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The best podcasts of 2025 in the UK so far

The best podcasts of 2025 in the UK so far

The Guardian19 hours ago

Jeremiah Crowell's CBC series transports listeners back to 2001, and the anthrax letter attacks that had much of the US gripped with panic in the wake of 9/11. If it all seems like a distant memory, Crowell's meticulous narration of the events bring the frenzy and confusion of it all right back. From the underreported fatalities to the police's painstaking investigation and the question of whether a government scientist could have been behind it, Crowell doesn't skip over any of the details in a heavily researched series notable for its lack of sensationalism.
For many of the dancers who made it into the New York City Ballet, performing with the elite company was the pinnacle of their achievements. But the reality, as is so often the case in gilded institutions, was starkly different. The NYCB has been hit with allegations of harassment and abuse over the years – even towards its hallowed founder, the late, influential choreographer George Balanchine, AKA Mr B. Stak's Nicky Anderson – herself a ballet enthusiast – delicately moves between past and present, as former dancers recount distressing memories.
Writer and activist Nova Reid hosts this sumptuous series for Audible, bringing the often untold stories of pioneering Black women to the fore. Among them, Queen Nanny of the Maroons, a Jamaican revolutionary whose life story teaches us much about the roots of the culturally diverse Caribbean nation. Closer to home, Reid crafts a loving portrait of activist Olive Morris – a member of the British arm of the Black Panthers – that doesn't shy away from her identity as a queer Black woman.
Faith's attempt to get to grips with what life's lowest moments mean for people in the public eye is a highly personal, enjoyably chaotic listen. Its knack lies in blending the poignant and hilarious: Samuel L Jackson opens up about smoking cocaine while looking after his daughter, but also accidentally teaching her as a toddler to announce 'that shit looks fucked up!' when she saw food she didn't like. Anecdotes about crying during orgasms, jokes about vaginas that smell like roses, Aisling Bea's tragic tale of striking up an unexpected friendship with an elderly neighbour during the pandemic, only for him to die – it's never less than eventful.
Scam podcasts – the kinds of stories that hinge on criminals gaining trust via calls, texts or emails, then emptying their victims' bank accounts – are nothing new. But what if we could hear from the scammers themselves? Denise Chan's series for Wondery does just that, zooming in on the horrifying story of Max, who was put to work on a brutal compound in Myanmar, where he extorted money from unwitting jobseekers.
Best known for reporting on political corruption and the burgeoning 'broligarchy' of tech moguls, Carole Cadwalladr ploughs a very different furrow in this absorbing, and terrifying, BBC series. Teaming up with 'ex-stepdaughter' Hannah Mossman Moore, Cadwalladr unpicks a chilling campaign of stalking that ruined Hannah's life … then realises there is something of a Venn diagram between Hannah's experiences and the abuse she has herself suffered as a dogged reporter.
How to follow up a Pulitzer-winning podcast about the state of incarceration in the US, and a man who spent 31 years in prison? Simple – you follow him now that he's out. The second run of this Futuro Studios/PRX pod isn't here to offer a fairytale ending, though. Rather, Julieta Martinelli and Maria Hinojosa sensitively (and at times exasperatedly) show that even though David Luis 'Suave' Gonzalez is free, the physical restrictions of his parole and the mental toll of spending three decades behind bars still dominate his existence.
Taking a sideways route into the celebrity interview podcast, What's My Age Again? has seen the likes of Sophie Ellis-Bextor and Romesh Ranganathan find out how old they actually are, thanks to a nifty test that sees how well your all-important organs and tissues are faring for someone of your age. It feels low-stakes enough for casual listening, but – like most things Ryan is involved with – that initial breeziness belies its frankness, as guests open up about topics including adoption, addiction, and – in Ranganathan's case – the health conditions he might be more susceptible to as a person of South Asian descent.
A perfect pod for the curious (read: nosy), What We Spend offers a peek into the bank accounts of others – their outgoings, sure, but also what they've been gifted by their parents, the debts they're struggling to pay off, and the often exorbitant amounts they're shelling out just to stay afloat. The Audacy series – hosted by Courtney Harrell – has also provided a vital, unvarnished look at the struggles facing Americans in 2025. Not least in its episode about Maxine – a trucker forced to eat, sleep and work in her vehicle to make ends meet – and a follow-up instalment titled America's Working Homeless.
Much like the work of probably the greatest comic writer ever to have lived, this homage is a ray of sunshine. Hosted by Alexander Armstrong, president of the PG Wodehouse Society UK, it marks 50 years since the novelist's death by inviting celeb fans such as Stephen Fry, Lynne Truss and Ben Elton to enthuse about the joy the author has brought to their lives – followed by laugh-out-loud readings of his sparkling prose. All delivered in 15 minutes, no less.

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Brian Wilson was a musical genius. Are there any left?
Brian Wilson was a musical genius. Are there any left?

The Guardian

timean hour ago

  • The Guardian

Brian Wilson was a musical genius. Are there any left?

By all accounts, Brian Wilson was a genius. His fellow greats Bob Dylan and Paul McCartney both used the word in their tributes to the creative force behind the Beach Boys, who died this week aged 82. So did John Cale, Mick Fleetwood and Elton John. And so did Wilson's bandmates, who wrote in a joint statement: 'The world mourns a genius today.' You may imagine Wilson gradually accrued such a vaunted standing. Artistic legacy is largely dependent on the longevity of mass appeal, and the fact that the Beach Boys' opus Pet Sounds remains one of the most celebrated and beloved records of all time almost 60 years since its release is proof enough of his incredible talent. Wilson's claim to genius status began with a 1966 PR campaign masterminded by the ex-Beatles publicist Derek Taylor. Fortunately, Wilson's output justified it, and after spreading like wildfire through the British music press the 'Brian Wilson is a genius' rhetoric quickly caught on, 'especially with the UK public', says Wilson's biographer, David Leaf. It has been the consensus ever since. Do we just imagine musical geniuses are anointed in retrospect because we no longer have any? It is extremely difficult to argue that any artist of the last 30 years has reached the trailblazing standard of Wilson, Dylan, the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, Joni Mitchell and David Bowie. The remaining members of those acts are all over 80 (with the sole exception of Ronnie Wood at 78); Stevie Wonder is 75, Brian Eno is 77, Ralf Hütter, the surviving founder of Kraftwerk, is 78. The most recent claimants to the musical genius title are generally considered to have been Michael Jackson and Prince, both of whom died relatively young. Soon, the very idea of a living legend will be a thing of the past. In pop music, which reveres the new, genius is synonymous with innovation. Obviously, it is no coincidence that all of our unique and innovative musical minds were of a similar generation, starting work in the 1970s – at the very latest – when all the new drum, guitar and keyboard sounds and most resonant, memorable melodies were there for the taking. Such was the virgin territory before them, the Beach Boys even had the opportunity to sonically codify California, one of the most culturally significant places on the planet. 'I guess I just wasn't made for these times,' Wilson once sang. But if he hadn't been operating in those lonely years, would he have been considered a genius at all? What is also quite clear is that musical progress didn't abruptly end half a century ago. There is still as-yet-unheard music to be made – and made it is, all the time. Generic fusions, formal variations and experimental production techniques are not infinite but they are definitely not exhausted, and some have even coalesced into era-defining movements, as 21st-century genres such as grime, trap and hyperpop prove. Some genres – including grime, which can be convincingly traced back to the British producer Wiley and his turn-of-the-millennium experiments; and hyperpop, the brainchild of the London producer AG Cook and his PC Music collective – even have specific originators. Yet they still haven't produced any bona fide musical geniuses. First, the entirely explicable part. The demise of the monoculture – due to technology's fracturing of the media and cultural landscape – means only the most aggressively mainstream and inoffensively palatable acts (Adele, Ed Sheeran, Taylor Swift) are able to command the same level of fame and musical familiarity as their 1960s counterparts. Meanwhile, invention has remained staunchly at the cultural fringes – and if it does get anywhere near the zeitgeist, the journey is leisurely. Grime took off a full decade after its creation, thanks to Skepta and Stormzy; so did hyperpop, which reached the masses last summer in the guise of Charli xcx's Brat. This is another reason why musical genius is so thin on the ground: the people who do the actual innovating rarely end up in the spotlight themselves. This seems especially so in comparison with the 1960s; it is impossible to separate personal achievement from the decade's goldrush – a manic crusade to push pop and rock to its absolute limits. The famous rivalry between Wilson and the Beatles – healthy competition for the latter, says Leaf, if not so much for the former – accelerated progress and incentivised change. The pressure is also thought to have contributed to the decline in Wilson's mental health later in the decade. But then comes the more mysterious part. What is so astonishing about Wilson is how many different groundbreaking things he did simultaneously. In the studio, 'he was inventing a new way of making popular music,' Leaf says. 'What he called modular recording – recording bits and pieces of a song and then piecing it together.' He also pioneered the idea of one person helming all elements of a recorded song: composition, arrangement, performance, mixing, production. On top of that, he did something lyrically radical. He transformed pop into an 'emotional autobiography,' says Leaf. 'He was determined to put his feelings on to the recording tape and share it with the world,' which at that time was very much not the norm. Many of pop's canonical artists were similar: Dylan didn't just single-handedly make popular music a vessel for poetry, he also infused it with an all-new attitude and emotional palette (cynicism, disgust, rebellion), while conflating his previous folk fare with rock to create an entirely new sound. Dylan's decision to go electric has become emblematic of the musical genius's requirement to shock. Even Pet Sounds, an onslaught of loveliness, disturbed the band's record label with its leaps of progress, says Leaf. Nowadays, pop music is only really controversial where it overlaps with sex and violence; it is practically impossible to sonically surprise the listening public. The prospect of the end of musical innovation is something students and lovers of guitar music have already had to make peace with – at this point, nostalgia is inherent to the genre. 'I'm aware it's impossible to make genuinely new, novel guitar music, and so I tend to lean into anachronism,' was how Owen Williams, frontman of my new favourite old-sounding band, the Tubs, once put it. Just as selling out became a respected career move, explicit derivation is now an artform in itself; in recent years Beyoncé has stayed at the forefront of pop by essentially becoming a kind of musical historian. There is one thing that does feel jarring about the slowed pace of musical progress. Technological advancement has always been woven into sonic novelty – the advent of synths (which Wilson also anticipated), for example, or sampling. Considering technology has accelerated in unimaginable, terrifying ways over the past 20 years, you'd think that might be reflected in the pop zeitgeist. Instead, we have a chart stuffed with tracks that essentially could have been made at any point in the past 50 years. Perhaps the late 20th century – and particularly the 1960s – created a sort of natural selection of music: we found the combinations of notes and rhythms that appealed most to the western human ear and that is what we have continued to rehash. Surely, then, this is a problem artificial intelligence may be able to solve. This is technology determined to get to know us more intimately than we know ourselves. What better way to continue the quest for novel pop perfection that Wilson embarked on 60 years ago? In theory, it could supplant human creativity. In actuality, AI is unlikely to wrest control of pop's soul from humans. That's because musical innovation, and even catchy melodies, have ceded importance to the branding of people. If Swift's gargantuan success is anything to go by – which it probably is – pop's future depends on the carefully honed appeal of an individual human personalities, not what they can do on a keyboard (the musical kind). Swift's approach to her public image and the music business in general is groundbreaking in its own way, even if her music isn't. We will be mourning her as a cultural figure at some point, but a musical genius? That would take some real cognitive dissonance. It seems unlikely we will do so with anyone by the end of this century; we have no currently minted visionaries, although time will tell if anyone retroactively earns the title. What is certain is that as the pop canon continues to splinter into thousands of smaller, personal rosters, we will be losing musicians who mean everything to some people, but not – like Wilson – something to almost everyone.

Inside the glamorous life of Bill Gates' daughter Phoebe… who publicly mocks her dad's tech skills
Inside the glamorous life of Bill Gates' daughter Phoebe… who publicly mocks her dad's tech skills

Daily Mail​

timean hour ago

  • Daily Mail​

Inside the glamorous life of Bill Gates' daughter Phoebe… who publicly mocks her dad's tech skills

Phoebe Gates is just like any other college grad - apart from the fact her dad is a tech billionaire, she founded an app with her best friend, and she regularly attends star-studded events wearing designer outfits. The 22-year-old Stanford University grad has lived a seemingly charmed life - growing up with unimaginable wealth as the daughter of Microsoft founder Bill Gates and ex-wife Melinda. The family grew up in a $131 million mansion in Medina, Washington, that came complete with seven bathrooms, 24 bathrooms, and six kitchens, as well as its own man-made beach, at-home movie theater, gym, and trampoline room. The property, worth an estimated $131 million, is nicknamed 'Xanadu 2.0,' a reference to the fictional estate in the movie 'Citizen Kane.' Her parents' wealth has provided a lavish lifestyle - complete with the finest education - and while older siblings Jennifer, 30, and Ryan, 25, have kept their lives more private, Phoebe hasn't shied away from the spotlight. Her Instagram regularly shows her attending glamorous events, including summits, talks and exclusive fashion events, often dressed by designer labels and dripping in expensive jewelry. But despite her Instagram-influencer persona, Phoebe - who previously interned with British Vogue - has been determined to forge her own path. 'Okay, I'm my parents' daughter, that gives me immense privilege, but it's not what I'm defined by,' she previously told WWD. The budding entrepreneur - along with former Stanford roommate Sophia Kianni - launched her own e-commerce startup app called Phia earlier in the year. The platform offers shoppers an easy way to compare the prices of new and used items across more than 40,000 selling sites. Despite her father's wealth, Phoebe raised the capital independently - first getting $100,000 from Soma Capital, then $250,000 from the Stanford social entrepreneurship grant, and finally $500,000 in angel investments, bringing the total to $850,000. Phoebe is the third child of Bill and Melinda Gates, who divorced after 27 years of marriage in 2001. Although her billionaire Microsoft co-founder-father provided her with a very comfortable childhood, she has admitted it has done more harm than good at times. Last year, Phoebe appeared on Netflix's new docuseries What's Next? The Future With Bill Gates. In the series, Bill asked his daughter if she had ever come across conspiracy theories about him - including that the COVID pandemic was a ploy to allow Bill Gates to put microchips in vaccines that would allow him to track people. 'All the time,' Phoebe responded. 'I've even had friends cut me off because of these vaccine rumors,' she said. While Bill is one of the richest people on the planet, ranked seventh in the world by Forbes, Phoebe keeps a close relationship with him. She often speaks about their bond and, despite her father's impressive background, she recently teased him about his lack of tech awareness in an Instagram post. 'Happy birthday, Dad! @thisisbillgates - my favorite person who now texts me to let me know he's going to send me an email,' she jokingly captioned a picture of herself with her dad. Bill has spoken previously about what will happen to his billions when he dies. In 2024, while speaking with fans on a Reddit Ask Me Anything, the Microsoft founder said that he thinks leaving his vast fortune to his three children would be a mistake. Instead, he plans to leave the majority to charity, including his own, The Gates Foundation. The tech mogul is shuttering the Gates Foundation by December 31, 2045, effectively ending a lifelong project to give away his multi-billion fortune. He announced earlier in the year that he plans to distribute 'virtually all' of his wealth, approximately $200 billion, within the next 20 years. The billionaire announced he will give away 99 percent of his immense fortune, leaving one percent for himself and his children. The Gates Foundation, which Gates founded in 2000 along with his ex-wife who left the organization after their divorce, pours billions of dollars every year into health, foreign aid and other public assistance programs. Gates will hold onto just one percent of his wealth - which still equals out to an estimated $1.62 billion. As for her personal life, Phoebe is currently dating Arthur Donald, the grandson of Paul McCartney, as per Nylon.

Brian Wilson was a musical genius: are there any left?
Brian Wilson was a musical genius: are there any left?

The Guardian

timean hour ago

  • The Guardian

Brian Wilson was a musical genius: are there any left?

By all accounts, Brian Wilson was a genius. Fellow greats Bob Dylan and Paul McCartney both used the word in their tributes to the creative force behind the Beach Boys, who died this week aged 82. So did John Cale, Mick Fleetwood and Elton John. And so did his bandmates, who wrote in a joint statement that 'the world mourns a genius today'. You may imagine Wilson gradually accrued such a vaunted standing. Artistic legacy is largely dependent on the longevity of mass appeal, and the fact that the Beach Boys' opus Pet Sounds remains one of the most celebrated and beloved records of all time almost 60 years since its release is proof enough of his incredible talent. Wilson's claim to genius status began with a 1966 PR campaign masterminded by ex-Beatles publicist Derek Taylor. Fortunately, Wilson's output justified it, and after spreading like wildfire through the British music press, the 'Brian Wilson is a genius' rhetoric quickly caught on 'especially with the UK public', says Wilson's biographer, David Leaf. It has been the consensus ever since. Do we just imagine musical geniuses are anointed in retrospect because we no longer have any? It is extremely difficult to argue that any artist of the last 30 years has reached the trailblazing standard of Wilson, Dylan, the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, Joni Mitchell and David Bowie. The remaining members of those acts are all over 80 (with the sole exception of Ronnie Wood at 78); Stevie Wonder is 75, Brian Eno is 77, Ralf Hütter, the surviving founder of Kraftwerk, is 78. The most recent claimants to the musical genius title are generally considered to be Michael Jackson and Prince, both of whom died relatively young. Soon, the very idea of a living legend will be a thing of the past. In pop music, which reveres the new, genius is synonymous with innovation. Obviously, it is no coincidence that all of our unique and innovative musical minds were of a similar generation, starting work in the 1970s – at the very latest – when all the new drum, guitar and keyboard sounds and most resonant, memorable melodies were there for the taking. Such was the virgin territory before them, the Beach Boys even had the opportunity to sonically codify California, one of the most culturally significant places on the planet. 'I guess I just wasn't made for these times,' Wilson once sang. But if he hadn't been operating in those lonely years, would he have even been considered a genius at all? What is also quite clear is that musical progress didn't abruptly end half a century ago. There is still as-yet-unheard music to be made – and made it is, all the time. Generic fusions, formal variations and experimental production techniques are not infinite, but they are definitely not exhausted, and some have even coalesced into era-defining movements, as 21st-century genres such as grime, trap and hyperpop prove. Adele, Ed Sheeran, Taylor Swift – inoffensively palatable Some genres – including grime, which can be convincingly traced back to the British producer Wiley and his turn-of-the-millennium experiments; and hyperpop, the brainchild of London producer AG Cook and his PC Music collective – even have specific originators. Yet they still haven't produced any bona fide musical geniuses. First: the entirely explicable part. The demise of the monoculture – due to technology's fracturing of the media and cultural landscape – means only the most aggressively mainstream and inoffensively palatable acts (Adele, Ed Sheeran, Taylor Swift) are able to command the same level of fame and musical familiarity as their 1960s counterparts. Meanwhile, invention has remained staunchly at the cultural fringes – and if it does get anywhere near the zeitgeist, the journey is leisurely. Grime took off a full decade after its creation, thanks to Skepta and Stormzy; so did hyperpop, which reached the masses last summer in the guise of Charli xcx's Brat. This is another reason why musical genius is so thin on the ground: the people who do the actual innovating rarely end up in the spotlight themselves. This seems especially slow in compared with the 1960s; it is impossible to separate personal achievement from the decade's goldrush – a manic crusade to push pop and rock to its absolute limits. The famous rivalry between Wilson and the Beatles – healthy competition for the latter, says Leaf, if not so much for the former – accelerated progress and incentivised change. The pressure is also thought to have contributed to the decline in Wilson's mental health later in the decade. But then comes the more mysterious part. What is so astonishing about Wilson is how many different groundbreaking things he did simultaneously. In the studio, 'he was inventing a new way of making popular music,' Leaf says. 'What he called modular recording – recording bits and pieces of a song and then piecing it together.' He also pioneered the idea of one person helming all elements of a recorded song: composition, arrangement, performance, mixing, production. On top of that, he did something lyrically radical. He transformed pop into an 'emotional autobiography,' says Leaf. 'He was determined to put his feelings on to the recording tape and share it with the world,' Leaf adds, which was at that time very much not the norm. Many of pop's canonical artists were similar: Dylan didn't just single-handedly make popular music a vessel for poetry, he also infused it with an all new attitude and emotional palette (cynicism, disgust, rebellion), while conflating his previous folk fare with rock to create an entirely new sound. Dylan's decision to go electric has become emblematic of the musical genius's requirement to shock. Even Pet Sounds, an onslaught of loveliness, disturbed the band's record label with its leaps of progress, says Leaf. Pop, sex and violence Nowadays pop music is only really controversial where it overlaps with sex and violence; it is practically impossible to sonically surprise the listening public. The prospect of the end of musical innovation is something students and lovers of guitar music have already had to make peace with – at this point nostalgia is inherent to the genre. 'I'm aware it's impossible to make genuinely new, novel guitar music, and so I tend to lean into anachronism,' is how Owen Williams, frontman of my new favourite old-sounding band, the Tubs, once put it. Just as selling out became a respected career move, explicit derivation is now an artform in itself; in recent years Beyoncé has stayed at the forefront of pop by essentially becoming a kind of musical historian. There is one thing that does feel jarring about the slowed pace of musical progress. Technological advancement has always been woven into sonic novelty – the advent of synths (which Wilson also anticipated), for example, or sampling. Considering technology has accelerated in unimaginable, terrifying ways over the past 20 years, you'd think that might be reflected in the pop zeitgeist. Instead, we have a chart stuffed with tracks that could have essentially been made at any point in the past 50 years. Perhaps the late 20th century – and particularly the 1960s – created a sort of natural selection of music: we found the combinations of notes and rhythms that appealed most to the western human ear and that is what we have continued to rehash. AI to the rescue? Surely, then, this is a problem artificial intelligence may be able to solve. This is technology determined to get to know us more intimately than we know ourselves – what better way to continue the quest for novel pop perfection that Wilson embarked on 60 years ago? In theory, it could supplant human creativity. In actuality, AI is unlikely to wrest control of pop's soul from humans. That's because musical innovation, and even catchy melodies, have ceded importance to the branding of people. If Swift's gargantuan success is anything to go by – which it probably is – pop's future depends on the carefully honed appeal of an individual human personalities, not what they can do on a keyboard (the musical kind). Swift's approach to her public image and the music business in general is groundbreaking in its own way, even if her music isn't. We will be mourning her as a cultural figure at some point, but a musical genius – that would take some real cognitive dissonance. It seems unlikely we will do so with anyone by the end of this century; we have no currently minted visionaries, although time will tell if anyone retroactively earns the title. What is certain is that as the pop canon continues to splinter into thousands of smaller, personal rosters, we will be losing musicians who mean everything to some people, but not – like Wilson – something to almost everyone.

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