades of electronic dance music, best described by its own opening words portending “ultra terrorific fantasy.” (The phrase conjures up images of grandeur, but really, it evokes that “Blades of Glory” quote: “no one knows what it means, but it’s provocative.”)

“I feel like nothing I say is all that serious,” she said about her lyrics. “It’s a thing about my personality to be silly and goof around.”

“Ultra” centers Cuello’s winking, suggestive sense of humor. “Not Your Mom” features a conversation with a garbled, omnipotent voice akin to the parents in Charlie Brown; “FUchi!” features schoolyard taunts about “low dickie energy;” the album ends with “No More Porn,” a playful yet powerful subversion of sexual expectations.

“At the same time, for me, that acts as a filter,” she added with a laugh. “Weeding out the people who get scandalized by it, and identifying the people who get it and say: ‘Yas, yo también quiero tener cuatro novios.’”

Earlier this year, Cuello took the stage at Don Quixote, performing in front of a sold-out crowd for her Los Angeles debut. The smell of sweat permeated the air as she ripped through several of her hits — including collaborations with Reysha Rami and German producer MCR-T. Every single one of her signature ponytail flips sent the room into hysterics. The audience screamed every word at the top of their lungs; it was the loudest, most raucous show I’d been to in years.

Cuello took a breather in the middle of her world tour to chat with De Los over Zoom about all things Six Sex: her new record, her writing style and how it feels to connect with fans spun into febrile intensity.

This interview has been condensed for clarity and was translated from Spanish to English.

“[I’m] weeding out the people who get scandalized,” says Six Sex of her provocative music.

(Catalina Jacobo)

I was really taken by the “Ultra” album cover. You’re wearing a white bikini and in this “come to Jesus” pose. What was the goal?
[laughs] It was hard, because I wanted the cover to represent what the entire journey of the album meant to me. I was looking for something strong and heavy in visual terms, because with “Ultra”, this is the first time I’ve finished a long, heavy project and I see the start of something. It’s like something new was unlocked. I found a new way to convey feelings, and a new way to create as well. It’s not like I just finished, and it is what it is. Rather, it is the beginning of something bigger.

Is there an element of separation at all between the artistry and you as a person?
I think they’re pretty close. It’s as if Six Sex was sort of a fable, or like a hentai or comic [version of] my life. It’s also happened that things I wrote as a joke later became reality. But generally, I draw inspiration from things that actually happened to me.

Is it weird to put those intimate experiences on an album?
No, not for me. Because I’m not speaking so seriously, I don’t feel exposed. Even though my persona and my character are very close to one another, I don’t have to prove anything to anyone. I’m not trying to make you believe in something. The songs stop being about me as soon as someone else listens to them. There are certain things we can all see ourselves represented in, and I think my music aims for that, too.

I want to ask about your performance style. I saw you live in Los Angeles and was really taken by the energy exchange between yourself and the crowd. How do you approach live performance?
Nowadays, I’m in a balance between performance and being a human being that connects with people and can pause to look in the eyes of the audience to register how they feel. I like being in a showgirl role, and at the same time, knowing when to step out of it.

Sometimes I go up there after having a crappy day, thinking that I’m gonna screw it up. And when I get up there and connect with the people, everything flows in a perfect way.

Does the music transform when it’s performed live, versus on a record? A lot of your music seems designed to be played in the club.
I think it’s very personal. For me, I’m a bit autistic; sometimes when I’m at a show, I get different sensations. It really depends on the person. I like seeing people’s reactions live when I start playing these songs for the first time. People were super hyped. They were enjoying them and jumping around a lot. It feels really fresh.

You reference ‘90s club classics all over “Ultra,” including by U.K. band the Prodigy on “Bitch Up.” How did these sounds come into your life?
These sounds evoke a special kind of nostalgia for me. Even though I hadn’t been listening to them lately, they sounded like something I wanted to bring back to the table — songs my uncle used to listen to when I was really young. Like a CD [of] pirated songs that somehow ended up at my house, and at the time I was like, “Wow, what is this music?”

There’s an element of Six Sex that gives “fembot,” like a female, sexy robot. I’m curious if you feel that playing out in your work.
[laughs] I didn’t know about the fembot thing. I don’t use Twitter. I [keep] a bubble… against some things that I don’t know. But I’ve always liked the idea that people have that perception of me, to some extent.

How do you feel about the rise of AI as a musician, especially considering your persona adopts that perception?
I mean… I don’t have a formed opinion on the matter. I do think that, I don’t know, it’s all very relative. For one thing, I obviously feel like it strips away the human value, but at the same time, it’s also a tool for humans. So it’s kind of contradictory. I feel weird about it…. I don’t know.

Zooming out, I’ve noticed Argentina has been having a musical moment over the last few years between yourself, Ca7riel y Paco Amoroso, Juana Rozas… How do you feel Argentina being represented or even challenged in your music?
I feel that culturally, Argentina is a very rich country. However, I do feel like, over generations, a paradigm was broken, and new sounds have been created that don’t necessarily abandon the roots of our music, but were created out of counterculture.

That same kind of counterculture is what makes Argentina be in such turmoil. It’s also the context of our country. Economic, political, social. The key Argentinian figures we refer to nowadays are constantly changing. And that allows you to listen to a variety of genres from Argentina, from people doing different things, and at the same time raising the flag and saying: “Yo soy argentino.” And we love that.

When David Jacks published a biography of Peter Asher in 2022, the veteran record producer and manager expressed surprise that anyone would have deemed his life worthy of the treatment. Four years later, he’s no less baffled to have become the subject of a new documentary, “Peter Asher: Everywhere Man,” directed by the filmmakers Dan Geller and Dayna Goldfine.

“It just seemed to me,” he says, “that I wouldn’t be that fascinating.”

The movie, in theaters now, argues otherwise: A child actor alongside his two younger sisters, the bespectacled Asher became an unlikely pop star during the British invasion as half of the duo Peter & Gordon, whose debut single, “A World Without Love” — written by Paul McCartney — hit No. 1 on Billboard’s Hot 100 in 1964. (McCartney offered the song to Asher while the Beatle was dating Asher’s sister Jane.) In 1968, the Beatles made Asher head of A&R at Apple Records, where he signed James Taylor; the two soon moved to Los Angeles and turned Taylor into music’s biggest heartthrob folkie.

Asher went on to shepherd Linda Ronstadt to stardom and to produce records by Diana Ross, Cher, Bonnie Raitt, Randy Newman, Neil Diamond and 10,000 Maniacs, among many others. And at 82 he’s still at it: Last year he produced Barbra Streisand’s latest duets album — they’re due to start work on a new Streisand solo LP, he says — and he’ll perform a show of his own July 19 at the Grammy Museum. Asher, who broke his leg in a recent fall, spoke about it all the other morning at his home in Malibu, where he walked into the kitchen using a cane before sitting down at a table set with pastries and several of the day’s newspapers.

What unites the jobs of musician, producer, executive, manager? What’s the through line?
Love of music and admiration for the people who do it. They’re very different jobs, and I came at them from very different perspectives. Record production was something I set out to do once I understood what a record producer did. Hire musicians much better than yourself and tell them what to do? That’s a cool job — how do I get in on that racket? Whereas I never had any ambitions to be a manager. It’s just that when James and I decided to go out on our own and try to put a career together, we didn’t know who we trusted to do it, so I kind of went, I’ll do it.

What’d you discover about the job of management?
The ingredients are common sense, not being a crook and having a great client.

Which is the hardest of those three?
The last one. I got to induct the first managers inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame: Brian Epstein and Andrew Loog Oldham — the Beatles and the Stones. That’s the hard part. The only thing that would tempt me back into management would be lightning striking for a third time — to see James, to see Linda, then to see somebody comparably brilliant, which I occasionally do. But usually they have a manager already.

What’s the last new act that knocked you out?
Ed Sheeran.

Was that just because he looks like he could be your grandson?
That certainly crossed my mind.

As a producer, your records helped define the sound of rock in the ’70s.
The so-called California sound.

Then the zeitgeist shifted.
One became aware of that. Pop music got very electronic, which I loved.

Was there a place for you in that style?
I didn’t consciously try to make records in that style because I don’t think I could have — not as well as they were being made anyway.

What’s a record from the early ’80s that made you think that?
“Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This).” I couldn’t do that.

Back to the ’70s: The doc is filled with pictures of James looking —
Like a movie star. With the cover of “JT,” I finally went all the way and said, “We’re doing the the glamour shot.” Then we did “Flag,” which everyone hated.

With the maritime flag. A truly perverse album cover.
I loved it. James loved it. Everyone thought we were crazy.

How crucial do you think James’ good looks were to his whole proposition?
I don’t know.

Oh, come on.
I really don’t. I mean, how would you gauge that? There’s probably girls who fell in love with him without listening to the record.

I think you just gauged it.
If he was ugly, would he be as big a star? Probably not.

(Evan Mulling / For The Times)

Same applies to Linda, right?
When I first saw Linda, it was stages of realization. Someone said to me, “You’ve got to go down and see this girl at the Bitter End.” I walk in and she’s singing so well — unspeakably good. Then she looks incredibly great — barefoot, short-shorts. Oh, my God, my heart. Then you meet her, and it turns out she’s a remarkably brilliant woman — extremely well read. You just kind of go, “All these things together — how can it be?” It’s the same thing talking about the Beatles: If you cast it like the Spice Girls, you still couldn’t have gotten four to fit together so perfectly.

Did you like the Spice Girls?
Terrific. “Tell me what you want / What you really, really want” — it’s a smash. And yet none of them are particularly good singers, which is kind of the point.

I went to an event not long ago where Paul McCartney played his new album for a small group of fans. It was fascinating to see the spell McCartney casts over people.
He’s had to get used to it — to admit to himself that he can’t meet people who aren’t amazed that they’re meeting him. Even as someone who’s known him off and on for a long time, you still get the wave of: Holy s—.

You’re still amazed to be around him?
Of course. I get it less — I’m ready for it. But you can’t pretend he’s not Paul McCartney. And he’s gotta live with that his whole life.

You grew up a member of the upper crust, I think it’s fair to say.
I don’t think we were that crusty. But upper, probably, yes.

I wondered how that situated you to live and work among artistic types.
If anything, the upper crust have more time to be artistic — less preoccupied with getting a job and making a living. But my parents worked incredibly hard — we weren’t upper crust in the sense of inherited wealth. My father was a doctor, my mother was a professor of music. But I never struggled, to be honest. I had a comfortable allowance, and then I went to school and worked hard. Everyone talks about sharing a flat with a million people, living on borrowed sandwiches — I skipped that phase.

Did that shape you in any meaningful way?
I don’t know. But I think when people do struggle, it becomes a meaningful part of their lives to get away from it. With someone like James, the struggle was a struggle with drugs. Now he says the worst thing about drugs is they’re a complete waste of time — you waste time doing nothing except looking for drugs. And I think that made him anxious to succeed and to be taken seriously.

I’m sure you saw the New York Times’ list of the 30 greatest living American songwriters.
You knew it was gonna be silly. Randy Newman, for God’s sake — you just cannot not include him.

No Neil Diamond either.
Insane.

And no Billy Joel.
[Shrugs].

How’s your health?
High blood pressure, high cholesterol, need to work out more — old man stuff. Other than that and a broken leg, great.

You’re OK with the cane?
It’s a considerable upgrade from the wheelchair. I like the cane — it’s kind of elegant.

What seems scarier: the body going or the mind going?
The mind going. And it is, slightly. I had a stroke, and bits of my brain aren’t quite working right. But compared to other people I know, I’m fine.

We’re at a moment when a lot of foundational rock ’n’ roll figures —
Are dying. It’s all the rage.

What’s it feel like to see your friends and colleagues go?
Better them than me.

Couple more for you: You managed Courtney Love for a spell.
I met her here in Malibu. I also managed Pamela Anderson for a while because she was a neighbor and asked me to help.

What, you put a shingle out?
“Manager for hire.” I’m trying to remember how I first met Courtney — I think Merck Mercuriadis was talking to her about publishing and Kurt stuff. I liked her. Very smart. I like smart women.

She’s easy to work with? Hard to work with?
Impossible to work with.

What’s James Taylor’s best album?
“JT,” maybe.

What’s Linda Ronstadt’s best album?
“Heart Like a Wheel.” With Linda, it’s unfair because they’re so radically different. How do you compare that to a mariachi record and then to Nelson Riddle?

Working with Riddle on those albums must have been a thrill.
He told us all these incredible stories about Frank Sinatra, who he didn’t like although he admired him enormously. It was John David Souther who originally suggested Nelson. Linda had tried doing the album a different way — did some versions with Jerry Wexler and it didn’t work out. So we had a meeting with Nelson: Would he consider doing a couple of arrangements for us? He went, “No.” We said, “What?” He said, “I’ll do an album, though.”

“A World Without Love” was one of eight songs to top the chart in 1964 with “love” in the title. What’s that say about pop music in the mid-’60s?
Same thing it says about pop music of all time: It’s either “I love you” or “She loves you” or “Why don’t you love me?” Weird Al pointed out to me that when you’re looking for a parody of a song, any song that has “love” in the title, substitute “lunch” and it’s funny. “A World Without Lunch” — I mean, who would want to live in such a place?

As La Cruz continues to break down barriers for the LGBTQ+ community in reggaeton, the rising Venezuelan star enjoys living out his gay fantasies in his music videos. Take the sultry video for his 2023 breakthrough single, “Quítate La Ropa,” which sees shirtless men perreando (twerking) before him in a locker room.

But at the same time, La Cruz has come to understand that his platform as a gay reggaeton artist coincides at a time when conservatism is sweeping the globe — and queer rights are receding.

“It fills me with happiness to represent a community that has been denigrated, treated badly and pushed into a corner for many years,” a bedheaded La Cruz says over Zoom from his New York City hotel room. (He had just performed at a Pride event the night before.)

“It’s a fact that [LGBTQ] rights are becoming progressive, but they’re rolled back even faster than they advance,” he adds. “This is very painful and concerning. This is happening in every country in different ways. During these difficult times, I’m going to keep putting my heart into my music more than ever.”

La Cruz is the stage name of Alfonso La Cruz. The native of La Guaira, a coastal city in Venezuela, pursued a music career after relocating to Spain in 2015. Following a brief stint on the singing competition “Operación Triunfo” three years later, La Cruz was closeted and found his momentum stifled. In 2022, he took the brave step of singing about his affection and lust for other men in his debut album, “Hawaira.”

Venezuelan reggaeton singer La Cruz released his new EP, “El Nene, Vol. 2,” on June 11.

(Maria Camila Pinzon)

Backed by the beats of reggaeton, a genre that had historically excluded the LGBTQ+ community, La Cruz found both his groove and his tribe with hits like “Te Conocí Bailando” and “Quítate La Ropa.” Early supporters included Colombian superstar Karol G, as well as Mexican American R&B singer Omar Apollo.

Alongside Puerto Rican provocateurs like Young Miko and Villano Antillano, La Cruz has continued to queer the heteronormative urbano space. He has also pushed his sound to broader horizons in his new EP, “El Nene, Vol. 2,” which includes “Sírveme,” a Brazilian funk banger with drag pop star Gloria Groove — and “Te Perdí,” a touching tribute to the victims and survivors of the 2016 Pulse nightclub shooting in Orlando, Fla.

La Cruz’s EP dropped on June 11, the day before the 10th anniversary of that tragedy, which largely impacted the queer Latino community. In an interview with The Times, he opened up about being a gay reggaetonero and “Te Perdi,” his tribute to the 49 people lost at Pulse.

It’s been three years since you first went viral with “Quítate La Ropa.” What have you learned about yourself during that time?
There are songs that have brought me a lot of love and I’m thankful to my fans that consider that song to be a classic. It’s brought me a lot of blessings. At this moment, I feel like I have the best opportunities in my life. However, I feel like the industry is a bit uncomfortable with an artist that’s openly gay and wants to be a part of this. That hasn’t stopped me at all. It’s the gasoline in my motor. It’s what pushes me to keep working hard. My fans are what’s building my career and I won’t let them down. I’m sticking with this until the end.

You connected with Karol G early in your career. Did she give you any advice when you met her?
I want to say publicly that I would love to open for her concerts on her Viajando Por El Mundo Tropitour. I’m very close to her. I love her so much. She has always treated me with so much love. I hope that something between me and her can happen sometime. I know everything happens in due time. I told her that I love the way she is and how she connects with her fans. When I see her singing and performing, I feel like she’s a sister to me. A big piece of advice that she gave me and that I’ll always carry with me is to never lose the humility and closeness that I have with my fans. The key to success is humility. I never want to be out of reach. I want people to see me and say, “I want to achieve my dreams like he has.”

How did your collaboration “Sírveme” with Gloria Groove come together?
I love her so much! I’ve always been a big fan of hers. I’ve gotten close to a lot of artists in Brazil and Gloria has been one of them. We didn’t think twice about making this song. Gloria was coincidentally traveling to the amusement parks in Orlando. I told her: “Baby, let’s go! I’m ready for you in Miami.” She told me: “Baby, I’m going to Miami!” We met one afternoon to create this song. She paused her vacation to go to the studio with me. It was very beautiful. I love my Brazilian fans.

With “El Nene, Vol. 2,” why was it important for you to also shed a light on the 10th anniversary of the Pulse nightclub shooting?
In 2016, when I recently arrived in Spain and my brother recently arrived in the U.S., we had a call with our family. My brother said, “There was a shooting close to where I live and it was in a gay club.” My family has supported me since I first told them about my sexuality. I thought that that could’ve happened to me.

I’m following up on this tragedy because it shaped my life. As the years go on, information about this attack has faded away. Each day people are talking less about it. It’s a tragedy that’s super important to remember, like 9/11 and the [2017] Las Vegas shooting, because it’s one of the worst attacks in U.S. history. Why are we not talking about it anymore? We have to keep talking about things so that they don’t happen again.

What inspiration did you pull from the Pulse tragedy for your song “Te Perdí”?
On this path, I’ve gotten to know the stories of people that survived that shooting. For example, there was a boy with his mother that lost her life and he survived. There’s a lot of stories of love from that club that have [since] come out. When I went to the studio, I was inspired by loss, or a love that’s gone away, with respect and love for the community that supports me. It is my gift, to be a voice for this situation that should never be repeated. There are people that don’t know about this tragedy and I want to let the world know that this happened. I hope that the victims’ families and the people that survived are living lives of peace and calm.

I rose from my living room couch before Mexico’s World Cup match against Czechia when the Telemundo announcer stated it was time for the Mexican national anthem.

The public address system at Azteca Stadium in Mexico City played a short string intro. My back straightened. I pressed my right hand against my chest horizontally in the traditional gesture that accompanies the tune. And then I recited the opening lyrics to a song I’ve heard all my life but that I only began committing to memory this month:

Mexicanos al grito de guerra/El acero aprestad y bridón/Y retiemble en sus centros la tierra/Al sonoro rugir del cañon

Those florid 19th century words — “Mexicans, at the cry of war/Ready the steel and the bridle/and may the Earth tremble to its core/at the cannon’s resounding roar” — make “The Star-Spangled Banner” seem as anti-war as “Give Peace a Chance.” My kumbaya heart nevertheless jumped as the anthem continued.

Goosebumps blossomed on my skin as Mexico’s head coach Javier Aguirre, he of a stern face and gray haircut worthy of a drill sergeant, beamed while singing. My eyes watered as the camera panned over his arm-in-arm players as they shouted the line, “Think, o beloved homeland! That heaven/gave you a soldier in each son.”

Millions of Mexican Americans like myself have stumbled through the himno nacional during this World Cup, whereas in previous years, we might have just hummed some bars or stayed silent. It’s a boisterous way to connect with one half of our hyphenated lives and get in the right mindset to root for El Tri, but otherwise something we don’t really have to know all the way through given we’re in the U.S.

Yet seeing stadiums and bars packed with Latinos wearing the jerseys of their ancestral homes and warbling their national anthems during this World Cup has been a jolt of inspiration I wasn’t expecting. Those few minutes before each match have become a reminder of what we’re up against at this moment in the Western Hemisphere, as President Trump thirsts to smash Latin America into submission while persecuting too many of us stateside.

In downtown Santa Ana earlier this week, Alicia Rojas quietly recited Colombia’s national anthem word for word before a game against the Democratic Republic of the Congo, even though she was just one of a handful of Colombian fans at Chapter One: The Modern Bistro.

“It reconnects me to my roots, my family and the memories of home,” said Rojas, who was born in Bogotá and moved to the U.S. at age 12. The artist has helped to organize against federal immigration raids in Orange County and volunteers for local political races. “Those few minutes remind me that beyond our differences, we share a history, a culture and a love for the land that made us who we are.”

Latinos are a famously divided bunch, to the point that we don’t even like a catch-all label for “us.” A 2024 Pew Research Center survey found that 52% of Latinos prefer to refer to themselves by their family’s country of origin, while only 30% identify as Hispanic or Latino and just 17% use plain ol’ American.

One thing that can unite us all — and all lovers of liberty, for that matter — is those Latin American national anthems. Many were written in the aftermath of wars for independence. Most are bright, rousing listens, even if you don’t understand Spanish, because their chords reflect the Romantic classical music popular at the time of their composition in the 19th century. All call for their countrymen to fight against tyranny.

Fans cheer after Lionel Messi scores a goal against Algeria during a World Cup watch party at Mercado Buenos Aires on Tuesday, June 16 in Van Nuys.

(Ronaldo Bolaños/Los Angeles Times)

Cue up this soundtrack for your summer:

Paraguay’s national anthem starts by stating that the people of the Americas were “oppressed for three centuries” until they rebelled. Ecuador’s recalls how its founding fathers “cried out a holy voice to the heavens/that noble voice of a unbreakable pledge/to defeat that [Spanish] monster of blood.” Colombia’s similarly doesn’t shy away from how violent its fight for independence was, but takes solace that “in furrows of pain/good now germinates.”

On and on, these songs stir the soul. Argentina: “Hear the sound of broken chains/See noble equality enthroned.” Uruguay: “Tyrants: Tremble!/We shall cry out ‘Liberty’ in battle!” — a boast backed by flutes and violins that make it sound like a Rossini overture. I especially like how Panama’s national anthem concludes by urging “shovel and pick/to work without delay” — a reminder that the job of creating a better society is never done.

Conservatives have, unsurprisingly, long railed at the very idea of singing the national anthems of other countries on American soil. But that just reinforces Samuel Johnson’s adage that patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel.

There’s nothing wrong with taking inspiration from the clarion calls of other countries. “O Canada” is as soaring as “God Save the King,” while revolutionaries across the world have chanted “La Marseillaise” for centuries. And yes: I sing “The Star-Spangled Banner” with all my heart as well — and I definitely know the words to it.

But the message of the U.S. national anthem isn’t enough for Latinos right now. Hailing survival against an invading force is important, but it’s a mindset too many of us have resigned ourselves to under Trump.

The theme of Latin America’s national anthems is the demand that we stand against despotism and push for a better world through sacrifice and valor. They should be a wake-up call, especially for Latinos, to lead the electoral charge against Trump this November. We helped put him in the Oval Office in 2024, and we have the power to take Congress away from his GOP vassals.

Alas, all those paeans to freedom have played out better in song than in real life. Latin America is swinging rightward again, electing presidents who promise to channel the strongmen of yore and rule the region through might, not right.

On the same night that Rojas was cheering on Colombia, she was bemoaning that her homeland had elected Abelardo de la Espriella, a millionaire criminal defense lawyer and political novice who earned Trump’s endorsement for his “tremendous accomplishments in life” — which include claiming that female voters would pick him because of the supposed size of his genitals.

We must channel the hopes and dreams of Simón Bolívar, Emiliano, Zapata, José Martí and other heroes of the Americas who fought for freedom for their countrymen, sought to cast off the long reach of colonialism and imperialism and urged pan-American alliances over forever wars.

Nothing like the World Cup’s unofficial pre-game soundtrack to reinforce this eternal, universal message.

Mexico dominated Czechia 3-0 and finished first in its group. When El Tri plays again on Tuesday in the first round of the knockout stage, I will stand at a packed Chapter One with other fans and so many more across the U.S. and sing again Mexico’s national anthem.

I will hope to have it all memorized by then instead of reading off my smartphone — the thing is hard! The Spanish is archaic, the intonations are complicated, and the words tumble over themselves like a hard charge toward the goal posts.

But I will do it — a little victory in the long battle for freedom that never ends.

JOEL CORRY is on the brink of his biggest collaboration yet, after striking up a bond with Jennifer Lopez.

He’s worked with, and remixed songs from, some of the biggest names on the planet, including Charli XCX, Raye and Sir Elton John.

But Joel caught J-Lo’s attention in December after remixing her 2005 single Get Right, before he remixed her David Guetta collaboration Save Me Tonight in March.

And after flying Bizarre’s Jack out to Ibiza to join him for a mad 24 hours on the party island, Joel says he’s working on getting a studio date with her.

“I’m still in touch with J-Lo and her team, and we’re trying to work on new music together,” Joel says.

“I could definitely see that happening.

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“She loves dance music and doing a remix for Get Right for her last year was an honour.

“It was amazing to meet her and build that friendship.

“I look forward to her doing more of that.”

Of his close friend David, Joel adds: “I talk to him all the time.

“I am playing with him in a few weeks at Ushuaïa.

“He books me back every year to support him at Ushuaïa.

“He’s the best.

“He’s the King of Ibiza.”

Before he nails down his time with J-Lo, Joel has another project up his sleeve — and we did not see it coming.

He has recorded a track with Aleksandr Orlov, the animated aristocratic Russian meerkat who has been fronting ads with his “simples” catchphrase for Compare the Market since 2009.

Together they’re launching a bid for No1 with Simples featuring Scrufizzer [Joel Corry Remix].

Joel says with a laugh: “Listen, you know I’m the king of the summer bangers.

“And for Aleksandr the meerkat, it’s always been his dream to have a summer banger.

“So I’m just helping him out.

“Aleksandr for No1.”

Joel has big ambitions for his animated pal too, and is hoping ITV calls him up for a performance in the Love Island villa, three years after he played there with Becky Hill.

“I’ve done Love Island but we need to get the meerkat on Love Island,” Joel says.

“He would clean up in the villa, wouldn’t he?

“I’d love to go back and, this time, we’ll bring Aleksandr.”

During Jack’s whirlwind trip to Ibiza, he joined Joel in the DJ booth for his set at Wayne Lineker’s infamous O Beach, where he premiered Simples live.

He was accompanied by his girlfriend Coco Lodge, who found fame on series eight of Love Island, the same year he performed.

While he kept tight-lipped as to whether a proposal is on the cards, Joel has his heart set on Ibiza for the big day.

He says: “I’ve always said if I was ever gonna get married, Ibiza would be the place to do it.

“It has a special place in my heart.

“The first time I came here was when I was in my early twenties, and I’ve been back every year since.

“I’ve had residencies here for the last few years, and this is definitely my happy place.

“I think it’d be a perfect place to get married.”

While I’m sure Joel’s brother will be his best man, I wouldn’t put it past Aleksandr to wangle himself a role as ring bearer if all goes well with their track.

Barry Manilow has told the story behind his first big hit so many times that I had no intention of bringing up the half-century-old “Mandy” when I sat down with the singer on a recent afternoon at his home in Palm Springs. Among the questions I did ask was how he ended up recording the song that opens his new album, and the answer — as it’s so often been throughout Manilow’s career, beginning with that 1975 chart-topper — was Clive Davis.

“It was all Clive,” Manilow said of “Once Before I Go,” the Peter Allen/Dean Pitchford number that leads off his just-released “What a Time” LP. Davis, the star-making record executive with the so-called golden ears, had been urging him to record the song for years, Manilow told me, which inevitably brought him back to the well-rehearsed tale of “Mandy” — to Davis’ decision that Manilow’s debut for his Arista label lacked a breakout smash and to his suggestion that the singer cut a version of a modest hit called “Brandy” by Scott English.

“So I went in the studio and did it trying to sound like that guy,” Manilow recalled, stomping his foot to approximate a lumbering rock beat. “Clive came in and said, ‘That’s terrible.’ I said, ‘I know it’s terrible.’ But in order to learn the song, I’d slowed it down and changed the key — I found the love song hiding in ‘Brandy,’” Manilow continued. (He also changed the title to avoid any confusion with Looking Glass’ “Brandy,” which had recently reached No. 1.) Manilow played the tune in his more romantic style for the exec. “I’ll never forget it — Clive said, ‘Just do that.’ And that was the record.” He laughed.

“He’s a kind of a genius.”

Davis, who died Monday at age 94, didn’t sing or play an instrument. “I knew nothing about music,” he once said, looking back at his entry into the record business. Yet his instincts made him one of the surest spotters and nurturers of talent in pop history, with a long — and varied — line of success stories that included Manilow, Janis Joplin, Neil Diamond, Lou Reed, Patti Smith, Whitney Houston, Aretha Franklin, Dionne Warwick, Alicia Keys, Jennifer Hudson and Maroon 5, among many others. He even helped the Grateful Dead score a Top 10 single with “Touch of Grey” in 1987.

Davis, who got his start in Columbia Records’ legal department, could identify original voices and seemed to intuit which songs were likely to become hits. Sometimes the hits came from the voices themselves, as in the case of Bruce Springsteen, whom Davis cajoled into writing “Blinded by the Light” for his Columbia debut; sometimes the exec match-made performers and composers, as in the case of “Mandy” or “Freeway of Love,” a zippy Narada Michael Walden jam that launched Franklin’s comeback in the mid-1980s.

A natty dresser with a cosmopolitan air, Davis founded Arista in 1974 after he was fired from Columbia (where he’d ascended to the presidency) amid an embezzlement scandal of which he was later cleared. In 2000, he was ousted from Arista in a corporate shakeup — just months after the label won eight Grammy Awards with Carlos Santana’s 15-times-platinum “Supernatural” LP — then launched a new label, J Records, which scored an immediate blockbuster with Keys’ “Songs in A Minor.”

Clive Davis at the Beverly Hills Hotel in 2020.

(Christina House / Los Angeles Times)

Wherever he worked, Davis’ goal was shepherding hits that spanned formats and generations; he delighted in projects like “Smooth,” the inescapable Santana single pairing the rock guitarist and Rob Thomas of Matchbox Twenty, and a series of Great American Songbook albums by the once-scruffy Rod Stewart. He might also have been the music industry’s biggest believer in ballads, at least among suits: Between 1985 and 1992, Houston alone released almost a dozen of music’s all-timers, including “Saving All My Love for You,” “Didn’t We Almost Have It All” and — perhaps the greatest pop ballad ever recorded — her take on Dolly Parton’s “I Will Always Love You.” (It wasn’t a huge hit, but listen to Houston and Jermaine Jackson’s pedal-steel-drenched “Nobody Loves Me Like You Do,” from Houston’s debut, for an early instance of that crossover ambition.)

One of relatively few nonperformers inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, Davis brought his flair for variety to the party he threw at the Beverly Hilton every year on the night before the Grammys — a famously hot ticket that drew A-list celebs from the worlds of music and Hollywood as well as business and politics. You could always count on the exec to have persuaded some number of the year’s splashiest new acts to perform; this year’s bash, in January, had Sombr, Olivia Dean and the women of “KPop Demon Hunters.” But my favorite part of the show was always seeing which veteran Davis had tapped to mix it up with the youngsters — Diamond or Manilow, for instance, or Johnny Mathis, who absolutely killed in 2015.

Davis horrified many in 2012 when he opted to proceed with his party just hours after Houston was found dead in a hotel room at the Beverly Hilton. In the years after the singer’s death, Davis drew criticism for taking too much credit for Houston’s artistic achievements; to some, he became a symbol of the music industry’s efforts to tone down Houston’s Blackness in order to reach white audiences. Five years ago, I asked Warwick, who was Houston’s cousin, whether she’d taken on any kind of consulting role on “I Wanna Dance With Somebody,” the 2022 Whitney biopic that Davis produced.

Bobby Brown, from left, Whitney Houston and Clive Davis in New York in 1998.

(Stuart Ramson / AP)

“Not one thing,” she told me. “I want them to let Whitney rest in peace. Leave her alone. Ten years [since she died] — it’s time to let her sleep.” (In a statement Monday, Warwick called Davis her “dear friend” and said she “can think of no other record man that seemed to have that magical ability to know a hit when he heard a song.”)

I spoke with Davis many times over the years and was always struck by his enthusiasm about music and about his recall of events from decades ago. In 2017, I interviewed the exec alongside Mathis and Kenneth “Babyface” Edmonds about a record the three made together that had Mathis singing newish pop songs like Adele’s “Hello” and Pharrell Williams’ “Happy” — a concept Manilow told me in March he and Davis had been talking about replicating. After my story ran, Davis emailed me and said he’d enjoyed the piece, which had a couple of lines about Davis’ tendency to go overboard hyping his projects.

“Yes, a few of your bites required a personal Band-Aid,” he wrote, “but I did appreciate your perspective of the Mathis album’s quality.”

He knew the music was good; Clive Davis always knew when the music was good.

Sitting in the control room of their home studio known as the Centre of Mental Arts (COMA for short), Long Beach husband-and-wife duo Scott Montoya and Julia Kugel smile as they discuss new music they recorded for their band Soft Palms. Their new album, titled “In Echo,” has been in the works for over five years. The 10-song album, out Friday on Everloving Records, was inspired by their frustration about how they feel the world has devolved since 2020.

“The first record I was like, ‘I want to give the world a hug,’” Kugel says. “And then this one I was like, f— this world.”

For Kugel and Montoya, the album serves as the latest chapter of their creative and personal journey. The pair met in 2012 at a music festival in Dallas (“The most romantic city,” Kugel quips), while playing in the Atlanta-based band the Coathangers and Orange County’s the Growlers, respectively. They bonded over a shared disgust at gladiator shoes, and soon thereafter, were in a relationship.

By 2017, they were married and settled in Long Beach. Despite Kugel’s role in the Coathangers at the time (Montoya left the Growlers in 2016), the couple wanted to form a band. Previously, they recorded a pair of songs that constituted Kugel’s second solo seven-inch single. That experience made them comfortable knowing they could balance their professional and personal lives.

“He’s super easy to work with,” Kugel says of Montoya, who sits beside her, trying to hide a smile. She looks at him and continues, “he’s very talented and very patient.”

“When we were in our other bands, we used to meet up on tour,” Montoya, who also produces and engineers for other artists, says. ”You see the absolute worst of people on tour … so this is nothing.”

To kickstart Soft Palms, Kugel drew from a batch of songs she had previously written that had no home. Being able to record in their own studio allowed the pair to craft songs without feeling any pressure to meet a deadline.

By late 2019, the pair put the finishing touches on their self-titled debut. When the record was released in July 2020, the pandemic was still in full force. The pair were disappointed and upset by the state of the world, and after a few years of stewing, Kugel and Montoya got started on a second album.

Don’t be fooled by its breezy ’60s-analog vintage pop sound. Soft Palms are angry, and that informs the spirit of “In Echo.”

The pair points to “Radio” as the album’s bellwether. First released in 2025, the song rails against how, over the past handful of years, people have fought for the sake of fighting, with no end in sight.

More strikingly, on the biting “Nervous as Hell,” Montoya points to Fox News as “infecting everyone’s parents.”

“I did some digging because I couldn’t believe something that hateful existed,” he says of the network, specifically its landmark $787-million settlement with Dominion Voting Systems. “It turned it from this horrible thing into this s— business that has taken advantage of the elderly and destroyed families.”

That anger continues on the angsty rocker “The Wedding Song.” Kugel points to attending a wedding where a family member married a “total raging maniac,” and how they dealt with the buildup of delicately balancing being cordial yet firm.

“He [the family member] goes, ‘I just want you to show up and shut up!” she says. “I was like, ‘Well, firstly, f— you. Then secondly, this is a song — you just handed me gold.”

Since settling in Long Beach, for the last 10 years Kugel and Montoya took it upon themselves to help foster a positive, artistic community. It’s that mindset that pushed them to found and operate their 501(c)(3) nonprofit called Studios for Schools with the goal of providing recording equipment to underprivileged schools.

Their DIY work ethic in entertainment was also the driving force behind Happy Sundays, a free Long Beach-based music festival. Running for 10 years, the fest created a block party in the city’s Zaferia neighborhood that eventually expanded into a full weekend of shows across stages set up at local businesses to host a diverse lineup of veteran and up-and-coming area bands. Though the event was paused this year so they can focus on the new album and book, the couple plan to bring it back in 2027.

“It was like a statement in that way of like f— these giant prices, VIP experiences and all of that stuff,” Kugel says. “It’s the anti-music festival and a celebration of community.”

Keeping with that spirit, and drawing from the experiences of their two-decade careers, last month the pair released a book titled “How to Be Self-Reliant in the Music Business.” The genesis of this self-published guidebook occurred when the pair realized they were not receiving a portion of a royalty stream they were owed. They knew that if they were in the dark on the issues they thought they knew, others likely were as well.

“We decided to turn it into a book because we realized there’s so much stuff that few artists know about on their own,” Montoya says. “I want people to understand the scope of what they’re actually getting into, and the reality of their situations.”

“It’s a very thorough overview,” Kugel adds.

The book includes information beyond what one would find in Donald S. Passman’s longstanding industry bible “All You Need to Know About the Music Business.” With assistance from a lawyer friend and a CPA family member, the pair addresses topics ranging from backstage etiquette to managing social media to dealing with record labels and publishing companies. They hope that it will provide a blueprint for bands old and new to better navigate music’s notoriously choppy waters. Their accessible, snack-size chapters move fluidly as they explain the realities artists face in 2026.

Battling through the disappointment of the first part of the decade allowed Kugel and Montoya to find their creative way. Armed with this infusion of activity across various disciplines, the couple is inspired to continue to shake their way out of the past. Though focused on their impending U.S. and European tour, the duo promise that the next Soft Palms album won’t take as long and are mulling over their next music-industry book project. For now.

“It’s a lot to keep up with all of these projects,” Montoya says. “We work all day, every day. And it’s been cool to see signs that it’s paying off.”

In early June, hundreds of fans dressed to the nines were in attendance at a rock star’s sold-out show at New York’s Beacon Theatre. There was lace everywhere and leather too. Chains dangled from belt loops and wrists. Some attendees arrived with dyed crimson hair, others with orange or pink.

Sheer black outfits that looked pulled from the pages of a gothic romance novel were draped on bodies. If “The Rocky Horror Picture Show” had collided with a modern concert, it might have looked something like this.

Then a man took the stage. Was it Lestat de Lioncourt, the immortal vampire-cum-rock star, or was it actor Sam Reid?

Moments earlier, attendees had watched the first episode of AMC’s “The Vampire Lestat,” the rebranded third season of “Interview With the Vampire” that premiered earlier this month. This season adapts Anne Rice’s novel of the same name, which is told from the perspective of Lestat, played by Reid, and transforms him into a touring musician.

Now Reid, dressed in black with his chest partially exposed beneath an open jacket revealing a scar, stepped on stage and into the role of Lestat in front of the audience. As he moved across the stage, phones shot into the air. Fans screamed. People sang along to a slew of songs, and for a moment, the line between actor and character seemed to disappear.

At first glance, the assignment to turn Lestat into a rock star seemed straightforward. The vampire at the center of Rice’s beloved novels has flirted with music before. In 2002’s “Queen of the Damned,” he emerged as a leather-clad nu-metal frontman capable of commanding massive crowds. But bringing Lestat into the present introduced a different challenge. Rock music no longer occupies the same place in popular culture. Fame is fragmented. Audiences are skeptical of celebrity. Social media can build a star overnight and tear them down just as quickly.

Yet “The Vampire Lestat” asks viewers to believe something as audacious as a centuries-old vampire still being able to captivate people, launch a music career and inspire a movement. Reid thinks part of what drives the character is something surprisingly modern.

“Nobody cares that I exist, nobody cares that I’m not relevant,” Reid said of Lestat’s mindset entering the season. “It’s really fun to see him struggle with that and see him try to find his place in the world and not immediately get world domination.”

Making that fantasy feel believable required far more than putting Lestat in leather and handing him a microphone. To pull it off, the show’s creative team had to build a rock star from the ground up, crafting a visual identity, creating music that could stand on its own outside the series, and transforming Reid into a performer capable of owning a crowd rather than simply acting in front of one.

Sam Reid’s Lestat de Lioncourt crowd-surfs in “The Vampire Lestat.”

(Sophie Giraud / AMC)

“Dropping Lestat down into 2025 and making the decision for him to play rock ‘n’ roll was a really great dramatic switch because while there are many great rock bands that are alive and kicking right now, their hold of the cultural landscape is quite small,” showrunner Rolin Jones said. “You couldn’t think of a worse way to get your message out than going to be a rock star right now.”

That challenge became the foundation of the season.

Step 1: Making the music

A polished aesthetic, marketing and, in Lestat’s case, book buzz can only take a musician so far. It’s the music that had to make diehard fans believe he’s an artistic genius, or at least a star in the making.

That challenge landed with composer Daniel Hart long before a single script was finished. In an unusual twist, many of the songs that would eventually appear throughout the season were written before the writers’ room fully mapped out the story.

“There were so many unknowns when we started,” Hart said. To find a way in, Hart and Jones started with their familiar reference point: David Bowie.

“We settled, I think sort of obviously, on David Bowie as the launch pad for our Lestat,” Hart said. “The way that Bowie was so mercurial, and he was a chameleon. He reinvented himself throughout his career.”

Hart also looked to artists as varied as Kurt Cobain and Chappell Roan, while drawing inspiration from classical music, blues and the old-world sound Lestat would have absorbed over his long life. One early writers’ room exercise even involved breaking down the influences embedded within “Long Face,” the Bowie-coded first single released from Lestat’s fictional album.

“‘Long Face’ feels like a Bowie rip-off to Daniel Molloy [played by Eric Bogosian], and so then Lestat breaks the song down for him and goes into all the other influences that are in there,” Hart said. “ ‘Long Face,’ you could say, was in some way influenced by Bach, and then [he] talked about Willie Dixon, and how the blues had influenced Lestat when he was around the … 1920s and ‘30s.”

“He’s been alive for 250 years,” Hart continued. “He’s seen and heard a lot of music.”

The creative team never set out to replicate the hard-rock sound that defined “Queen of the Damned.” If anything, Jones felt trying to outdo that soundtrack would have been a losing battle.

In “The Vampire Lestat,” Sam Reid sings every song himself, including “Long Face,” “Butterscotch Bitch,” “Your Biggest Fan,” “All Fall Down” and “Black Licorice.”

(Sophie Giraud / AMC)

“I mean, that soundtrack is deservedly very famous,” Jones said. “And I think if we decided to out-Korn Korn, we were going to be in trouble.”

Instead, their Lestat was a musician still searching for his voice. Jones says the season begins in a more performative glam-rock space before gradually evolving into something more personal.

“We thought ‘70s Bowie is where we would start, and that we would musically make a journey with him as we went deeper and deeper,” he said. “He would put his band on one tour, what a normal band would do, over four albums. The music just keeps changing. And as he gets more and more vulnerable, the songs begin to change. They get more raw. They get more exposure, and the music style evolves.”

Reid sang every song himself, including “Long Face,” “Butterscotch Bitch,” “Your Biggest Fan,” “All Fall Down” and “Black Licorice.”

“The more bombastic, the more over-the-top songs — he doesn’t seem to like them by the end of this season,” Hart said. “The more introspective songs that come later on are more in his new wheelhouse.”

That journey also shaped how Reid approached the material. While audiences will ultimately see the songs unfold within the context of the show, Reid encountered many of them before he fully understood where Lestat’s story was heading.

“I think in the beginning, he’s coming from an artificial kind of construct,” Reid says. “As the show goes on, the music becomes more personal, and he becomes less interested in actually finding love through his audience and more about finding who he is as an individual and as an artist.”

When Jones first began adapting “The Vampire Lestat,” he briefly considered making the character the sort of arena-filling superstar audiences might expect, like a Beyoncé or Taylor Swift. But the more the writers discussed it, the less interesting that version felt.

“If we were gonna start chipping away at all the armor that Lestat had, one of the great repetitive ways of a tour is you just can’t seem to break a ceiling,” Jones said. “He’s a niche star. And I think that is part of the gas that fuels this little journey.”

Hart also had the impression that Lestat would be a massive star.

“But it became more apparent that [he might] not exactly have the kind of success that he wanted and desperately felt like he needed — that was a more interesting story to tell,” he said.

Step 2: Getting the rock star look

While the audience has to believe Lestat is a rock star, they also have to believe he’s someone with the look — and worth staring at.

Lex Wood, the show’s costume designer, said that the challenge began long before cameras rolled on Season 3. Jones first floated the idea of rock star Lestat while the team filmed Season 2 in Prague in 2023, giving Wood time to begin imagining what a nearly 300-year-old vampire might wear while reinventing himself as a singer. During a production trip to Paris, she started sourcing pieces and collecting references that would eventually make their way into this season years later.

“The main aim of building costumes for Lestat was to maintain an element of the unachievable,” says show costumer designer Lex Wood. “To emphasize that Lestat is untouchable.”

(Sophie Giraud / AMC)

Being fashionable wasn’t the only goal.

“The main aim of building costumes for Lestat was to maintain an element of the unachievable,” Wood said. “To emphasize that Lestat is untouchable. Hence, building specific costume build shapes and patterns that we adapted throughout the season.”

That idea guided nearly every aspect of the wardrobe. While the first two seasons often presented Lestat through structured tailoring and muted palettes, Season 3 arrives in a much louder world.

“A big thing really was that we wanted to push more color into the season in general,” Wood said.

Wood said the choice reflected where Lestat finds himself emotionally. No longer confined to drawing rooms and period silhouettes, he’s navigating celebrity, performance and self-reinvention. Leather remains. Black remains. But so do bursts of color, softer fabrics and strange patterns.

“We wanted to break Lestat free of the suiting,” Wood said. “Though we wanted to remain true to his roots in the 18th century, we also wanted Lestat’s pieces to feel slightly otherworldly at times.”

That meant weaving in elements of garments from the 18th century and making them feel contemporary. This could look like a very specific cut of a sleeve of a shirt that nods to that time.

Wood also studied the backstage photography of Mick Rock, pulling references of Bowie, Iggy Pop and Freddie Mercury. She blended that with punk-inspired designs from Vivienne Westwood and Jean Paul Gaultier. Goth icon Siouxsie Sioux also became an influence, particularly in the use of layering, texture and attitude.

Wood said the scattered references reflect a character actively trying to figure out who he wants to be.

“He’s investigating social media himself,” she said. “As he’s discovering his presence as a rock star. He’s investigating what it means to be a rock star.”

“He’s finding his persona,” she continued. “And trying on different personas.”

That idea extends all the way down to accessories, with Lestat’s jewelry blending old and new — a custom necklace created by a U.K. silversmith recalls one worn by Mercury during Queen’s early years, while rings featuring sculpted teeth serve as subtle reminders of his vampiric nature.

“We purposefully wanted some of his wardrobe to not be recognizable to any particular brand — at other times, we wanted to celebrate high-end fashion, to explore his playfulness and unpredictable character through his clothing,” Wood said.

Even the shoes became part of the transformation. One of Wood’s earliest conversations with Reid centered on abandoning the heeled footwear that helped define earlier versions of the character. This Lestat needed something heavier for a performer who could pace a stage.

“He wanted something that felt more grounded,” Wood said. “Something he could bounce around more in.”

Wood said the redesigned footwear altered Reid’s posture and movement, helping create a version of Lestat that she noted feels more volatile and more comfortable captivating a crowd than charming one.

Step 3: Becoming the rock star

For all the work that went into the costumes, music and scripts, none of it mattered unless the watchers believed the actor tying it all together.

Reid had already spent two seasons playing Lestat through other characters’ memories and perspectives. This time around required him to carry the character’s story through his own reflections. More importantly, he had to answer a deceptively difficult question: Why would anyone follow Lestat in the first place?

“It’s not fame that he’s after,” says Reid of his character in “The Vampire Lestat.” “Fame is totally temporary for a creature that lives forever.”

(Sophie Giraud / AMC)

The surface answer might be fame. The character launches a music career, records songs and steps into the spotlight. But Reid doesn’t think that’s what drives him.

“It’s not fame that he’s after,” Reid said. “Fame is totally temporary for a creature that lives forever.”

Reid sees Lestat as someone searching for validation.

“Not for the vampire that he is, but for the human being that he was,” he said. “He’s been pretty heavily rejected. From Louis through the book, and then his mother knows exactly how to string him along, when to give him love and when to take it away. So he’s really looking for validation and going into an audience space is where he first experienced that.”

While developing the season, Reid says he became increasingly interested in the gap between the public version of Lestat and the person underneath it.

“His whole life has been performance,” Reid said. “His whole life has been a lot of adversity, and the way that he kind of climbs out of that is to build a construct that he can perform and operate in. It makes a lot of sense for him to do this rock star persona. Through this season you start to see him realize that the music and the art can allow him to access himself as opposed to it just being a performance.”

“He’s trying to discover his sound as a musician,” Reid continued. “But he’s also trying to discover who he is.”

Throughout the season, viewers see a musician struggling to connect.

“Why can’t I sell out 5,000 seats?” Jones says, describing the character’s mindset. “I used to be able to walk into a room and everyone would love me.”

For Jones, that’s ultimately what makes Lestat feel like a contemporary artist. Sure, he may be an immortal vampire, but he’s navigating the same questions that confront plenty of artists: How much of yourself to reveal? How much should one perform? Can admiration ever substitute for genuine connection?

By the time the season reaches its conclusion, Lestat is still larger than life. But he’s also a more complicated performer forced to reckon with the distance between being seen and understood. Jones said none of this would be possible without Reid in the role.

“I think his performance in Season 3 is one of the 10 greatest American TV performances of all time,” Jones says. “I’d put him right next to Carroll O’Connor, Walter White [played by Bryan Cranston] and James Gandolfini.”

“And I’d look at all of them and say, ‘You guys didn’t sing.’ ”

Koe Wetzel brought his brawny yet soulful new country-rock album, “The Night Champion,” to the Grammy Museum in Los Angeles on Monday night. It’s the 33-year-old Texas native’s follow-up to 2024’s hit “9 Lives,” which spun off a chart-topping single in “High Road”; it’s also his first LP since the birth last year of his daughter, Woods. After the show — in which he was accompanied by his producer Gabe Simon, who’s also known for his work with Noah Kahan — I spoke with Wetzel about the album’s inspirations and about the food-court staple that rhymes with his last name.

My favorite song, you didn’t play it: “I’ll Lock Up.” That’s a song where your vocal is mournful, but you’re resigned — it’s an emotionally sophisticated song. How’d you write it?
We kind of came into it to be as realistic as possible. When people go through stuff like that — through breakups, whatever it is — no matter what it is, I’m probably still gonna take you back at the end of the day. And I think kind of being in that situation, kind of going back on past relationships, we just took a lot of past experiences from different folks and made it what it was. The scornful sadness from it, that might have came from a couple bottles of wine that I had before I got in the vocal booth.

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You write about toxic relationships, but now you appear to be in a stable relationship with the mother of your child. Have you lost the juice?
I don’t think so — I think it’s always gonna be there. Those are the easiest songs to write. It’s really hard for me to write a love song. And who knows, maybe this is the turning of the tide. I’ve got almost 12 years of toxic relationship songs, so maybe these next 10 years is the love, happy-go-lucky songs.

You’ve talked about cleaning up your act a little bit: drinking less, eating better, working out. Was there an animating head-on-the-floor moment?
I think whenever I found out that I was gonna be a dad, that was obviously a moment for me. I’d started cleaning up before she got here. And then when she got here, it was like, “All right, you got to get your s— together.” Not to say that I’m completely reformed — I still have my nights.

Back in your dark days, best bar in L.A.?
I never really went out a whole lot.

Drinking in the hotel room, huh? Dark.
That’s where all the songs come from.

You have two bar-restaurants, Koe Wetzel’s Riot Room — one in Fort Worth, one in Houston. I want to have a salad tonight. Should I have the blackened chicken Caesar or the grilled chicken Cobb?
Grilled chicken Cobb, for sure.

OK, great.
Do we serve those at the restaurant?

Biggest mess you’ve ever gotten into as a restaurateur?
I don’t know, honestly. I’m more on the party side of things, so they don’t ask me about, “Hey, we’re gonna make this tweak to the menu — what do you think about it?” It’s more like, “What are the bottle girls wearing tonight?”

One more food-service-related question: You’re at the mall, you want a pretzel. Auntie Anne’s or Wetzel’s Pretzels?
Wetzel’s Pretzels all day, man. Go get you some — I get a little royalty there.

According to Mediabase, your song “High Road” was the most-played song on country radio in 2025. In what month did you start changing the channel when it came on?
I started changing it before it even came out. We finally got the new record out, and I’m sick and tired of it, because I’ve been listening to it for a year and a half now. But that’s pretty much how it was with “High Road.” So grateful for all the success — it’s really cool that people have jived with it and listened to it the way they have. But whenever I hear it now, I kind of turn a deaf ear to it, if that’s possible.

Your friend Morgan Wallen had a viral moment recently where he tipped over a piano. What instrument have you smashed?
Quite a few. Depending how much Jack Daniel’s I drank onstage, I was definitely smashing the bottle — glass everywhere. I destroyed the drums. There was actually a shirt we had that says “Koe Destroys Everything.” My bass player and guitar players, they know that whenever I get that stare, it’s kind of like: Protect your s—, or I’m gonna come smash it.

By my count, you say “f—” nine times on this record. Is that your favorite four-letter word?
It’s a pretty good one, man. Only nine times on the record?

Seems low to you.
I’m a big Tarantino and Scorsese fan, so I don’t know. I think it’s just such a fun word.

Last one: Your current radio single is called “Hurts Like You.” I’m gonna give you three songs that have “hurt” in the title, and you have to pick your favorite.
OK.

“Hurt” by Nine Inch Nails or Johnny Cash. “Hurts So Good” by John Mellencamp. “Everybody Hurts” by R.E.M.
“Hurt,” Johnny Cash.

I’m sorry, that’s not right.
It’s not? What is it? Is there a right answer?

Your favorite song is John Coug, “Hurts So Good.”
OK. [Sings] “Hurts so good…” Is that my favorite song?

Yeah.
All right. Let’s go, Coug.

Olivia Rodrigo has officially begun her new era, and this time she invited her fans to experience it alongside her.

To celebrate the release of her latest album, “You Seem Pretty Sad for a Girl So in Love,” Rodrigo collaborated with American Express to re-create the set of her music video for “The Cure.” The pop-up event, which opened last Thursday and ran until Sunday at Mica Studios, featured props from the video, storyboards, exclusive merchandise and several photo ops for fans.

With a beating felt heart and lab beakers to pose with, the pop-up transformed an industrial studio space in the Arts District into a pastel-painted cardboard hospital. Ahead of the public opening, Rodrigo surprised a small group of AMEX cardholders and select fans.

“I have an album that’s coming out today in about one hour, which is crazy,” Rodrigo said, wearing a blue “Nurses Do It Better” baby tee. “I figured since we’re all here, maybe we should just listen to a few of them together? Would that be cool?”

A little over an hour before the album’s release, Rodrigo played four songs from the album as the room brewed with excitement. She began with “Maggots for Brains,” a song about being so infatuated you can’t focus when your partner is away. Although it was their first listen, the song’s catchy chorus already had fans dancing along.

Banner for Rodridgo’s pop-up event hands above Mica Studios

(American Express)

Rodrigo explained that her next song, “Purple,” paid homage to the aesthetics of her previous albums, “Guts” and “Sour.”

“Obviously, this is my first non-purple album, but I just had to shout out purple somehow,” Rodrigo joked. “This song started out as a love song and sort of devolved from there, so I’ll let you guys be the judge.”

Playing off the somber vibes of “Purple,” Rodrigo played “Less” next. The piano ballad follows the dissolution of a relationship as the couple grows apart.

“I’ve been going back and forth on what the saddest song on the record is, but I think this one might be it,” Rodrigo said.

In a room full of fans, the song struck an emotional chord with many of the listeners. To bring the mood back up, Rodrigo finished the night by playing her new single, “Stupid Song.”

“This next one is a happy one, and it actually has a music video that comes out tonight,” Rodrigo said. “I love this song so much. It’s basically about having such an intense crush on someone that it drives you totally f— insane. I feel like we’ve all been there at some point in our lives.”

Rodrigo was all smiles at her event celebrating her latest album steeped in heartbreak and romance.

(American Express)

After Rodrigo previewed her music, “The Cure” music video exhibition was opened up to the fans. The showcase ranged from interactive photo ops to gallery walls featuring behind-the-scenes photos from the video shoot and Rodrigo’s nurse costume on display. The video’s props, which were primarily designed using cardboard and felt, were displayed in glass cases for visitors to admire.

Dressed in fun fashion including light pink and polka-dot outfits, fans posed throughout the set, re-creating scenes from the music video as “The Cure” played overhead. Many had thrown on a piece of the Los Angeles-exclusive merchandise on sale at the pop-up, with shirts and hats reading “You Seem Pretty Sad for a Girl in Los Angeles.”

So while some fans teared up at her lyrics and others beamed with excitement, everyone was hyped to experience Rodrigo’s new album.

“I really hope you enjoy this little exhibition. It is so gorgeous, and I am so proud of it,” Rodrigo said. “Thank you guys for being here, and I really hope you love ‘You Seem Pretty Sad for a Girl So in Love’ as much as I do.”

Oliver Tree, a genre-defying singer-songwriter and Santa Cruz native, was one of six people killed when two helicopters collided Sunday morning in Brazil, according to the Associated Press. He was 32.

Tree, a quirky artist known for his highly theatrical music videos and crisp bowl cut, had been traveling through South America as a part of his world tour. CNN Brazil reported Argentinian YouTuber Gaspar Prim, also known as Gaspi, was among those killed in the crash.

The mid-air collision occurred in Rio de Janeiro, with one of the helicopters landing in the parking lot of a car dealership, the AP reports. Local authorities have launched an investigation into the cause of the crash.

Tree, born Oliver Tree Nickell, broke out in the electronic music world first performing as, simply, Tree. He released an e.p., “Demons,” in 2013, which included a cover of Radiohead’s “Karma Police.” He later attended CalArts north of Los Angeles, and signed to Atlantic Records for his major-label debut e.p. “Alien Boy” in 2018.

To find his distinct look, he told the Santa Cruz Sentinel that “I was making a statement with it. Everybody’s trying to look so beautiful and sexy nowadays. It was my way of rebelling against that. So, I tried to make myself look as silly and ridiculous as possible.”

Tree was an instant hit on the festival circuit for his outlandish stage productions and outsider charisma, performing at Lollapalooza, Coachella and Outside Lands. He collaborated with Skrillex, David Guetta and Zeds Dead, and was fiercely protective of his meticulously weird visual identity and video concepts, telling Rolling Stone that “That’s kind of my signature. The people who do f- with me know me because of my videos..Music is my day job but my real dream is to be making feature films.

He released his major label debut LP, “Ugly Is Beautiful,” in 2020. His hit song “Life Goes On” and collaboration “Miss You” with German DJ Robin Schulz earned him international recognition and climbed onto the Billboard Hot 100. He released four full length albums as Oliver Tree, most recently April’s independent LP “Love You Madly Hate You Badly.”

Tree had performed in Buenos Aires on June 4.

From July to October, he had shows scheduled throughout Europe, Australia and China. This year, he performed at the Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival this year as a special guest of electronic producer Subtronics. In one of his last social media posts, he made a point to spotlight an upcoming show on Aug. 9 in his hometown at the Quarry Amphitheater at UC Santa Cruz.

“I can’t believe Oliver is gone,” Schulz posted on Instagram. “You were such a lovely soul and a one of a kind character. Working with you on ‘Miss You’ was an honor. My deepest condolences to his family, friends and everyone who loved him.”

There was a time in the beginning of Sublime’s recent revival when Jakob Nowell, the son of the band’s late singer Bradley Nowell, saw himself simply as a good son trying to help his adoptive uncles — drummer Bud Gaugh and bassist Eric Wilson — restart his dad’s iconic Long Beach trio. The goal wasn’t to take the place of his frontman father who died of an overdose in 1996. “I’ll never look at it as my band. Sublime is my dad’s band, and I’m helping out, that’s all,” he told The Times in 2024. Luckily, he was wrong.

The journey of finding his own voice through his father’s sly, shambolic poetry and reggae rock anthems, along with his determination on the road with Gaugh and Wilson through a barrage of festivals and tour dates helped him eventually step into his own as a songwriter and Gen Z rock star. It’s all been done with the mission to preserving his dad’s legacy and having fun while doing it. Now it feels as natural as the trio sitting together on the waterfront in LBC’s shoreline marina within earshot of the bellowing horn of the Queen Mary earlier this year as they were finishing the recording of “Until the Sun Explodes,” the first album under the Sublime moniker in 30 years.

Just like the band’s original recipe of shoving punk, dub reggae, hip-hop and ska into a blender, the new songs dutifully stick to the formula along with Jakob’s soulful caterwauls that sound scarily similar to his dad. But what emerges from the 21-song tracklist is the evolution of a trademark sound that gives a nod to the past while standing strong on its own, just like Jakob, despite coming to the interview on crutches while healing from a performance-related knee injury. The band members chatted with The Times about recapturing the effortless essence of their immortal beach-ready sound and looking forward to a second chance to chase an endless summer.

This interview was edited for length and clarity

It’s kind of a rare thing for all three of you guys to be in one place at the same time. What was it like working in the studio together to finish the new album?

Bud Gaugh: Magical. Things are just coming together. We showed up, Jake had an idea for another song, and he sent us a little demo and said “Hey, this is what I’ve been thinking about.” And then we get down to the studio [in San Pedro], and he’s like, “Oh yeah, so I had another idea,” and kind of changed it. We jumped in there [and by the end of our sessions, we had written] brand new songs to the list of songs that we already had.

The band’s revival has been a long time in the making. I remember when you guys had your first show together, a surprise gig a couple years ago as part of a benefit show for the Bad Brains frontman H.R. Do you feel you’ve come a long way since then?

Eric Wilson: I never thought the chemistry would be like it was with Bradley.

Jakob Nowell: Especially now that we’ve been playing together this long, the chemistry is very much there. We’re just comfortable and having fun. Jamming together is the best. We get in there to do a take for a song, and I’m always like “Let’s just do like three more!” It’s just that much fun, and that’s how it feels playing live too.

When did the idea for creating a new album come about?

Gaugh: It was pretty much just while we were playing shows, At first, the idea was that we were getting together to do this benefit for H.R. [at Teragram Ballroom in December 2023]. We went from “How’s this going to work?” and then [after the show] it was like, “Wow, this is something special. We should definitely go out and play some more shows, and get this music out there and get the opportunity to bring the music to the people in the purest form that we possibly could.” As we’re doing that, it’s like we’re seeing the reaction in the fans, and we were feeling it emotionally. We realized this is going to be bigger than we ever thought. That’s when we really decided where it was going to go.

Jakob Nowell, right, once thought Sublime was only his late father’s band; now, fronting the Long Beach trio, he’s leading a new chapter that still honors Bradley Nowell’s legacy.

(Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)

Were any of the songs on the new album mined from previously unreleased material or did you start fresh?

Nowell: There was that song we did with Stick Figure [“Feel Like That”], so I think that kind of inspired us. [We realized] “Oh s—, there really is some meat on the bone.” And then I had found some old recordings of stuff that were just like jams without even like vocals or whatever. Then it became just this thing during sound check or maybe in the middle of sets, we’d just start jamming these random progressions and stuff, and it kind of just evolved from there naturally.

The new songs that I’ve heard fit right in the vein of what people love about Sublime. What was it like putting some of those new songs in the setlist as you were building them?

Nowell: It was like magic. We were joking yesterday that sometimes we’ll play a new song for the first time just randomly and I’d see people try mouthing the lyrics and stuff and I’ll say “you’ve never even heard this before! I know you haven’t. We don’t even really know what the hell we’re saying.”

Gaugh: You frontin’! [Laughs]

Nowell: But [the new material] sounded like it was supposed to be there, so it was kind of a rad little test in a lot of ways. We almost don’t even have to think about it. That’s always going to be the guiding goal of any band trying to make fun music that’s relatable.

Wilson: What if you’re Slayer? That’s not true if you’re Slayer.

Jakob, it seems like you’ve gotten a lot more comfortable in the frontman role since joining the band. What’s it like just taking the lead, not just for the sake of your dad, but for the fans?

Nowell: Oh, dude, it’s the best. I don’t even have to think about it. We really feel like this is — we’re a band, you know?

Gaugh: It’s [Jakob’s] band too. Now it’s our band. It’s us.

Nowell: It feels like that whenever we’re hanging out, just doing stuff, or at the studio or at these shows. So, this upcoming year feels like a really rad adventure. We got all these different eras [of fans] — people who were in their 50s when [Sublime’s] first stuff dropped, who are still alive, and then their kids and their grandkids and great grandkids. Everybody finds a piece of the discography they can relate to. That’s what is most exciting. It’s not just one or two songs, people sing along to everything.

I was at Warped Tour in Long Beach last year when you guys played and —

Nowell: That was my favorite set!

To me that felt like it encapsulated what you were talking about with the multigenerational groups of fans that have enjoyed you guys and associate you with Long Beach.

Gaugh: It was like a homecoming for me. I remembered playing the Chili Cook off, you know, right over there in the same area [as Warped Tour], and it was just bringing me back 30 years. It’s so meaningful to be in our backyard playing our music again, right there. This is where it all started. It’s come full circle.

Nowell: It was like playing at a local bar in a cool way. I had this huge group of people up front, they were just talking and shouting and saying stuff, like f–ing with us and joking around. I was like “Damn this is great!”

How about you, Eric? How’d you feel playing Warped?

Wilson: [Mumbles] It was f–ing awesome.

Now that you’ve played all these festival shows, from Coachella to No Values, you’ve got your own festival going on. Can you talk a little bit about Sublime Fest and your Sublime Reef Madness Cruise and how you came up with it?

Nowell: We could put on a bunch of the bands we love, and some of our boys, like Vandals, and make it our own vibe.

Gaugh: You walk around Coachella and there’s so many different elements there. Wouldn’t it be neat if we could make like all this like a Long Beach element, a Sublime element. Looking at this thing, it’s like “Oh wow. So we can actually get some of our friends and set up like a tattoo booth, and have our idea of art and everything out there, and mix it all together — food, art, music — bringing all these different elements, and friends of ours that play music. We get to decide who’s going to share the stage with us, so it’s really neat. It’s like planning a high school party or something like that.

Nowell: The biggest backyard party ever seen.

You guys always had your own sound going on, what’s it like to see that the fans still want it?

Wilson: It took a lotta years to catch on, but it did.

Nowell: Yeah, the kids really want that, like ‘90s, Y2K kind of vibe. That was the last era of like cool authenticity and stuff. You can see it when young people make stuff to look retro … when things get so high fidelity, we’re almost losing a little element, so I think these festivals kind of seek to bring some of that back in a way that everybody can get into.

With “Until the Sun Explodes,” Sublime’s first album in three decades, Jakob Nowell, Bud Gaugh and Eric Wilson rediscover their studio chemistry, jamming new songs that feel instantly familiar onstage.

(Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)

You guys also have the timeless iconography of the Sublime sun logo. The title of the album is “Until the Sun Explodes.” Does that title have any particular meaning to you?

Nowell: It’s almost just another way of saying “forever,” like “Oh baby I’m gonna love you till the sun blows up.” That’s gonna happen in billions of years, if at all. The fact that [Sublime’s] lasted this long and has this many fans is evidence to me that we wanna be here forever. I think that’s what everybody wants for themselves.

Jake, you’ve taken steps to advance your own aspirations and music with your label, Sunburnt Records, how does that fit into where Sublime is right now?

I was inspired by the whole Skunk Records thing [Sublime’s first label], Evan Zinger with [his lifestyle brand] SRH, and just all the local brands I grew up with when I was a kid. So just trying to do a cool, chill local thing that has that vibe of putting on small shows and kind of getting to use this new notoriety to be like, man, I have so many friends in these small bands like Strange Case and Eight Ball, and other bands up and down Southern California. Let’s put on shows and sneak them on a Sunburnt Stage at [Sublime Fest] and if people really like that Sublime sound here’s a bunch of kids who are carrying the torch like Slightly Stoopid did when they started out. Mike Watt always said “start your own band!” So the more we can inspire people to do that and be some small part of that, it’s a dream come true.

Do you feel like this version of Sublime is something Brad would be proud of?

Gaugh: We all kind of brought our own element to the music orignally. So we just kind of followed that recipe. Jake’s his own person, he’s got his own influences, and we just kind of stick with that idea. Jake brings in his feelings, and Eric brings in his and we sat there and recorded this song, and then as we were recording it, we’re coming up with ideas. It’s like, “Oh wait, we should do this here, slow that down there, stop here,” it’s all a conglomeration of ideas, everyone does their part, brings in their own spices and we mix it in a pot like gumbo.

Ariana Grande was crystal clear in the White House’s comments section on TikTok.

The “We Can’t Be Friends” hitmaker didn’t mince words on Thursday when she commented on a White House TikTok: “Please do not ever use my music in relation to this barbaric, inhumane, heinous nonsense. F— ice,” she wrote in her comment.

The TikTok in question, posted by the White House on Tuesday, promoted the administration’s crackdown on immigration and featured Immigration and Customs Enforcement officers handcuffing various people to the tune of the Grammy-winner’s song “Bye.”

“Bye-bye 👋 President Trump has delivered the most secure border in history,” the caption on the video read. Grande’s comment has since been deleted or hidden from the video’s replies, and the sound on the TikTok has been disabled.

White House spokeswoman Abigail Jackson responded to Grande’s comment in an emailed statement to The Times, writing, “We’ll say this one last time: what’s actually barbaric, inhumane, and heinous are the criminal illegal aliens who have injured and murdered innocent American citizens.”

Grande joins a slew of prominent musicians and artists who have told the Trump administration to cease using their tunes to promote his agenda.

On the 2024 presidential campaign trail, Beyoncé endorsed former Vice President Kamala Harris, who used Queen Bey’s song “Freedom” as a rally anthem. When a spokesman for Trump used the same song in a social media post, the mega star’s team responded swiftly with a cease-and-desist.

During a 2024 Montana rally, Trump’s team played a video clip using “My Heart Will Go On,” the theme song from the 1997 film “Titanic.” Celine Dion’s management team and record label responded with a statement shooting down the song’s use: “In no way is this use authorized, and Celine Dion does not endorse this or any similar use. … And really, THAT song?”

And then, of course, when Trump used Bruce Springsteen’s “Born in the U.S.A.” on the 2016 campaign trail without the artist’s permission, the American rocker responded by endorsing Hillary Clinton and calling Trump a “moron.”

Add to the list Nancy Sinatra, who posted that Trump’s nod to Frank Sinatra’s song “My Way” was “sacrilege”; the Smiths’ former guitarist Johnny Marr, who said, “Consider this s— shut right down right now,” when the band’s song was used at a 2023 Trump rally; Sabrina Carpenter, who slammed the use of her song in a video, calling it “evil”; and many, many, many more.

Earth Wind & Fire’s “September,” with its nonsensical phrase “ba-dee-ya,” has been streamed more than 2.3 billion times on Spotify, more than the band’s next five songs combined (including “Let’s Groove,” “Boogie Wonderland” and “Shining Star”).

In his visually and sonically vibrant film “Earth, Wind & Fire (To Be Celestial vs. That’s the Weight of the World),” drummer, DJ and director Ahmir “Questlove” Thompson (“Summer of Soul”) shows how the funky but aspirational band was much more than its biggest hit musically.

But he also explores, in depth, the complexities of the band’s central figure, Maurice White. A self-affirming visionary who wanted to bring hope to people, White mixed journaling with talk of spaceships and metaphysics. However, he was also traumatized by a childhood in which his mother moved to Chicago for more opportunities, leaving White in Memphis, where he was once brutally beaten by white policemen. Those scars created a man who was a distant father and equally remote with his band members at the peak, mistreating them with casual disdain until everything fell apart.

Questlove recently spoke by video call about the film, now streaming on HBO Max, which features interviews with family, surviving band members, childhood friend Booker T. Jones and a couple of fans named Barack and Michelle Obama. This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

What drew you to this story?

In 2020, I was DJing on the internet, live streaming and I was DJing to calm people down from thinking they’re going to die in the apocalypse. One day I did an Earth, Wind & Fire set and when I got to the fourth hour, I thought, “Yo, is this one of the most relentlessly positive groups of all time?”

I started researching the lyrics and realized this band tricked us into positivity, like getting us to eat our vegetables. I started wondering how a band like that got past the velvet rope and realized that none of it was by accident, it was all by design. Their music was so good and you start singing the lyrics and there’s an osmosis effect of positivity that gets you.

When I started this in 2023, I had a spooky feeling that the turmoil of 2020 was going to visit us again, so I thought people would want something to watch that will help them plant seeds of what to do.

Maurice White, the band’s central figure.

(Henry Diltz / HBO)

You save “September” to the end. Was it so people would see the band was more than their biggest hit or to send audiences off humming and happy?

It’s an unlikely legacy song. They have so many meaningful songs like “Shining Star,” while “September” is a leftover that was a filler song from a greatest hits album that became a career-defining song.

Initially, I was coming out the gate with “September,” just, “Let’s get this out the way.”

It took a while. Early on the Obamas weren’t part of the project. I interviewed them the morning after the 2024 elections; they were so professional and so in the moment and also helped us process the day.

We’d never gotten to see them sit next to each other and be playful and dance. And I didn’t say, “OK, let’s see how you move, dance for 12 seconds,” I was just playing something and they started dancing and the camera happened to be running.

But they put the song in context. In 2009, they said, “What’s the statement we want to make to America to show this is a new era at the White House?” And Earth, Wind & Fire was chosen to be one of the bands at the inauguration and it was that song. So my producer said, “Now we can treat ‘September’ like an encore.” We used that story to show how that song grew on its own organically.

White is a complicated guy. Was it challenging to balance everything in your narrative?

Oftentimes Black artists are seen as caricatures or one-dimensional. It’s easy to do the gotcha of “You’re so positive and metaphysical, what about this or that?” My goal is always to find a human element that you see yourself in. In Maurice’s case with his career, he did drink the Kool-Aid. But his personal life stemmed from not ever forgiving his mother for leaving him behind when he was little. When we hold anger and other emotions in, when we refuse to talk to our partners or friends — and you want people to read your minds — that’s when it becomes a problem. But I wanted to show that in a way where I don’t spell it all out. Hopefully people will make the connection of the importance of dreaming and planning and affirmations but also the importance of letting things go, like forgiving people.

Netflix’s new hit drama which is climbing the charts stars the late Song Young Kyu as Ryu Gwang-pil.

K-drama Teach You A Lesson was Song Young Kyu’s final job before his tragic death in 2025.

Netflix has just unveiled a new South Korean drama which is already climbing the UK Top 10 chart alongside shows like The Witness, and viewers have been talking about one star in particular.

The series, which is just one of many Netflix K-dramas, is about a school notorious for violence and the decline of faculty authority, which is turned around by an inspector from the Educational Rights Protection Bureau who uses physical intervention and unconventional methods to discipline delinquent students.

The show, based on the Naver webtoon Get Schooled, stars Song Young-gyu as Ryu Gwang-pil – a member of the National Assembly and the father of student Ryu Jun-hyeong (played by Lee Seung-gyu).

Song Young-kyu, also referred to as Song Young-gyu, was a 55-year-old South Korean actor who was best known for his theatre roles, and he made his film debut in the 2002 movie Turn It Up.

He was best known to international audiences for his roles in Netflix’s Narco-Saints and Disney+’s Big Bet, both released in 2022.

In August 2025, the actor was found dead inside a parked car in Yongin, Gyeonggi Province. There was no signs of foul play according to authorities.

Teach You a Lesson was the show he completed filming on before his death and his posthumous appearance in the series is drawing worldwide attention.

The first episode of the series revolves around school violence and it sees Education Authority Protection Bureau supervisor Na Hwa-jin (Kim Moo-yeol) visit Daehan High School, where student Park Dae-seok (Jung Soo-hyun) died.

The ringleader of the violence, Ryu Jun-hyeong, is the son of Congressman Ryu Kwang-pil, a prominent potential presidential candidate.

Relying on his father’s position of power, Ryu Jun-hyeong looked down on students and staff, committing all kinds of atrocities.

Na Hwa-jin even visited Ryu Kwang-pil directly. However, instead of correcting his son’s wrongdoing, Ryu Kwang-pil tried to block Na Hwa-jin using his position and influence and even attempted to dismantle the Education Authority Protection Bureau altogether.

Song Young Kyu, who is survived by his wife and two daughters, appeared in more than 40 TV dramas and numerous films across three decades.

His role as Chief Choi in the 2019 film Extreme Job, which became one of South Korea’s highest grossing films ever, gained him international attention.

One fan took to X, formerly Twitter, to pay tribute to the star after watching Teach You A Lesson, saying: “I was so focused on the plot of Teach You a Lesson that I didn’t even realise the actor playing the bully’s father in episode one was Song Young-gyu.

“The crazy thing is, I’ve seen him in so many dramas over the years, but while watching this one, all my attention was on the story, the tension, and everything happening on screen.

“It wasn’t until now that it clicked. It’s a strange feeling when you recognise an actor after the fact and remember that they’re no longer here. It makes you look at their scenes differently.

“Supporting actors rarely get the same attention as lead stars, but they’re often the ones who make these dramas feel real. Continue to Rest in Peace, Song Young-gyu.”

Teach You A Lesson is on Netflix now

DUA Lipa has tied the knot for a second time to actor Callum Turner in a picture perfect Palermo-based ceremony.

The popstar and her new husband, who made it official last week with a London town hall wedding, exchanged vows in front of family and famous friends as part of their £1.5m wedding extravaganza in the Italian holiday hotspot.

Dua, 30, and Callum, 36, said ‘I Do’ to one another in an outdoor ceremony adorned with high trees at the magnificent 18th century Villa Valguarnera with A-list pals Charli XCX, Mark Ronson and Tame Impala in attendance.

The Sun can exclusively reveal that bride Dua, 30, walked down the aisle with a bridal bouquet made up of lily-of-the-valley, peonies and hyacinths from a local florist.

Amid the vow renewal, music legend Elton John serenaded the couple with a rendition of his smash hit ‘Your Song’ in an incredibly emotional and touching moment.

The special performance prompted tears all round as the 79-year-old belted out the classic love song for his beloved pal and her new husband.

THESE WALLS

Dua Lipa and Callum Turner’s wedding prep is underway as security ramps up

WHITE HOT

Dua Lipa & husband Callum are cheered by A-list guests at wedding cocktail party

Elton, 79, and the Be The One singer have a firm friendship with the two previously collaborating on single Cold Heart back in 2021, a remix of his iconic song Rocket Man (1972).

The ceremony kicked off at 5pm and lasted for around an hour with guests arriving from 3:30pm in a whopping 60 minivans.

The bride and groom turned up in a luxury Mercedes Maybach Class V at 3pm prompt to greet their guests ahead of the nuptials.

Post-ceremony, a posh dinner is expected to be laid on by a two Michelin star chef from Rome, and speeches, before the celebrities dance the night away with a party set to go well into the early hours. 

The evening is split into three moments: ceremony in the courtyard, a dinner, followed by an outdoor DJ set by four prominent names on the international music scene.

A huge amp system has been set up in anticipation, with diffusers positioned towards the estate and the villa park to limit sound waves travelling into the Bagheria town

Dua’s wedding dress – a well-kept secret – is rumoured to have been designed by Donatella Versace, who attended a pre-wedding drinks reception last night as she and Callum kicked off their celebrations. 

They shut down two city centre squares in Palermo as famous music pals gathered to celebrate the couple. 

Dua stunned in a white, backless Bottega Veneta dress and also had a £2580 Bottega Anidamo leather clutch bag and Bulgari jewels – including a classic £185,000 Manchette watch. 

She was seen dancing to Le Freak and Kylie Minogue’s Spinning Around.

Waiters later bought out Margarita pizza for guests on silver trays. 

A ring of steel was put around the Piazza Sant’Anna and Piazza Croce dei Vespri with police and private security blocking off access to the public.

The Sun revealed that Dua paid £5,000 to residents who live around the Piaza Croce dei Vespri, where the party was held, to thank them.

But she faced a battle against some protestors who stuck up posters in nearby streets accusing the singer of making their public space a “living room for the rich”, insisting: “Palermo is not for rent.”

Dua and Callum are staying in a £6,000 a night suite at the five-star Villa Igiea.

Their Donna Franca suite has stunning views of the Mediterranean Sea and is described as the hotel’s crowning jewel. 

Another Brat summer is upon us.

Charli XCX announced Monday that her new album, “Music, Fashion, Film,” drops July 24, and it already looks iconic.

That’s because the cover art, which Charli shared on Instagram, features three icons within their fields. The Velvet Underground’s John Cale represents music, Marc Jacobs stands for fashion and beloved director Martin Scorsese symbolizes film.

“My new album Music, Fashion, Film is out july 24th,” Charli wrote on Instagram. “11 songs, 30 minutes, 5 seconds. available to pre order now, love you xx.”

She released the first two singles, “Rock Music” and “SS26,” in May. The latter, a shorthand for the fashion industry’s current “Spring, Summer ‘26” season, has an accompanying video that features the artist strutting down an X-shaped runway, singing, “We’re walking on a runway that goes straight to hell / Nothing’s gonna save us, not music, fashion or film.”

“Rock Music,” the album’s first single, was met with mixed reactions from critics and fans. The song telegraphs Charli’s genre switch from electronic pop to the titular rock music, announcing, “I think the dance floor is dead” over heavily distorted guitar.

“If I’d made another album that felt more dance-leaning, it would have felt really hard, really sad,” Charli told British Vogue in April. “What’s interesting for me is to bend the possibilities of what my perspective on [rock music] could be.” She later clarified on Instagram, “I never said i was making a rock album.”

“Music, Fashion, Film” is not the artist’s first album in 2026. She released “Wuthering Heights,” the soundtrack to Emerald Fennel’s movie of the same name, in February. Cale is featured on “House,” the soundtrack album’s lead single.

Charli has added acting and producing to her repertoire in recent years. She produced and played a somewhat fictionalized version of herself in Aidan Zamiri’s mockumentary “The Moment,” based on the “Brat” album cycle, which Times film critic Amy Nicholson called “ ‘Spinal Tap’ for the era of stan culture.”

She also co-starred in Daniel Goldhaber’s “Faces of Death” remake, released in April, and is set to appear in Gregg Araki’s upcoming erotic comedy “I Want Your Sex” and Cathy Yan’s art-world thriller “The Gallerist” by year’s end.

“I’ve always been really inspired by cinema when making my music, more so than listening to music, to be honest,” Charli told The Times at the Sundance Film Festival in January. “It’s an honor to be able to be acting, working on projects and writing and producing films. It’s kind of my dream.”

PALM SPRINGS — Barry Manilow steers a golf cart to the end of a long driveway, pulls to a stop and flings a plush toy goose across a manicured lawn to the delight of his two Labrador retrievers.

“OK, where we doing this?” the 82-year-old singer asks about our interview. Dressed in a khaki shirt and slim-fitting rust-colored trousers, he’s got the look of a man prepared to undertake some très chic brush clearance; in reality, he’s motored down here merely to answer questions about his fabulous life and career.

Manilow and his husband and longtime manager, Garry Kief, moved to this sprawling desert estate from Los Angeles in the late 1990s. “We kept coming out, and it’s so beautiful that eventually we said, ‘Screw it — let’s just stay,’” he says. By then, Manilow had long since established himself as one of music’s premier showmen, with a Grammy Award, 11 Top 10 hits and a storied 15-night run at L.A.’s Greek Theatre under his belt.

So you might’ve taken Palm Springs as a sign that he was ready to slow down. Instead, he launched a residency at the Las Vegas Hilton in 2005 that eventually surpassed the length of Elvis Presley’s show there; in 2006, he released “The Greatest Songs of the Fifties,” which went platinum and spawned a series of successful follow-up albums.

Last month, Sabrina Carpenter interpolated a bit of Manilow’s iconic “Copacabana (At the Copa)” into her headlining set at Coachella just days before he was honored by the American Advertising Federation for his work writing commercial jingles. The range of those achievements said something about his blend of music-nerd craft and pop-star razzle-dazzle.

“Barry loves music as much as anyone I’ve ever known,” says Bette Midler, who hired Manilow as her pianist for the name-making gig she played at New York’s Continental Baths in the early 1970s. Performing, Midler adds, “isn’t a job with him — it’s a vocation, a calling.”

Yet now that calling faces a threat. In December, Manilow announced that he’d been diagnosed with lung cancer and that surgery would require him to postpone a number of concert dates; five months later, he has yet to return to the stage — the longest break, COVID-19 aside, he can remember taking in decades.

Fortunately for Manilow, he has a new album, “What a Time,” with which to occupy himself. Due June 5, it consists mostly of original material — his first such LP in nearly 15 years — though it opens with a sumptuous rendition of Peter Allen and Dean Pitchford’s “Once Before I Go.” Manilow notes proudly that the song, which was produced by Kenneth “Babyface” Edmonds, recently made Billboard’s adult contemporary chart, extending his run on that tally beyond the half-century mark.

Barry Manilow performs in Beverly Hills in 2025.

(Gina Ferazzi / Los Angeles Times)

Still, performing is clearly on his mind as he leads me into a tile-roofed gym equipped with weights, a treadmill and a massage table. Manilow has been working out here every morning, he says, to regain the strength needed for his show; he’s got Vegas dates on the books for July but admits he’s unsure whether they’ll happen or not. We settle into two leather club chairs, his dogs Jake and Abby at his feet.

“Please be brilliant,” he tells me. “Don’t be boring.”

What are you doing on a day you’re not working?
Working.

I see.
Since the surgery, I can’t go on the road. Ninety minutes of screaming in tune, which is what I do for a living — I’m not up for that yet. I will be, but it’s taking a long time to get my voice back. They warned me that I’d have to learn to breathe again. So these days, I get up, I go to my piano and I try to be creative. Before I know it, the afternoon’s over.

Was the diagnosis a shock?
Imagine your doctor saying, “You’ve got lung cancer.”

Fair enough.
I’ll tell you the story. I have terrible hips — bursitis and everything — and they hurt so bad that I thought maybe I broke a bone or something. So I asked my wonderful family doctor, I said, “Can you just do one of those MRIs and see?” Now, before that, I’d had two bad bouts of bronchitis, one after the next. Have you ever had bronchitis?

I have.
It stinks. So I asked him if he could check my hip, and he told the guys that were doing it, “Why don’t you check his lungs?” And I think he might have saved my life because they found a big black thing in my chest. One doctor said it was probably remnants of the bronchitis, the other doctor said it could be cancer. I voted for the bronchitis. But they went back in to see and it was a cancerous tumor.

How’d you react?
When they told me, I was on the road, and I just went back to sound check. What else could I do? I never thought cancer would get me — it wasn’t in the cards. They wanted to get rid of it as soon as possible, so we made a deal: I’d finish the couple of weeks of shows that I had, then I’d go to the hospital and they’d remove it. It was supposed to be a no-brainer — it hadn’t spread yet, thank goodness. But then my AFib kicked in and acid reflux kicked in and pneumonia kicked in. They rushed me to the ICU for seven days.

Barry Manilow with Dionne Warwick in Los Angeles in 1985.

(Paul Harris / Getty Images)

Sorry to be morbid, but were you close to death?
They said at one point — I didn’t hear them say this but I heard that they did say it — “We don’t want to lose him.” It’s all a total blur now. When they finally brought me back to my lovely room at the Eisenhower [medical center], I weighed 128 pounds.

How long you figure it had been since you weighed 128 pounds?
I don’t remember ever being 128.

You said you never thought cancer would get you. Why?
I’m too busy. Pretty stupid. What I realized is that I’ve always been the leader — leader of the band, leader of an audience — but I wasn’t the leader of this one. That was a big lesson for me. I had to rely on everybody else. Nurses, doctors, friends — you should see some of the notes people have sent.

What’s it been like to be offstage for so long?
Agony. Make an album, go on the road, come back, make an album, go on the road — that’s what my life’s been for years. And I like it. Now I just have to get better and do what the doctors are telling me. It’s the only way out.

Well, there’s one other way.
I’m not ready to croak. But I wasn’t ready to stop performing either, and it just went like that [snaps fingers]. The day before surgery, people are screaming, standing ovation, band sounds great. Next day I’m packing to go to the hospital.

Are you working with a vocal coach?
Yep. But I get winded just walking down the hallway. I turn on my old records and sing along, and three songs in I’m like [pants].

Could you do a show where you skip the uptempos? No “It’s a Miracle” or “Copacabana”?
I’m trying ballads too — my ballads end big.

Are you allowed to smoke or drink?
I stopped smoking many, many years ago. I vape but hardly — I just like holding it. I was a great smoker. Brooklyn in the ’50s? Please. I started smoking when I was 9. I got up to three packs of Pall Mall non-filters a day, and it never bothered me — never had any problem breathing. I was just a skinny piano player who smoked. That’s who I am. That’s who I was.

Before he was a skinny piano player, he was a skinny accordion player.

Manilow grew up poor in Brooklyn, the only son of a Jewish mother and an Irish father who split up right after he was born. As a kid he entertained his mom and his maternal grandparents by squeezing out the Jewish folk song “Hava Nagila”; later, his stepfather brought home records by Gerry Mulligan and Judy Garland that opened his mind to jazz and pop.

He says today that he never saw himself as a performer — he wanted to write, arrange, produce. His first success came with jingles for brands like State Farm — “Like a Good Neighbor” is his handiwork — and Band-Aid.

“My ideas were good for pop music because of the commercials,” he says. “The rules are pretty much the same — you need to grab the listener as soon as possible. For a commercial, you’ve got about five seconds. For a pop song, you’ve got 10.”

In 1971, Manilow got the job with Midler and ended up working on her million-selling debut, “The Divine Miss M,” which led to a deal of Manilow’s own with Clive Davis’ Arista Records. Despite Manilow’s insistence that he was a behind-the-scenes guy, he scored a No. 1 hit out of the box with the plaintive “Mandy,” then quickly followed that with another chart-topper, “I Write the Songs” — a pop-philosophical epic, as nobody’s tired of pointing out ever since, that Manilow didn’t actually write.

Barry Manilow at home in Palm Springs.

(Christina House / Los Angeles Times)

Bruce Johnston, who wrote “I Write the Songs” — and won a Grammy for song of the year thanks to Manilow’s recording — says the key to Manilow’s performance is that “he’s never too cool for school.” A Beach Boy for six decades until he retired from the band this year, Johnston adds that Manilow’s rendition of the song, which was also cut by Captain & Tennille and David Cassidy, “is the only one I care about, honestly. He really grabbed it — he’s just as real as he could be.”

After several more Manilow hits — “Tryin’ to Get the Feeling Again,” “Weekend in New England,” “Looks Like We Made It” — Davis asked the singer to produce a would-be comeback album by his latest Arista signing, Dionne Warwick. Warwick’s initial reaction to that idea: “Really?” she says with a laugh. “Did Barry Manilow really know anything about Dionne Warwick? As it turned out, he knew quite a bit,” adds Warwick, who recalls turning up for their first session to discover that Manilow had laid every one of her albums on his piano. “He was letting me know: I know you,” she says.

“Dionne,” the album they made together, went on to win a pair of Grammys and spun off silky hit singles including “Deja Vu” and “I’ll Never Love This Way Again” that reinvigorated Warwick’s career and helped solidify Manilow’s standing as a kind of soft-rock auteur.

Which isn’t to say that rock’s intelligentsia ever viewed him kindly. Though his best music finds an emotional truth in over-the-top theatrics, critics routinely dismissed Manilow as a lightweight or a schlockmeister; even now, he seems an unlikely candidate for the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, where he’s been eligible for induction for decades.

Manilow, who entered the Songwriters Hall of Fame in 2002, insists the slights don’t bother him. “I’ve never been one of the guys,” he says. We’ve been talking for a while, and because of the bursitis, perhaps, he’s hoisted one of his legs over the arm of his chair. “I don’t think about awards and parties and stuff like that. I’m very lucky — I live in the most gorgeous place I’ve ever seen and I have the most wonderful partner that you can imagine. I’m grateful he’s chosen to share his life with me. We’ve been together for over 46 years, and we still laugh and we still love each other. That’s the greatest award I’ll ever get.”

Manilow and Kief married in 2014; the singer came out as gay three years later. (Manilow was briefly married to his high school girlfriend, Susan Deixler, in the mid-1960s.) Has he found that the world looks at him differently since he came out?

“It was a non-event. Nobody gave a s—,” he says. “They all knew. I never really hid it, but in the ’70s and ’80s, that would have killed the career, and I didn’t want to do that. So I just never talked about it.” He smiles.

“Garry and I are just two guys that live in a house on a hill with two dogs that we love.”

Like many of Manilow’s hits, “Once Before I Go” was Davis’ idea.

Allen, the late Australian entertainer portrayed by Hugh Jackman in Broadway’s Tony-winning “The Boy From Oz,” had played the tune for Manilow in the early ’80s. “And I loved it,” Manilow says now. “But I was too young to sing a song like that — that song needs age to be able to pull it off honestly.”

Davis first suggested that Manilow perform it in his set at the post-pandemic We Love NYC concert that Davis put on in Central Park in 2021. After the show, which was called off due to weather as Manilow sang “Can’t Smile Without You,” Davis repeatedly advised the singer to record it.

Clive Davis, left, with Barry Manilow at an Arista Records party in Los Angeles in 1989.

(Lester Cohen / Getty Images)

“I don’t know, he had a bug up his ass,” Manilow says. “He loved it, and he loved it for me. And I’m not even on his record label anymore — he’s just a friend at this point. But he was right once again.”

Given the cancer diagnosis, did Manilow worry that fans might interpret the song — a teary goodbye from a well-wishing lover — as a more permanent farewell?

“Not one time has anybody said, ‘Is he talking about dying?’”

You wouldn’t necessarily call “What a Time” a concept album, though many of the songs ponder the ways memory and history can shape a romance. Manilow knows he’s regarded as a singles act but says that putting together LPs is what he’s always enjoyed best. His favorite is 1984’s jazzy “2:00 AM Paradise Cafe,” on which he collaborated with Mulligan, Sarah Vaughan and Mel Tormé.

“That was one where the critics who’d been killing me, they didn’t know I was capable of doing something like that,” he says. “But frankly, I’d been surprised that I was capable of doing the pop stuff.”

You made records of hits from the ’50s, ’60s, ’70s and ’80s. Why’d you stop before “The Greatest Songs of the Nineties”?
Were there songs in the ’90s?

Barry.
Didn’t it start to go downhill?

I can think of a handful of classics by Whitney Houston alone.
You can’t touch those. I’m a good arranger, but you can’t top those records. Maybe four of those albums was enough. I was ready to go back to writing.

You’ve said the problem with modern pop is that there’s no melody anymore.
That’s what I miss. Clive’s been pushing me to do “The Great New American Songbook.”

Like he did with Johnny Mathis a few years ago.
So I’ve been studying the Top 20. The one I like is Lady Gaga and Bruno Mars.

“Die With a Smile.”
Love that. But the way they’re writing songs these days is not the way I know how to write songs. They don’t do a verse, a chorus, a bridge, a chorus, a big ending. To me, when I listen, the songs feel like run-on sentences.

Barry Manilow with his dog Abby.

(Christina House / Los Angeles Times)

I was trying to think of artists older than you who are still performing.
Name me one.

Willie Nelson.
Oh, yeah.

Johnny Mathis.
Mm-hmm.

Frankie Valli.
[Rolls eyes].

You’re invoking the widely held assumption that he lip syncs.
I loved Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons. Who didn’t?

Would you ever lip sync?
I’m terrible at it. I try now and again.

Do you find it morally objectionable?
Depends on the artist. I like being in the moment, not knowing what’s gonna happen in the next bar or at the ending. It’s exciting to me to see if I can make those high notes.

Would not being able to make them mean it’s time to hang it up?
Well, what’s happening right now, I’m on the verge. But I’m getting stronger, so maybe I don’t have to hang it up yet. I look fantastic, but I’m a hundred years old, right? I don’t know how that happened, by the way — I don’t get Botox or anything.

You’ve had no work done?
No! I must say: There was one time when we lived in L.A. that I did do a facelift. But after that it’s just been a little here, a little there.

Wait, I asked you —
“Work” is like a facelift, and I only had one of those. The rest of it — I see something falling down, sure, I’ll do that. I’m as vain as anybody else. One of my old friends, his mother said, “I always knew he was talented, but when did he get so handsome?”

Rapper Rob Base, one-half of the hip-hop duo Rob Base & DJ E-Z Rock, died on Friday after a battle with cancer. He was 59.

“Rob’s music, energy, and legacy helped shape a generation and brought joy to millions around the world. Beyond the stage, he was a loving father, family man, friend and creative force whose impact will never be forgotten,” a statement on Base’s Instagram read.

The statement also expressed gratitude to Base, who was surrounded by family as he died, for “the music, the memories and the moments that became the soundtrack to our lives.”

Rob Base was born Robert Ginyard in May 1967. He was best known for his collaborations with DJ E-Z Rock. The two were lifelong friends, meeting in fifth grade while living in Harlem. Their song “It Takes Two” was released in 1988 by Profile Records. The song became a breakout single for the duo and peaked at No. 3 on the Billboard U.S. dance club songs chart, with The Times calling “It Takes Two” “the rage of the rap underground.”

The duo followed up the hit with the release of the singles “Joy and Pain” and “Get On the Dance Floor.” Base released his solo album, “The Incredible Base,” in 1989.

Base was an ardent supporter of the rap genre, explaining to The Times in 1989 the nuance of the music.

“People outside rap don’t understand it. There’s all sorts of subtle things — key things — happening over and above the beat in rap songs. The fans want new stuff all the time,” Base said.

Base had two children, De’Jené Ginyard and Robert Ginyard Jr. His wife, April, died in 2013.

Few would contend that Lerner and Loewe’s “Brigadoon” and Rodgers and Hammerstein’s “Flower Drum Song” represent the best work of these legendary duos.

Unlike Lerner and Loewe’s eternally popular “My Fair Lady,” “Brigadoon” hasn’t had a Broadway revival since 1980. “Flower Drum Song,” relegated to the shadows of Rodgers and Hammerstein’s “Oklahoma!” and “South Pacific,” didn’t last long when it received its first and only Broadway revival in 2002.

I assumed nostalgia was fueling the desire to give these Golden Age musicals a makeover. But when I sat in the audience for these shows and fell immediately under the spell of their scores, I had a different answer.

The music makes a case for why “Brigadoon,” now in a soaring revival at Pasadena Playhouse, and “Flower Drum Song,” making a less assured reemergence at the Aratani Theatre in Little Tokyo, should live again. I was particularly skeptical of “Brigadoon,” with its airy-fairy book and heavy dose of romantic hokum, but the Broadway-level production at Pasadena Playhouse may be the best local staging of a musical I’ve seen in my 20 years covering the scene for The Times.

Kylie Victoria Edwards and Daniel Yearwood in “Brigadoon” at Pasadena Playhouse.

(Jeff Lorch)

I knew both musicals principally from their film adaptations. I missed David Henry Hwang‘s original rewrite of “Flower Drum Song,” which was a storied success at the Mark Taper Forum in 2001 but fared less favorably when it moved to New York the following year. I suppose I first saw “Brigadoon” as a kid at my grandmother’s house, amused at the way she goofily sang along. When I recently watched both movies again, it was like falling into a musical comedy time warp.

The enduring love for these Broadway shows isn’t just about the standards they have bequeathed to the American songbook. It’s also about the yearning for a more optimistic era of musical storytelling, when goodness could be counted on to prevail and a happy ending might be delayed but only rarely denied.

“Brigadoon,” a romantic fantasy about two Americans who stumble upon a mystical Scottish village that magically comes to life for a single day once every 100 years, might seem to be irredeemably old-fashioned. The show, which premiered on Broadway in 1947, was Lerner and Loewe’s first hit after a string of flops and fizzles. Without the success of “Brigadoon,” “My Fair Lady,” “Camelot” and the movie musical “Gigi” might never have happened.

Betsy Morgan and Max von Essen in “Brigadoon” at Pasadena Playhouse.

(Jeff Lorch)

But how do you solve a problem like Alan Jay Lerner’s book, written for a sensibility markedly more wholesome than our own? Enter playwright Alexandra Silber, whose fresh adaptation works for the most part remarkably well. There are a few lumpy patches, moments when the revision over-explains itself or belabors a point. But the way Tommy Albright (Max Von Essen) and Jeff Douglas (Happy Anderson), the accidental American intruders, have been modernized is a fizzy delight.

Imagine if Vincente Minnelli’s screen version of “Brigadoon,” starring Gene Kelly and Van Johnson, was remade with Paul Rudd and John Goodman, and you’ll have some idea of the comic chemistry here. But I should preface this thought exercise by first extolling the musical theater prowess of Von Essen, who received a Tony nomination for his work in “An American in Paris” and has a voice that could make the angels swoon. Less is required of Anderson’s jaded, booze-sodden Jeff, but this smart-alecky sidekick is re-imagined with crackling comic vitality.

The production, directed and choreographed by Katie Spelman, saves its most assertive interventions for its female characters. Fiona MacLaren (Betsy Morgan), the unmarried heroine who catches Tommy’s amorous eye, still falls heedlessly in love but not before correcting some of her American suitor’s chauvinistic assumptions. Morgan might overdo Fiona’s fiery streak when she sings “Waitin’ For My Dearie,” but the driving impulse is to bring the musical’s out-of-time female characters into the 21st century.

“Brigadoon” ensemble at Pasadena Playhouse.

(Jeff Lorch)

Meg Brockie (Donna Vivino), no longer the town floozie single-mindedly out to bed Jeff, is now the proprietor of Brockie’s Pub and the keeper of Brigadoon’s traditional language and culture. She’s still a sensual wrecking ball, but she’s too formidable to be treated as comic relief.

Silber has transformed Mr. Lundie, Brigadoon’s schoolmaster and moral guide, into Widow Lundie. The casting of the great Tyne Daly in the role is reason enough to make the gender switch, but it’s all part of a recalibration of the values of this theatrical world.

The dynamism of the singing and dancing smooths out some of the adaptation’s rough edges. Spelman puts her own stamp on Agnes DeMille’s original choreography, which was as integral to the storytelling as the book, lyrics and music.

When Charlie (a phenomenal Daniel Yearwood), a genial groom readying himself for the big wedding day, performs with his buddies “I’ll Go Home With Bonnie Jean,” Pasadena Playhouse erupts in a stomping frenzy of Celtic ecstasy. And Yearwood’s gorgeous rendition of “Come to Me, Bend to Me” is so seductive, it’s no wonder that Jean (Kylie Victoria Edwards), Fiona’s sister, has chosen to marry him.

“Brigadoon” ensemble at Pasadena Playhouse.

(Jeff Lorch)

All, however, is not idyllic in time-forgotten Brigadoon. Casting a pall over the nuptials, Harry Beaton (Spencer Davis Milford), hopelessly in love with Jean, threatens to destroy Brigadoon’s miracle by leaving the town for good.

Silber deepens Harry’s character and gives his story more emotional weight. (Milford manages to be both convincingly menacing and pitiably heartbroken.) The movie tweaked Harry’s fatal ending, but the adaptation does something even more striking with his desperation. The change is absorbed naturally by the musical, even if the funeral dance that Maggie (Jessica Lee Keller) elaborately performs might be more moving on a reduced scale.

The adaptation doesn’t always get the dramatic proportions right. When Jeff bares his soul to Tommy after the two are back on barstools in New York, the revelation that he is a heartsick widower complicates our understanding of a character originally conceived as a cynical bachelor. But Silber tries to extract too much sympathy from the exchange and stops the action when it should be moving rapidly toward its big finish.

Marc Oka, foreground, and Esther Lee, from left, Gemma Pedersen, Ai Toyoshima, Sally Hong, Hillary Tang and Emma Park in Rodgers and Hammerstein’s “Flower Drum Song,” produced by East West Players and the Japanese American Cultural and Community Center.

(Mike Palma)

But nothing can derail the success of this extraordinary production, the high watermark so far of Pasadena Playhouse producing artistic director Danny Feldman’s ongoing reexamination of the American musical canon. Jason Sherwood’s ravishing scenic design, full of eye-catching texture and lush density, makes it impossible not to dream along with the characters. Even the stage curtain, graced with Brigadoon’s floral insignia, is a work of art.

A 22-piece orchestra, under the music supervision of Darryl Archibald, draws out the all the sublime color of Frederick Loewe’s music. Most spectacularly, the blend of Von Essen’s lyric baritone and Morgan’s assertive soprano gives eternal life to Tommy and Fiona’s numbers. Hearing “The Heather on the Hill,” “Almost Like Being in Love” and “From This Day On” in the majestic intimacy of Pasadena Playhouse is a memory that will last at least a lifetime.

It’s a bit harder to judge this update of “Flower Drum Song,” which is Hwang’s second crack at revising the book, originally written by Oscar Hammerstein II and Joseph Fields. A co-production between East West Players and the Japanese American Cultural and Community Center, the revival doesn’t have the resources of Pasadena Playhouse’s “Brigadoon” and likely doesn’t have the same goals.

Ai Toyoshima, from left, Brian Shimasaki Liebson, Grace Yoo and Scott Keiji Takeda in Rodgers and Hammerstein’s “Flower Drum Song,” produced by East West Players and the Japanese American Cultural and Community Center.

(Mike Palma)

The musical, which premiered on Broadway in 1958, was groundbreaking for the way it provided a showcase for Asian American performers. Henry Koster’s 1961 studio film adaptation followed suit with an even greater reach. The intention was to create musical theater entertainment built around generational conflict — a longstanding device of romantic comedy. But here the clash involves immigrants in San Francisco trying to reconcile traditional Chinese culture and modern American life.

Stereotypes, however, prevailed, leaving a community at once grateful for representation and uncomfortable with the reinforcement of old tropes. Hwang (author of the Tony Award-winning “M. Butterfly”) set out to re-imagine the characters from the perspective of a contemporary Asian American dramatist nearly 25 years ago. But times continue to change along with cultural sensitivities, and he wanted to revisit his work for East West Players’ 60th anniversary season.

Directed by EWP artistic director Lily Tung Crystal, who is of Chinese heritage, the production is on a quest for a deeper authenticity. This mission is to provide a more genuine reflection of Asian American experience — community members speaking directly to fellow community members.

Grace Yoo, left, and Scott Keiji Takeda in Rodgers and Hammerstein’s “Flower Drum Song,” produced by East West Players and the Japanese American Cultural and Community Center.

(Mike Palma)

The production is most effective when the actors are singing, especially Grace Yoo, who plays Mei-Li and had me entranced the moment she started singing “A Hundred Million Miracles.” Don’t let the traditional flower drum she totes around fool you. She’s no longer the quietly obedient daughter of authority. Having fled communism, she has arrived in the U.S. without papers and (unlike the original) her father, and isn’t too keen on anyone dictating to her what she can and cannot do.

Scott Keiji Takeda, who plays Ta, Mei-Li’s reluctant inamorato, has a sumptuous voice that captures the hues of Richard Rodgers’ music. But unfortunately his wooden characterization raises questions about what exactly Mei-Li sees in him.

There’s a tension between the update’s good intentions and the tendency of musical comedy to traffic in amusing caricatures. (Exaggeration and simplification are par for the course.) In trying to root out offensive Asian American stereotypes, Hwang imports swishing stereotypes for laughs in his creation of a new character, Harvard (Kenton Chen), who works at the theater owned by Ta’s father and seems a throwback to the campy, wisecracking gay characters that were a staple of 1980s big-budget movie comedies. Harvard may get a more empowering storyline than his florist-hairdresser-retail-clerk predecessors, but the humor is redolent of the same punishing cliches.

Krista Marie Yu in Rodgers and Hammerstein’s “Flower Drum Song,” produced by East West Players and the Japanese American Cultural and Community Center.

(Mike Palma)

Emily Kuroda as take-charge producer Madame Liang and Marc Oka as Wang, Ta’s old-school father, throw themselves into the revival with full farcical force. Crystal’s fluid staging, full of agile and vibrant design choices, smoothly maneuvers the action. But earnestness is the enemy of hilarity. Hwang can be very witty, but how can the production let itself go when it’s so often being called upon to make an important point?

Linda Low (Krista Marie Yu), no longer Mei-Li’s rival for Ta’s hand in marriage, is now her ally. When she sings a middling version of “I Enjoy Being a Girl,” the joke isn’t on her but a society that leaves women so few options. The problem is that for Hwang to rebuild Mei-Li and Linda into characters of credible modern-day complexity, he would have to start from scratch, not just retooling the book but commissioning a new score to flesh out his more complicated vision. In other words, leaving Rodgers and Hammerstein’s musical behind.

“Brigadoon” manages to transcend time, but this take on “Flower Drum Song” falters between eras.

For Arteta, building a legacy of sustained success is the ambition. Winning once is impressive, but repeating it is the mark of a truly great team.

With the Spaniard’s contract up at the end of the next season, the immediate priority for all parties is to agree an extension.

That process is under way and will accelerate after the Champions League final, with a will from all parties to have the new contract tied up before next season.

The expectation is Arteta will sign a new contract that will earn him a sharp increase on his current financial package of a basic £10m per season plus a further £5m for Champions League qualification.

There has been some internal talk, too, about Berta possibly engaging in conversations to extend his contract having been linked with potential moves to Saudi Arabia.

Arsenal are a club now moulded in Arteta’s image, with his job title changing from head coach to manager in September 2020.

The manager sits on the football leadership team with Kroenke, Garlick, James King and Berta. It is that five-man group that makes decisions on the direction of football at the club.

Arteta’s coaching staff are like him – passionate and intense, with even the analysts shouting from the stands.

And the manager was joined last summer by long-term friend and former team-mate Gabriel Heinze, who is an assistant coach. The Argentine has had a big impact this season, and has introduced a motivational huddle for defenders before each game.

Arteta is very hands-on and knows when to make an impact on his players with a strong telling-off and when he should coach.

But he has become good at delegating, too, with all of the backroom team delivering sessions so the squad don’t get tired of hearing one voice.

And now Arteta has guided this group to silverware, the focus can shift to the next campaign.

Arsenal are keen to recruit a midfielder, left-winger and striker, but we should expect a sharper focus on outgoings after last year’s £250m splurge.

The only senior player to depart last summer was Albert Lokonga.

This time, Arsenal have already agreed to sell defender Jakub Kiwior to Porto for an initial £14.7m. It is understood Christian Norgaard, who arrived in a deal worth up to £15m, will be allowed to leave, and the club are expected to listen to offers for Ben White, Gabriel Martinelli, Gabriel Jesus and Fabio Vieira.

Arsenal are also giving consideration to a significant homegrown sale that would represent ‘pure profit’ on their balance sheet.

There have been internal discussions about selling Nwaneri, who is on loan at Marseille, or Lewis-Skelly though the latter’s emergence as a genuine central-midfield option for Arteta in recent weeks has been noted.

There is also a desire to keep the wage bill manageable. That is easier said than done, though, with defender Jurrien Timber and midfielder Declan Rice both in line for new deals in the not-too-distant future and Gabriel Magalhaes, William Saliba, Lewis-Skelly, Saka and Nwaneri having recently renewed their contracts.

With lucrative bonuses to be paid to players in light of this season’s success – not to mention the expectation Arteta’s salary will move closer to the £20m mark – keeping a rein on the club’s overheads will not be easy.

There is a growing sense behind the scenes the club must start planning a squad rebuild given a number of key players are in their late 20s.

This summer, they have a keen interest in Leicester teenager Jeremy Monga, and with Dowman, Marli Salmon, Edwin and Holger Quintero and Lewis-Skelly all in their teens, there is hope the rebuild may not prompt a noticeable drop in levels.