voice

NEW YORK — In a strongly worded decision this week, a federal judge ordered that the Voice of America — an international broadcaster with the mission to provide news for countries around the world that was largely shut down for the last year by the Trump administration — come roaring back to life.

Whether or not that actually happens is uncertain.

The government filed notice Thursday to appeal U.S. District Judge Royce C. Lamberth’s order two days earlier to put hundreds of VOA employees who have been on paid leave the last year back to work. Lamberth had ruled on March 7 that Kari Lake, President Trump’s choice to oversee the bureaucratic parent U.S. Agency for Global Media, didn’t have the authority to reduce VOA to a skeleton.

The Voice of America was established as a news source in World War II, beaming reports to many countries that had no tradition of a free press. Before Trump took office again last year, Voice of America was operating in 49 different languages, heard by an estimated 362 million people.

Trump’s team contended that government-run news sources, which also include Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty, were an example of bloated government and that it wanted news reporting more favorable to the current administration. With a greatly reduced staff, VOA currently operates in Iran, Afghanistan, China, North Korea and in countries with a large population of Kurds.

Lamberth, in his decision, said Lake had “repeatedly thumbed her nose” at laws mandating VOA’s operation.

Time to turn the page at VOA?

VOA director Michael Abramowitz said legislators in both parties understand the need for a strong operation and have set aside enough funding for the job to be done. “It is time for all parties to come together and work to rebuild and strengthen the agency,” he said.

Don’t expect that to happen soon. “President Trump was elected to eliminate waste, fraud and abuse across the administration, including the Voice of America — and efforts to improve efficiency at USAGM have been a tremendous success,” said White House spokeswoman Anna Kelly. “This will not be the final say on the matter.”

Patsy Widakuswara, VOA’s White House bureau chief and a plaintiff in the lawsuit to bring it back, said that “restoring the physical infrastructure is going to take a lot of money and some time, but it can be done. What is more difficult is recovering from the trauma that our newsroom has gone through.”

It’s an open question whether the administration wants a real news organization or a mouthpiece, said David Ensor, a former Voice of America director between 2010 and 2014. “We don’t know — maybe no one does at the moment — what the future holds,” he said.

The administration’s efforts over the last year to bolster friendly outlets and fight coverage that displeases Trump offer a clue, even though Congress has required that Voice of America be an objective and unbiased news source. This week it was announced that Christopher Wallace, an executive at the far-right network Newsmax who had previously spent 15 years at Fox News Channel, will be the new deputy director at VOA. Abramowitz didn’t know he was getting a new deputy until it was announced.

Widakuswara wouldn’t comment on what Wallace’s appointment might mean. “I’m not going to pass judgment before seeing his work,” she said.

While Lamberth ordered more than a thousand employees on leave to go back to work, it’s not clear how many of them moved on to other jobs or retired in the last year. The judge also said he did not have the authority to bring back hundreds of independent contractors who were terminated.

One employee who left is Steve Herman, a former White House bureau chief and national correspondent at VOA and now executive director of the Jordan Center for Journalism Advocacy and Innovation at the University of Mississippi. Despite the court decisions, he questions whether the Trump administration would oversee a return to what the organization used to be.

“I’m a bit of a pessimist,” Herman said. “I think it’s going to be very difficult.”

An administration loath to admit defeat

Besides fighting to shut it down, Trump is loath to admit defeat. The White House recently nominated Sarah Rogers, the undersecretary of State for public diplomacy, to run the U.S. Agency for Global Media, putting it more firmly within the administration’s control. Her nomination requires Senate approval.

“Is Marco Rubio’s State Department going to allow objective journalism in 49 languages?” Herman asked. “I don’t think so. I would want that to happen, but that’s a fairy tale.”

In the budget bill passed in February, Congress set aside $200 million for Voice of America’s operation. While that represents about a 25% cut in the agency’s previous appropriation, it sent a bipartisan message of support, said Kate Neeper, VOA’s director of strategy and performance evaluation. Besides being a plaintiff with Widakuswara in the lawsuit to restore the agency, she has helped some of her colleagues deal with some of their own problems over the past year, including immigration issues.

“There is a lot of enthusiasm for going back to work,” she said. “People are eager to show up on Monday.”

The hunger for information from Voice of America in Iran when he was director was a clear example of what the organization meant, Ensor said. Surveys showed that between a quarter and a third of Iran’s households tuned in to VOA once a week, primarily on satellite television. Occasionally the government would crack down and confiscate satellite dishes, but Iranians could usually quickly find replacements, he said.

“I believe in Voice of America as a news organization and as a voice of America,” Ensor said. “It was important, and it can be again.”

Bauder writes for the Associated Press.

Kountry Wayne likens the dream he’s currently living to an old sitcom that has made the world laugh for decades. “I feel like I’m the new version of ‘Beverly Hillbillies,’” he says. “I’m in Hollywood — I’m here, but I’m still not here, so I just think that’s the most country thing about me.” To his point, the comedian born DeWayne Colley has definitely hit the big time after getting his start in comedy in 2014 (trying his skills as a rapper before that) by working on his stage craft and cooking up Southern-fried viral skits inspired by his small-town Georgia roots. Fast-forward 12 years and his growing empire includes independent movies (including his upcoming film “That’s Her,” which he financed himself), a flood of both dramatic and comedy-driven short skits featuring a wide range of actors, a debut Netflix special (2023’s “A Woman’s Prayer”) and now his latest hour, “Nostalgia,” premiering Monday on Prime Video.

By spending a new hour looking back at a bygone period, specifically the ’90s, when Wayne grew up, the 38-year-old comedian is bringing a fresh approach to the Def Comedy Jam era that he hopes resonates with comedy fans of his generation and younger fans who found him through TikTok and had no idea he even did stand-up. As someone whose comedy career has skyrocketed over the last several years, Wayne’s sights continue to be set toward future opportunities to bring relatable humor to the masses who have that country cousin who walks, talks and jokes just like him.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

What does the word “Nostalgia” mean to you?

A good feeling. It means bringing people together through laughter like the good old shows back in the day — “Saved by the Bell,” “Family Matters.” It just is that feeling, whatever that feeling was that we couldn’t put in a jar, I wanted to bring that in my special to just make everybody laugh and forget about the stuff that’s always gonna be here — bills and drama and violence. Just take a break, have fun, and take the breaks we used to take when we used to watch those TV shows in the ’90s.

By the shows you mentioned, I know we’re about the same age. We grew up with the same TV sitcoms and yet still valued being outside, which feels like a foreign concept today.

Yeah, it’s that feeling of all those movies. Man, “Clueless,” when I see that movie, to this day, I still got crushes on all [those girls]. I always wanted to go to the high school in “Saved by the Bell.” So I just want to give that feeling that I felt, because a lot of the new generation didn’t get to experience those shows and those feelings. So even for the younger generation, I want them to be able to experience that through my special.

What was small–town life in Millen, Ga., like for you as a funny kid growing up?

I was so poor, it wasn’t nothing really funny. The town was so small — one [stop]light, the elementary school, high school, all in one school. You had to joke your way to make you think that you weren’t there. You kind of had to escape through jokes. So I just made people laugh wherever I was. No matter how serious the situation is, I can’t do anything about it. I might as well laugh. I remember the lights went off one time when we were eating cereal. I was like, “Mama, hey, come on. I can’t see — I can’t see the milk, the cereal, the bowl. And you’re telling me I need to do my work. I think you need to go to work.” In a small town, you had to laugh because there was nothing else, there was no opportunity.

“In a small town, you had to laugh because there was nothing else, there was no opportunity,” Kountry Wayne said about growing up in Millen, Ga.

(Christina House / Los Angeles Times)

You gravitated to music early in life, becoming a rapper before you did stand-up. What was it about performing that helped you forget about the troubles that were going on around you?

I always felt like I was onstage already, so by the time I actually got onstage, the lights never did nothing to me, or the fame and all of that. Because I’m just so thankful to be able to do stand-up and have people come and watch me do it. I never had time to really feel the fame and all of that. So I just think everything I went through in that small town helped me. Everything is a small town to me. Hollywood is still a small town to me, because whoever I know, that’s who I know; whoever I don’t know, I just don’t know ’em. Because in that small town, you were so far away from the big cities like Atlanta, New York, L.A. I was three hours from Atlanta [growing up], so I think that really helped me to get where I’m at today to do comedy the way I do it.

Just keep it “kountry.”

Yeah, keep it kountry. Man, oh, that’s the next [title of a new special].

What do you feel like is the most country aspect of you as someone who’s now a popular comedian?

My family — all my family around me. You come to my house. It’s an uncle, daddy, a sister, brother, kids everywhere. I feel like I’m the new version of “Beverly Hillbillies.” I’m in Hollywood, I’m here, but I’m still not here, so I just think that’s the most country thing about me. If you meet my family, you understand. They don’t say shrimp, we say “scrimps” or “o’er dere” [instead of] “over there.” With my accent, imagine it’s 10 times worse with my family. So I think I remind people that everybody in L.A., New York got a cousin somewhere in Mississippi, because a lot of us are from the South anyway. So I just think I remind people of simple, country people.

With the Southern flavor you bring to comedy, I kind of liken it to hip-hop, when it comes to the regional styles of different comics. How does that play into creating a special that brings the South to the world?

It’s crazy that you say that [you] think about hip-hop when I do that. I’m gonna be me so much that people who don’t know me are gonna be interested in me, because it’s different than everybody else. I feel like I’m a really country person with that Southern drawl or the way I talk. I talk like them uncles and all of that. So I just feel like it’s gonna make everybody feel at home. I didn’t try to switch it up. I’m gonna be me because I feel like, deep down, everybody knows [someone like] me somewhere. They’re gonna relate to me in some kind of way, and it feels safe because I’m being me. I’m not out there being fake, this how I talk. I’m a country boy. I’m not from the big city, and this is what I’m giving the world. And those who love it, I appreciate it. Those who don’t love it, I still love you.

“I think I remind people that everybody in L.A., New York got a cousin somewhere in Mississippi, because a lot of us are from the South anyway,” said Kountry Wayne.

(Christina House / Los Angeles Times)

Being a dad to 10 kids is something that’s been a part of your storyline in comedy and that people have gravitated to. How does your ability to survive and make it all work play into your comedy?

Child support would really make you very, very funny. It actually plays a lot into it, because if it wasn’t for those kids, I don’t think I’d stand out as much as I am. Because we’ve heard every joke, everybody’s been funny. Come on, man, we’ve seen Jim Carrey, we’ve seen Eddie Murphy, we’ve seen Dave Chappelle. Funny has already been done. So I think what helps me stand out is my story with my kids and my family. It’s funny, but it’s still OK. This is a different perspective than we see with all those kids, the mothers, you know, but he’s not with the mothers, but he’s there with the kids, and you take care of the mothers. It’s so much of a unique situation that I think that’s what makes it stand out.

Who’s your funniest kid?

[My daughter] Honest. Honest is the funniest person in my life. Her name’s Honest, but she lies — she makes up all these stories about what happened at school. [She’ll say,] “I got arrested today.” I’ll be like, “Honest, you did get arrested?” [She’ll say,] “Well, they was about to arrest me, but they didn’t.” She reminds me of me, but she is just a little bit more witty because she don’t got no trauma like I did. I come from poverty. She’s rich. She goes to this Christian school full of white people, and she thinks she’s a white baby now. The white girls have this clip they put on their hair. She bought her clip. Now her hair not floating like theirs. Her hair is definitely stiff. I’m like, “Honest, you don’t need that clip!” She’s in dancing. She don’t go to practice. When she goes to the dance recitals, it’s clear that she can’t dance and we always ask her, “Do you know the dance?” Every time she gets there, she says, “Yeah,” but she gets there and she’s always watching the other kids. She was the only one [who’s] off.

She is so funny. I put her in the skits. She says the wittiest things. She asked me one day — I got a lot of kids — and she said, “Daddy, which one of your kids you love the most?” She said, “Do you love all your kids?” I said, “Yeah, I love all of y’all.” She said, “Well, come here. Let me talk to you right quick.” She took me to a picture I had in my man cave, “She said, ‘Well, why all of us [not in the picture]?’”… She’s my comedian.

Speaking of the skit-producing pipeline/network you‘ve developed over the last several years, how has that been instrumental to your comedy career, and also your career as sort of a producer in developing content?

I think that content helped me more [with] being known as a producer and a filmmaker and an actor. So I think it helped my acting career, the first part of my life, and all the skits helped my comedy because it was just me being funny, but the skits I put out now help people look at me more as a businessman, an entrepreneur and an actor. And it’s crazy, some people now even know me from the skits. And when they come to the [stand-up] show, they’re going to be shocked. A lot of my fans who met me when I started writing the storylines, when they see this [“Nostalgia”] special they’re like, “He never showed us that!” Because that person I am onstage, I don’t be that on social media anymore, so you have to go watch me on stand-up to give that energy that I give. But my Day 1 fans met that guy. These fans I’ve made over the last four or five years were probably equivalent to my Day 1 fans. It’s a large fan base but they don’t even know that I could [do] stand-up like that.

Comedian Kountry Wayne holds up his gold neck chain with his mom’s face on it.

(Christina House / Los Angeles Times)

That’s nostalgic in a way. I’m thinking of a TV dad like Bob Saget, who was so different when you saw him do stand-up. You’re like, “Wow, Danny Tanner is filthy!” That’s great that you can kind of separate the two personas. What do you feel is next for you in comedy?

To bring that to the big screen, for sure. All my talents and gifts that I worked on, in a way, [have] gotten better. I put the work in, I’m ready to show it on the screen. I think it’s happening organically, like the special [on] Amazon, that’s organic. I had one on Netflix now they wanted me to do one at Amazon, and I just want to show the world what I’ve been working on, and the time, energy I put into a broader scale … So I’m just excited, and I feel like a kid again, because I got so many responsibilities and kids I take care of. It took a while for me to get back to this point where I could just be an artist. Because I wanted to be an artist, but then I had a lot of kids, so I had to be a provider. But now I’m in a position where all that is handled, so I feel like a kid again when it comes to the art.

MORGAN Freeman will become the voice of the London Underground this week.  

The Hollywood legend’s famous tones will ring out at Baker Street tube today and tomorrow.

The event is part of his big money advertising deal with Warburtons bread.

Instead of the announcer’s usual warning to “mind the gap”, Freeman will urge them to “mind the bap”.  

The bakery firm’s CEO, Jonathan Warburton said: “We wanted to share a bit of that fun with Londoners on their daily commute and hopefully raise a few smiles.  

“As you can probably tell, we also love a good bread pun, so Baker Street was a match made in heaven, and hearing a voice as legendary as Morgan Freeman’s booming to travellers on the platform is certainly a recipe for a memorable day.” 

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Freeman joined the likes of Robert De Niro, Olivia Colman and George Clooney when he signed up as the face of Warburtons last month.  

He admitted at the time he had never tried a crumpet before.  

New research by Warburtons reveals that 71 per cent of Brits consider the holey bun a cornerstone of UK culture.  

The firm will also transform signage at Baker Street tube into giant crumpets to celebrate Freeman’s turn on the tannoy. 

“The Voice of Hind Rajab,” a heartbreaking retelling of the efforts to save a 6-year-old Palestinian girl amid Israel’s attacks on Gaza, will be honored at the 98th Academy Awards on Sunday — without one of its star players.

Actor Motaz Malhees, who stars in the film as Red Crescent dispatcher Omar, confirmed Thursday that he will be absent from the festivities because of President Trump’s travel ban against Palestinians. “I had the honor of playing one of the lead roles in a story the world needed to hear,” Malhees said on Instagram, “but I will not be there.”

“I am not allowed to enter the United States because of my Palestinian citizenship,” he added.

Trump announced his widened travel ban in December, noting his decision to “fully restrict and limit the entry of individuals using travel documents issued or endorsed by the Palestinian Authority,” along with people from countries including South Sudan and Syria. The president issued the order months after he presented his 20-point peace plan for the Gaza strip — efforts that some Palestinians feel have been now brushed aside amid U.S. and Israeli attacks against Iran.

Malhees said in his post that the restriction “hurts” but offered his followers and supporters a kernel of truth: “You can block a passport. You cannot block a voice.”

“The Voice of Hind Rajab,” directed by Tunisian filmmaker Kaouther Ben Hania, is nominated in the international feature category. The film is set in a Red Crescent call center in Ramallah and centers the 70-minute phone recording of Hind’s pleas for help as she waits with her family in a trapped car for emergency responders. She and two medics dispatched to her location were killed in February 2024 in Israeli attacks in Gaza.

The film earned the grand jury prize at the Venice Film Festival.

Though unable to celebrate the film at the Oscars on Sunday, Malhees said he stands “with pride and dignity” and that his “spirit will be with the Voice of Hind Rajab that night.”

“Our story is bigger than any barrier, and it will be heard,” he said.

A representative for the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences did not immediately respond to a request for comment.

As Malhees publicized his absence, fellow stars including Oscar winner Riz Ahmed and Emmy-nominated “Succession” star Arian Moayed rallied in support.

“Your work in the film and the film itself are both incredible and will live on forever,” Ahmed commented.

“You are brilliant, azizam,” Moayed replied to Malhees. “And this is heartbreaking and unjust.”

Four hours before Sienna Spiro is due to launch her first U.S. headlining tour, the 20-year-old singer and songwriter from London sits upstairs in the Troubadour’s empty balcony, peering down as several crew members wheel a grand piano onstage.

“The fact that I’m 11-and-a-half hours from home and that this room is gonna be filled with people that have never met me and that I’ve never seen before — that’s just crazy,” she says. “I’m kind of scared.”

The song that brought Spiro to West Hollywood this past Tuesday is “Die on This Hill,” a showstopping pop-soul ballad about staying in a toxic relationship — “I’ll take my pride, stand here for you,” she sings, “I’m not blind, just seeing it through” — that’s been streamed more than 300 million times on YouTube and Spotify since it came out in October. Built around tolling piano chords and Spiro’s titanic vocal, the song hit No. 9 in the U.K. and broke into the Top 20 of Billboard’s Hot 100; last month, Spiro — whose famous admirers include SZA, Mark Ronson and Alex Warren — was nominated for the Critics’ Choice prize at England’s annual BRIT Awards.

With its unabashed emotion and its throwback feel, “Die on This Hill” can be heard as the latest in a long line of melodramatic ballads by young Brits such as Amy Winehouse, Duffy, Lewis Capaldi and Olivia Dean, the last of whom was just named best new artist at the Grammys. Yet Spiro’s voice stands out: Rich and pulpy, with a crack she knows how to deploy for maximum heartbreak, it might be the most impressive instrument to come out of England since Adele emerged nearly two decades ago.

“Sienna is a true artist with the voice of a generation,” says Sam Smith, one more English singer (and former best new artist winner) with a flair for ugly-cry theatrics. Late last year, Smith, who identifies as nonbinary, invited Spiro to join them onstage in New York for a performance of Smith’s song “Lay Me Down.” Spiro, Smith recalls, “blew the room away” — one reason they brought her out again Wednesday night at San Francisco’s Castro Theatre, this time to sing “Die on This Hill” together.

Says Smith of the younger artist: “The world is at her feet.”

At the Troubadour, where she’ll follow Tuesday’s sold-out concert with an encore appearance Friday night, Spiro describes singing as a life calling. “I’ve known what I wanted to do since — honestly, since I’ve been a conscious human being,” she says. Dressed in a black-and-white-striped turtleneck, she has her legs folded beneath her on a wooden bench; her dark hair hangs loose around her face, yet to be styled into the ’60s-inspired do she’ll wear come showtime.

“I always felt a bit invisible,” she adds, whether at school with friends or at home as a middle child. “Not in a victimized way. But I always struggled with that existentialism. Music is the only thing that’s made me feel real.”

Are we to believe that one of pop’s bright new stars was once … kind of a bummer?

“In my own way, yeah,” she says with a laugh. “It’s OK. It happened. Character building.”

Spiro grew up privileged in London, one of four children of Glenn Spiro, a prominent jeweler who counts Jay-Z as a client and pal. Her dad turned her onto Frank Sinatra and Nina Simone and the Italian film “Profumo di donna” when she was little; by age 10 she’d written her first song (“Lady in the Mirror,” it was called) and played her first gig (at a pub not far from Heathrow Airport).

At 16 she enrolled at East London Arts and Music, a performing arts academy she describes as “the up-and-coming version” of London’s prestigious BRIT School, whose alumni include Adele and Winehouse. Her academic career didn’t last long, though: On her first day of classes she posted a TikTok of herself covering Finneas’ song “Break My Heart Again” that triggered a wave of interest from various record-industry types; soon she dropped out and began regularly traveling to Los Angeles to work on music.

Today Spiro says she has a “love-hate relationship” with the town where she estimates she spends half her time. “I’m very English, and I think something about English people is our honesty — you don’t really have to guess what people are saying. What was shocking to me when I came here was that people didn’t say what they meant.

“I was very, very lonely, and it was hard to make music when you feel that,” she adds. “I make sad music, but it’s hard to be a teenager and be away from your family and your friends and be in a place where you kind of have to play pretend being an adult.”

Did suffering among the two-faced liars of L.A. ever lead her to question her commitment to music?

“No. It just made me question how I was doing it. And not everyone’s a two-faced liar. There are some good ones out there.”

Was she ever at risk of becoming a two-faced liar herself?

“Oh, I’m too English for that,” she says. “If I did that, I’d get a slap.”

Sienna Spiro performs this week at the Troubadour in West Hollywood.

(Ariana Drehsler / For The Times)

Spiro started releasing singles in 2024 and quickly signed a deal with Capitol Records; last year she opened for Teddy Swims on the road and turned heads with “You Stole the Show,” a luxuriously gloomy slow jam with echoes of Adele’s “Skyfall.”

For “Die on This Hill,” which she wrote with Michael Pollack and Omer Fedi (both of whom went on to produce the song with Blake Slatkin), Spiro wanted to capture the feeling of “when you go above and beyond just to feel something reciprocated back from someone,” she says. But if the writing came quickly, the recording didn’t: Spiro jokes that she cut “900 different versions” of the song, including one she says sounded like Silk Sonic and another that sounded like Lauryn Hill.

“I was desperate for something up-tempo,” she says, given that virtually everything she’d dropped so far had been a ballad. Yet Fedi pushed her to cut the tune live with just her on vocals and Pollack on piano. They did four takes, according to the producer, one of which forms the basis of the record that eventually came out.

“Very old-school, very human,” Fedi says of the process. “Maybe I’m corny but with Sienna, less is really more. Her voice is so special, so big and upfront, that you just want to put a giant flashlight on it and let it shine.”

In early January, Spiro gave a bravura performance of “Die on This Hill” on Jimmy Fallon’s late-night show; one clip on TikTok has been viewed more than 70 million times. For that appearance, she wore a retro mini dress printed with an old photo of Johnny Carson behind his desk; for a recent performance in the BBC’s Live Lounge, she wore a different dress showing the faces of the four Beatles.

On stage at the Troubadour, her dress features images of the Chateau Marmont and the Capitol Records tower — a bit of setup, she says, for her next single, “The Visitor,” which is due March 13. Spiro has been slowly assembling her debut album for the past two years, but with headlining concerts to play, she’s reaching back for some of her oldies from 2024.

Some, not all.

“To be real with you, some of my early stuff wasn’t the most authentic,” she says as her drummer starts thwacking a snare during sound check . “I was trying to be someone else because I really wasn’t comfortable with myself.”

Can she point to an example?

“‘Back to Blonde,’” she says, referring to a vaguely Lana Del Rey-ish number about a woman who dyes her hair after killing a no-good lover. “I put it out for all the wrong reasons. It was a mistake — an inauthentic move that I regret making.”

What were the wrong reasons?

“It’s a long story, and it’s not very interesting. I didn’t do it because I loved the song — that’s what I’ll say. But at the end of the day it’s my name and I have to stand by it.”

Which is why she’s taking her time on the LP. Some artists her age don’t care much about the album format but Spiro is a true believer. Among her faves: Sinatra’s “In the Wee Small Hours,” Stevie Wonder’s “Songs in the Key of Life,” Adele’s “21” — “a perfect album,” she says — and Billie Eilish’s “Hit Me Hard and Soft.”

“I love an album where you don’t ever question why a song’s on there,” she says. “Where everything feels intentional.”

She doesn’t want to divulge too much about the work in progress. “The problem with me is I have a huge mouth and I give everything away,” she says, which — hey, great.

“No, I know it is for you,” she adds with a laugh. “But not for me, because then when I actually want to do the big reveal, I’ve got nothing because I’ve said it all.”

She will allow one detail: “It won’t be 12 ballads, I’ll tell you that.” She looks toward the ceiling, jiggling her head slightly, as though she’s doing some mental math regarding the track list.

“I mean, there’s a lot of ballads,” she says. “I just love a ballad — I can’t help it.”