Disney Channel legend Raven-Symoné says becoming a parent is a 'narcissistic' thing to do
Raven-Symoné thinks becoming a parent is a "narcissistic" thing to do.
The 39-year-old actress - who has been married to Miranda Maday since 2020 - does not have any children of her own, and during a chat with The Chi creator Lena Waithe, they wondered why anyone would opt to bring kids into the world.
Speaking on the Tea Time with Raven and Miranda podcast, Lena said: "Whenever someone says to me they want to have a baby, or they want to be a parent, I think my first question is 'Why?'
Raven said: "It's a narcissistic act."
Lena simply replied: "True."
Meanwhile, the former That's So Raven was discussing the notions of labels and communities with Lena, and insisted that leaving "toxic mentalities" behind to embrace the wider world is the only way to "learn" as a person.
She said: "When you leave that toxic mentality, you're integrating yourself into the world, and that's better for me.
"I love the fact that we are on a planet with so many types of thought processes and so many different types of cultures. We can learn from every single culture, from every single religion, and if you're just stuck in one group all the time, you are never gonna grow.
"I have gotten in trouble a lot with things that I have said, but that is ultimately what my brain wants to do. I want to travel to every single country and say 'Oh, you cook chicken better than me, I'm gonna eat your chicken too. Yay me! Y'all know who cooks that fried chicken, it's not just black people. This s*** is delicious.
"I do wanna go to Africa and see the beautiful with the red clay on their skin, I wanna go to India and see the beautiful women with yellow clay on their skin.
"There's so many ways and people to learn from, and if you just stay in that circle and condemn your people for venturing out, then that is toxic."
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Perth Now
3 days ago
- Perth Now
Disney Channel legend Raven-Symoné says becoming a parent is a 'narcissistic' thing to do
Raven-Symoné thinks becoming a parent is a "narcissistic" thing to do. The 39-year-old actress - who has been married to Miranda Maday since 2020 - does not have any children of her own, and during a chat with The Chi creator Lena Waithe, they wondered why anyone would opt to bring kids into the world. Speaking on the Tea Time with Raven and Miranda podcast, Lena said: "Whenever someone says to me they want to have a baby, or they want to be a parent, I think my first question is 'Why?' Raven said: "It's a narcissistic act." Lena simply replied: "True." Meanwhile, the former That's So Raven was discussing the notions of labels and communities with Lena, and insisted that leaving "toxic mentalities" behind to embrace the wider world is the only way to "learn" as a person. She said: "When you leave that toxic mentality, you're integrating yourself into the world, and that's better for me. "I love the fact that we are on a planet with so many types of thought processes and so many different types of cultures. We can learn from every single culture, from every single religion, and if you're just stuck in one group all the time, you are never gonna grow. "I have gotten in trouble a lot with things that I have said, but that is ultimately what my brain wants to do. I want to travel to every single country and say 'Oh, you cook chicken better than me, I'm gonna eat your chicken too. Yay me! Y'all know who cooks that fried chicken, it's not just black people. This s*** is delicious. "I do wanna go to Africa and see the beautiful with the red clay on their skin, I wanna go to India and see the beautiful women with yellow clay on their skin. "There's so many ways and people to learn from, and if you just stay in that circle and condemn your people for venturing out, then that is toxic."
The Advertiser
7 days ago
- The Advertiser
Pulp is back for More with first album in 24 years
Pulp has returned with a new album, their first in 24 years. Who could've predicted that? Not even the band, it turns out. The ambitious Britpop-and-then-some band emerged in the late-'70s in Sheffield, England, artistic outsiders with a penchant for the glam, grim, and in the case of Cocker, the gawky. Fame alluded them until the mid-'90s, and then it rushed in with Cool Britannia. Their songs varied wildly from their contemporaries, like the recently reunited Blur and soon-to-be back together Oasis. Instead, Pulp's David Bowie-informed synth-pop arrived with humour, ambiguity and intellect - songs about sex and class consciousness that manage to be groovy, glib, awkward and amorous all at once. Then, and in the decades since, Pulp has inspired devotion from loyal fans across generations. They've charmed those lucky enough to catch band members in their heyday before a kind of careerism led to a hiatus in 2002 - and those who saw them for the first time during reunion tours in 2011 and 2022. With all that reputation on the line, it's reassuring that the band has decided to give its audience More, due for release on Friday. There were a few catalysts for More. The first: "We could get along with each other still," jokes drummer Nick Banks. "It wasn't too painful." The second: The band worked a new song into their recent reunion show run - The Hymn of the North, originally written for Simon Stephens' 2019 play Light Falls - and people seemed to like it. The third and most significant: The band's bassist and core member Steve Mackey died in 2023. "It made me realise that you don't have endless amounts of time," Cocker says. "You've still got an opportunity to create things, if you want to. Are you going to give it a go?" And so, they did. Cocker assured his bandmates Banks, guitarist Mark Webber and keyboardist Candida Doyle that the recording process could be done quickly - in three weeks, lightspeed for a band that has infamously agonised over its latter records, like 1998's This Is Hardcore. The 11 tracks that make up More are a combination of new and old songs written across Pulp's career. The late Mackey has a writing credit on both the sultry, existential Grown Ups originally demoed around This Is Hardcore, and the edgy disco Got to Have Love, written around "the turn of the millennium," as Cocker explains. Maturation is a prevalent theme on More, delivered with age-appropriate insight. "I was always told at school that I had an immature attitude. I just didn't see any point in growing up, really. It seemed like all the fun was had by people when they were younger," said Cocker. "But, as I said on the back of the This Is Hardcore album, it's OK to grow up, as long as you don't grow old. And I still agree with that, I think. Growing old is losing interest in the world and deciding that you're not gonna change. You've done your bit and that's it. That doesn't interest me. "You have to retain an interest in the world and that keeps you alive," he adds. "So, you grow up. And hopefully you live better, and you treat other people better. But you don't grow old." Pulp has returned with a new album, their first in 24 years. Who could've predicted that? Not even the band, it turns out. The ambitious Britpop-and-then-some band emerged in the late-'70s in Sheffield, England, artistic outsiders with a penchant for the glam, grim, and in the case of Cocker, the gawky. Fame alluded them until the mid-'90s, and then it rushed in with Cool Britannia. Their songs varied wildly from their contemporaries, like the recently reunited Blur and soon-to-be back together Oasis. Instead, Pulp's David Bowie-informed synth-pop arrived with humour, ambiguity and intellect - songs about sex and class consciousness that manage to be groovy, glib, awkward and amorous all at once. Then, and in the decades since, Pulp has inspired devotion from loyal fans across generations. They've charmed those lucky enough to catch band members in their heyday before a kind of careerism led to a hiatus in 2002 - and those who saw them for the first time during reunion tours in 2011 and 2022. With all that reputation on the line, it's reassuring that the band has decided to give its audience More, due for release on Friday. There were a few catalysts for More. The first: "We could get along with each other still," jokes drummer Nick Banks. "It wasn't too painful." The second: The band worked a new song into their recent reunion show run - The Hymn of the North, originally written for Simon Stephens' 2019 play Light Falls - and people seemed to like it. The third and most significant: The band's bassist and core member Steve Mackey died in 2023. "It made me realise that you don't have endless amounts of time," Cocker says. "You've still got an opportunity to create things, if you want to. Are you going to give it a go?" And so, they did. Cocker assured his bandmates Banks, guitarist Mark Webber and keyboardist Candida Doyle that the recording process could be done quickly - in three weeks, lightspeed for a band that has infamously agonised over its latter records, like 1998's This Is Hardcore. The 11 tracks that make up More are a combination of new and old songs written across Pulp's career. The late Mackey has a writing credit on both the sultry, existential Grown Ups originally demoed around This Is Hardcore, and the edgy disco Got to Have Love, written around "the turn of the millennium," as Cocker explains. Maturation is a prevalent theme on More, delivered with age-appropriate insight. "I was always told at school that I had an immature attitude. I just didn't see any point in growing up, really. It seemed like all the fun was had by people when they were younger," said Cocker. "But, as I said on the back of the This Is Hardcore album, it's OK to grow up, as long as you don't grow old. And I still agree with that, I think. Growing old is losing interest in the world and deciding that you're not gonna change. You've done your bit and that's it. That doesn't interest me. "You have to retain an interest in the world and that keeps you alive," he adds. "So, you grow up. And hopefully you live better, and you treat other people better. But you don't grow old." Pulp has returned with a new album, their first in 24 years. Who could've predicted that? Not even the band, it turns out. The ambitious Britpop-and-then-some band emerged in the late-'70s in Sheffield, England, artistic outsiders with a penchant for the glam, grim, and in the case of Cocker, the gawky. Fame alluded them until the mid-'90s, and then it rushed in with Cool Britannia. Their songs varied wildly from their contemporaries, like the recently reunited Blur and soon-to-be back together Oasis. Instead, Pulp's David Bowie-informed synth-pop arrived with humour, ambiguity and intellect - songs about sex and class consciousness that manage to be groovy, glib, awkward and amorous all at once. Then, and in the decades since, Pulp has inspired devotion from loyal fans across generations. They've charmed those lucky enough to catch band members in their heyday before a kind of careerism led to a hiatus in 2002 - and those who saw them for the first time during reunion tours in 2011 and 2022. With all that reputation on the line, it's reassuring that the band has decided to give its audience More, due for release on Friday. There were a few catalysts for More. The first: "We could get along with each other still," jokes drummer Nick Banks. "It wasn't too painful." The second: The band worked a new song into their recent reunion show run - The Hymn of the North, originally written for Simon Stephens' 2019 play Light Falls - and people seemed to like it. The third and most significant: The band's bassist and core member Steve Mackey died in 2023. "It made me realise that you don't have endless amounts of time," Cocker says. "You've still got an opportunity to create things, if you want to. Are you going to give it a go?" And so, they did. Cocker assured his bandmates Banks, guitarist Mark Webber and keyboardist Candida Doyle that the recording process could be done quickly - in three weeks, lightspeed for a band that has infamously agonised over its latter records, like 1998's This Is Hardcore. The 11 tracks that make up More are a combination of new and old songs written across Pulp's career. The late Mackey has a writing credit on both the sultry, existential Grown Ups originally demoed around This Is Hardcore, and the edgy disco Got to Have Love, written around "the turn of the millennium," as Cocker explains. Maturation is a prevalent theme on More, delivered with age-appropriate insight. "I was always told at school that I had an immature attitude. I just didn't see any point in growing up, really. It seemed like all the fun was had by people when they were younger," said Cocker. "But, as I said on the back of the This Is Hardcore album, it's OK to grow up, as long as you don't grow old. And I still agree with that, I think. Growing old is losing interest in the world and deciding that you're not gonna change. You've done your bit and that's it. That doesn't interest me. "You have to retain an interest in the world and that keeps you alive," he adds. "So, you grow up. And hopefully you live better, and you treat other people better. But you don't grow old." Pulp has returned with a new album, their first in 24 years. Who could've predicted that? Not even the band, it turns out. The ambitious Britpop-and-then-some band emerged in the late-'70s in Sheffield, England, artistic outsiders with a penchant for the glam, grim, and in the case of Cocker, the gawky. Fame alluded them until the mid-'90s, and then it rushed in with Cool Britannia. Their songs varied wildly from their contemporaries, like the recently reunited Blur and soon-to-be back together Oasis. Instead, Pulp's David Bowie-informed synth-pop arrived with humour, ambiguity and intellect - songs about sex and class consciousness that manage to be groovy, glib, awkward and amorous all at once. Then, and in the decades since, Pulp has inspired devotion from loyal fans across generations. They've charmed those lucky enough to catch band members in their heyday before a kind of careerism led to a hiatus in 2002 - and those who saw them for the first time during reunion tours in 2011 and 2022. With all that reputation on the line, it's reassuring that the band has decided to give its audience More, due for release on Friday. There were a few catalysts for More. The first: "We could get along with each other still," jokes drummer Nick Banks. "It wasn't too painful." The second: The band worked a new song into their recent reunion show run - The Hymn of the North, originally written for Simon Stephens' 2019 play Light Falls - and people seemed to like it. The third and most significant: The band's bassist and core member Steve Mackey died in 2023. "It made me realise that you don't have endless amounts of time," Cocker says. "You've still got an opportunity to create things, if you want to. Are you going to give it a go?" And so, they did. Cocker assured his bandmates Banks, guitarist Mark Webber and keyboardist Candida Doyle that the recording process could be done quickly - in three weeks, lightspeed for a band that has infamously agonised over its latter records, like 1998's This Is Hardcore. The 11 tracks that make up More are a combination of new and old songs written across Pulp's career. The late Mackey has a writing credit on both the sultry, existential Grown Ups originally demoed around This Is Hardcore, and the edgy disco Got to Have Love, written around "the turn of the millennium," as Cocker explains. Maturation is a prevalent theme on More, delivered with age-appropriate insight. "I was always told at school that I had an immature attitude. I just didn't see any point in growing up, really. It seemed like all the fun was had by people when they were younger," said Cocker. "But, as I said on the back of the This Is Hardcore album, it's OK to grow up, as long as you don't grow old. And I still agree with that, I think. Growing old is losing interest in the world and deciding that you're not gonna change. You've done your bit and that's it. That doesn't interest me. "You have to retain an interest in the world and that keeps you alive," he adds. "So, you grow up. And hopefully you live better, and you treat other people better. But you don't grow old."
Sydney Morning Herald
02-06-2025
- Sydney Morning Herald
This show hasn't been seen on a Melbourne stage for 40 years. Now it's back
OPERA Samson and Delilah ★★★ Melbourne Opera, Palais Theatre, June 1 Samson and Delilah is the quintessential grand opera – large scale, spectacular (with many choruses and two ballets) and requiring superb singers. Melbourne Opera's production – and music lovers should be grateful yet again for their vision and determination – unfortunately really had only the last. The staging was deeply underplayed – deliberately so, according to the director's program notes, to emphasise psychological aspects (budget constraints might have been relevant). For me, it didn't work. The sets were far too minimalist, the lighting not even that, though Rose Chong's costumes were a highlight. The stage was divided into three, with the singers in front, the orchestra behind – which considerably reduced its impact – and the chorus above and behind them. The outstanding contribution came from the principals, Deborah Humble and Rosario La Spina, and the chorus (which is always outstanding). La Spina's huge, sweet tenor was ideal for Samson, but the biggest moments belong to the mezzo Delilah, and Humble relished them: sensitive, seductive, superb. Simon Meadows, Jeremy Kleeman and Eddie Muliaumaseali'i were splendid in the minor roles, while conductor Raymond Lawrence was sympathetic to composer and singers. The opera, which Camille Saint-Saëns (himself quite familiar with marital problems) takes from the Old Testament, tells of the Israelite leader who is seduced and betrayed by the vengeful Philistine Delilah. First performed in 1877, it was slow to bloom because of its biblical theme, but became immensely popular worldwide. Loading For the shortcomings, director Suzanne Chaundy – a leading force in so many of the company's recent triumphs, especially its series of Wagner operas – must take chief responsibility. The production was almost introverted, especially the climax where the blinded Samson pulls down the temple of the Philistine god Dagon, killing thousands. The bacchanal would scarcely have offended a women's temperance union. When Delilah came on stage brandishing Samson's shorn locks (the secret of his strength, symbolising his vow to God), they looked more like a dead possum. Yet, despite imperfections, Melbourne's first Samson and Delilah in 40 years was a real pleasure.
