Legendary 70s band drop massive clue they're reuniting 41 years after last live performance
The acclaimed rock stars - who were together for 16 years - haven't performed since 1975.
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New Wave band Talking Heads, best known for their hits Once in a Lifetime and Road to Nowhere could be reforming following a cryptic social media clue.
Excited music lovers have gone wild after the band's official Instagram page posted an obscure video animation.
The short footage simply features the date: "6/5/2025."
The precise date refers back to June 5, 1975, when Talking Heads played its first-ever show at the CBGB club in New York.
Fans begged: "Just get back together for some shows and make the world a brighter place!"
A second penned: "You teases!"
A third argued: "Give the people what they really want and need, and that's a tour!!!!"
The band has not played together since their last gig on February 6, 1984 in New Zealand.
In January 2024, it was reported that the band turned down tens of millions to reunite after being approached to perform at six to eight festivals, including headlining slots.
Despite receiving an alleged £62m offer, Billboard claimed the group's four members - David Byrne, Jerry Harrison, Frantz and Tina Weymouth - walked away.
70s pop legend eyes a spot at Glastonbury as he launches huge comeback with new album and doc
The band released their final album Naked in 1988 before disbanding in 1991.
Talking Heads rebranded as Shrunken Heads and toured briefly before going their separate ways.
In 2003, Rolling Stone's list of the 500 Greatest Albums of All Time included four albums by the band.
Their songs Psycho Killer, Life During Wartime and Once in a Lifetime were included in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame's 500 Songs that Shaped Rock and Roll.
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The Guardian
25 minutes ago
- The Guardian
‘I am tough' – Emma Raducanu on legacy of US Open win, stalking ordeal and why therapy won't help her
For four arduous years, so much of Emma Raducanu's life has played out in public. Every decision relating to her career has been dissected and debated. The most banal details surrounding her personal life have been transfigured into headline news. In order to find herself on and off the tennis court, Raducanu has had to learn how to tune out the noise, which at times can be deafening. Only one month ago at Wimbledon, the discourse surrounding the 22-year-old reached diabolical lows. Even though her on-court performances were strong, it was impossible to escape the speculation surrounding her personal life. In the bowels of Center Court at the Cincinnati Open, I offer my own blunt perspective: I have never cringed as much as I did while watching people trying to pry into her romantic relationships at the All England Club. 'Yeah, and Cam's questions, too,' Raducanu responds, laughing. 'That was terrible. Terrible.' She was referring to her compatriot Cameron Norrie's post-match press conference, when a reporter asked him whether he was dating Raducanu. Norrie, who was being supported in his player box that day by his long-term partner, was as baffled as he was bemused. For Raducanu, though, such brazen intrusiveness from strangers has simply become part of her everyday life. 'I know, I know,' she says, smiling. 'I guess it comes with the territory, people being so curious. I think they're more curious about this news than any tennis results and tennis news. But I just keep to myself, my private life to one side. It's always funny when people try to find something out, but I try not to read into it so much.' That curiosity is not isolated to the internet and tabloids. When Raducanu is out in London, paparazzi will find her, even when she is doing nothing more than stepping on to a 345 bus somewhere in Wandsworth. 'It's really freaky, because you don't know they're there. And then you'll see a photo of yourself the next day, and you'll be like: 'There's no way they were there,'' she says. Considering her well-documented encounters with stalkers – one was arrested and handed a five-year restraining order after stealing items from her front door in 2021 and another fixated person followed her across four different countries earlier this year – Raducanu has genuine concerns regarding her safety: 'After the Dubai incident, that was probably the worst [public attention] I've had,' she says. 'I remember straight afterwards, I found it very difficult going out. I definitely had a bit of a leftover lag effect. But I've been a lot more astute, a lot more, I'd say, safe and I have someone with me. I don't really go out on my own as much. No solo walks. Just always having someone watching my back.' Everything leads back to those three fateful weeks at the US Open in the summer of 2021, where Raducanu became the first qualifier to win a grand slam title in the open era. The spoils of victory were significant but Raducanu's rapid success yielded considerable challenges. Along with the difficult results and constant criticism, her body constantly betrayed her. In 2023, after struggling physically for a long time, she underwent surgeries on both wrists and her left ankle. While she tried to prove herself on the court, Raducanu says, people within her team would tell her she was not tough. 'I was obviously, like: 'Oh, no, I am tough enough,'' she says. 'It wasn't good to hear, because I always prided myself on being a hard worker and being tough. And I believe I am. I actually think it was more the people around me that were incorrect, and it led me to having three surgeries and double wrist surgery. I was overtraining and just covering it up, not saying I was in pain, even when I was. So it was really tough to hear. But as I've grown with experience, I kind of realised my body a bit more and trusted myself a bit more.' Mentally, things were even more challenging. As she failed to follow up her breakthrough victory with similar results, there were times when her mind twisted her US Open triumph into a negative memory, the source of her struggles. It was not until this year that she understood how to focus on her improvement and daily work, however gradual, rather than comparing every result with the 2021 US Open. Still, it remains a work in progress. 'It's [comparisons to the US Open] something that never fully leaves you,' Raducanu says. 'I think it's been four years now, I don't think it's fully gone away. Maybe in a few years, maybe when I'm older, more mature, but it's hard to put that aside completely. It's always in the back of your mind, but it's more just being aware of those thoughts and then not letting it crash your day or ruin the work that you're doing, and bringing it back to what I'm doing now, and the process.' Sign up to The Recap The best of our sports journalism from the past seven days and a heads-up on the weekend's action after newsletter promotion Considering her many difficulties, an obvious question is whether sports psychology or therapy have been a part of her life over the past few years. 'I've tried. I've tried,' she says. 'I've obviously been recommended to do it a lot, with what I went through. It was something that not many people, well actually, no one has gone through, which is probably the reason I did two sessions and I stopped. I was like: 'Look, these guys, they don't relate.' And, to be honest, no other athlete has done what I've done, so I don't know why I'm taking advice from them. So I was like: 'OK, well, the only person who can help me is myself.'' For a long time the four defining cities of Raducanu's life were listed in her biographies across her social media platforms. Her parents, Ion and Renee, originally come from Bucharest, Romania, and Shenyang, China, respectively while she was born in Toronto, Canada, and grew up in London, England. Her mother's solo immigration from China to Canada has been an inspirational tale throughout her life. 'I would say it's funny when people ask where you're from,' she says. 'Obviously, I feel British. I've grown up there, But there are certain things, the way I think, I don't think I am completely. So you have a little question about your identity. But I try not to read too much into it and try to just take the best from all the different worlds that I've been exposed to and grown up in.' Regardless of the subject at hand, Raducanu frequently notes the support and significance of her parents. She describes her upbringing as rigid and strict, but their tough love has made her the person she is today. 'I was always brought up with really high standards, high expectations of myself, not much sympathy,' says Raducanu. 'So when I was younger, that was tough, and even now. But I think it really shaped me to be the player I am, the person I am; pretty down to earth. They never got impressed by anything glitzy or high or anything.' Both Raducanu's parents worked in finance and they passed on their numerical, logical mindsets. Over the past few years, however, part of her evolution as an adult has been understanding herself as a person. Her injury layoff in 2023, which initially seemed like a catastrophe, turned out to be essential for her personal development. Raducanu spent her time away from tennis travelling, including a long trip to China, trying different hobbies and gradually learning more about herself. She learned that she is also creative, which has significantly influenced her playing style on the court. 'I kind of discovered the more artistic side – the piano, the painting, the reading, the philosophy, all of those things,' she says. 'I really think it opened my eyes to another world. Now I'm kind of seeing how I can find an area where those two intersect, and have the creative side but also have the quantitative side.' With age and experience, Raducanu also has a greater understanding of her preferences when making general decisions. While discussing her decision making, Raducanu's mind shifts to another source of criticism: her coaching history. 'I'm a lot more clear on what I do and don't like,' she says. 'The experiences that I've had with different coaches … People love to say I've had so many different coaches but if I went into the details of a lot of them, people would not be saying the same thing. I just don't do that, because I don't want to 'out' these people. So I keep it to myself.' Is it ever tempting? 'When you see things like: 'Oh, Emma on her ninth coach', I'm like: 'Guys, come on.' Certain ones don't count. If you've had a trial, you don't have to carry on after the trial. A few have been trials, a few have been other situations. I just try and take the high road,' she says. Then she laughs. 'And try to do what the royal family would do.' After years of rolling with the punches and gradually coming to understand herself, Raducanu seems to finally be in a positive place again. She speaks effusively about the great enjoyment she has found in her consistent daily work and she has thrown herself into becoming the best player she can be each day. Raducanu's results are reflective of that shift and her ranking is on the rise. Her time in Cincinnati, her first week with her new coach, Francisco Roig, ended with a colossal three-hour battle with Aryna Sabalenka, the world No 1, where she narrowly lost 7-6 (5) in the final set. Over the next few days, she will return to New York for the US Open more self-assured than she has been since she won the title. Our second conversation ends with a final question on Raducanu's ambitions for the next few years beyond her results. After a beat, she shrugs. The hope, she says, is that the passion and joy she now feels each day about her daily work will endure. 'I want to continue for the next few years to just keep enjoying because I would rather not do anything else or be anywhere else,' she says. 'I see my friends, like, somewhere in the south of France, and they're chilling on a boat or whatever, and I'm just like: 'OK, well, it looks amazing,' but when I'm putting in double session practices with the people around laughing, that fills me up so much more. So I'm really happy to have gotten to this place and [I want] to just continue that.'
The Independent
an hour ago
- The Independent
RushTok backlash: Why sororities aren't letting prospects post
Kylan Darnell became an overnight celebrity in the TikTok niche that documents the glitzy, ritualistic recruitment process for sororities. As a 21-year-old rising senior four years later, she's taking more of her sorority life offline. Darnell has until now been the embodiment of RushTok, a week-long marathon that has teens at schools around the country meticulously documenting their efforts to land a cherished spot in a sorority during the colorful, girly and enigmatic recruitment process known as rush week. Reactions to the content that once catapulted her to fame — depicting her life as a Zeta Tau Alpha member at the University of Alabama — had become so negative that it was affecting her mental health, she said. 'This year it was just like a whole different level of hate," Darnell said. Citing a need to protect prospects from harassment, many sororities have made similar moves, issuing a de facto ban against talking to the press or posting on social media during rush week at Alabama, where almost 13,000 students participate in the nation's largest on-campus Greek life. A centuries-old tradition Across the country, rush is typically a 10-day event where 'prospective new members' try out sororities through rounds of activities prescribing a strict slate of outfits and etiquette. In the lead-up, girls often submit "social resumes" and letters of recommendation from sorority alums. Participation often requires an eye-opening price tag. After spending sometimes tens of thousands of dollars on outfits, makeup and plane tickets, each of this week's 2,600 recruits paid $550 to participate. It's non-refundable if they don't get picked. If accepted, they'll pay an average $8,400 a semester to live in the sorority house, or $4,100 if they live elsewhere, according to the Alabama Panhellenic Association. The pressure can be so intense that an industry of consultants now helps girls navigate the often mysterious criteria for landing a desired sorority. Some charge up to $10,000 for months of services that can begin in high school. Throughout rush, many events are invite-only. At any point, girls can get a dreaded call informing them they've been dropped — that a sorority is no longer interested in letting them join. Matches are finally made on bid day as prospects rank top choices and sororities make offers. Morgan Cadenhead, now 20, gained such an audience on RushTok despite being dropped that she covered most of her tuition with income from social media. Then came the social cost as she was slammed online for criticizing Greek life. Now the marketing major — featured on Lifetime's 'Sorority Mom's Guide to Rush!' — said she's looking for offline work. A zealous TikTok following A fixation with rush was renewed when sororities resumed in-person recruiting after the pandemic. Social media became flooded with 'outfit of the day' and 'get ready with me' videos showing sorority members and recruits in well-lit rooms, sometimes flaunting exorbitantly priced designer wear or pieces purchased on Amazon, always precisely curated. Alabama's Greek life got attention before, when its traditionally white sororities racially integrated, accepting their first Black members in 2013. Targeted by protests following allegations of racial discrimination, the university agreed with the Justice Department in 2016 to encourage diversity. Today, Black students outside of traditionally Black sororities and fraternities represent 2% of the total Greek membership, the university website says. Meanwhile, online attention to rush has led to books, a polarizing documentary and the reality television series, widening the appeal of sororities in the South in particular, according to Lorie Stefaneli, a New York City-based consultant who flies to Tuscaloosa each year for rush. Stefaneli coaches girls from around the country, and about a third of her clients enroll at Alabama. She says many are drawn by the vibrant depictions of sisterhood, showing female friendships that can ensure girls feel seen and supported. 'That's the reason why a lot of them want to go to Alabama, is because they see it on TikTok,' Stefaneli said. Recruits told to stop posting — or else If they gain enough followers to become social influencers, RushTok participants can earn ad revenue and brand deals. Darnell's posts brought her financial independence, more than covering the $58,000 it costs her annually to attend Alabama from out-of-state. Rush can be fun and help girls build confidence, but it's also an 'emotional rollercoaster,' especially for girls who feel they need to reveal themselves to a massive audience, Stefaneli said. She answers phone calls at all hours of the night during rush week. 'I'm literally a therapist, I'm talking these girls down from a ledge,' she said. Numerous incoming freshmen told The Associated Press this week that they were expressly prohibited from speaking with the media or even posting about rush at Alabama. Darnell said the most selective 'Old Row' houses will automatically drop prospects who do. 'Now a lot of girls just come to the university to be influencers,' she said. 'It kind of gets in the way of sisterhood.' Some incoming freshmen — including Darnell's 19-year-old sister Izzy, with a vast social media following of her own — have chosen to post anyway, satisfying a demand that can reach millions of views within days. Izzy Darnell — who wouldn't share her choices for sorority ahead of Saturday's bid day — said her older sister's acumen has equipped her to navigate criticism and potentially predatory business deals. But she worries about how other girls might handle the fame and money. 'I just fear what some girls will do because they think they have to,' Izzy Darnell said.
The Guardian
an hour ago
- The Guardian
Monastic music that survived Henry VIII's dissolution brought back to life
Almost five centuries ago a community of monks in the West Country of England gathered to sing, imploring their God to help them endure the challenges of medieval life. Thanks to an extraordinary discovery of music that survived Henry VIII's dissolution of the monasteries in the early 16th century, the songs created by the Buckland Abbey monks were ringing out again across the hills and woods of the Tavy valley in Devon this weekend. The themes are heavy – the threats from disease and crop failures, not to mention powerful rulers – but the polyphonic style is bright and joyful, a contrast to the sort of mournful chants most associated with monks. 'It's an extraordinary rich, textured sound,' said Prof James Clark, a University of Exeter historian, as the university's chapel choir rehearsed at Buckland. 'They're all singing together but following different melodies. It's a sort of melodious cacophony of sound.' Clark found the music while researching Buckland Abbey for the National Trust. Only one book – rather boringly setting out the customs the monks followed – was known to exist, held in the British Library. 'I didn't hold out a great deal of hope it would suddenly open up the lost world of Buckland Abbey,' said Clark. But in the back of the Buckland Book, he came across some leaves of parchment. 'Those leaves contained pieces of chant – text and notation. Though there were 800-plus monasteries in medieval England, you can count almost on one hand pieces of music that survived. 'The Tudor state scrapped Latin worship and the lyrics and music that went with it were largely discarded. Most of this stuff is lost. But there it was, shoved into the back of the book.' The bulk of the book was written in the 15th century but Clark was able to date the music to the early 16th century. 'That made it especially exciting because it transports us to that last generation of monks of the medieval English tradition that had been there for a millennium,' he said. It chimed with another Buckland document from the same era. 'By extraordinary serendipity, it turned out to be the contract for the employment of an organist and choirmaster.' His name was Robert Derkeham, and he would have been hired to improve the singing of the dozen monks who lived at Buckland and the local boys brought in to sing the treble parts. Clark said it was clear that, as well as worshipping God, the monastery was trying to impress patrons by creating wonderful music. 'Monasteries were competing in a very crowded marketplace for investment from patrons,' he said. 'One of the strategies was to upgrade the music. Buckland bought in expertise to turn what may have been a rather ragged choir into something more professional. They were being responsive to cultural change, keeping up with the times and impress their audience.' Derkeham remained at the monastery for more than 15 years, until it was closed and he was pensioned off. Clark said the text was dark. 'It is calling out to what we might call an Old Testament God. One calls out to God to defend his people; one says, 'stay the hand of the avenging angel'; one talks about being in despair. 'I like that sense that it carries us back to a moment in time. In our world, medieval religion is becoming ever more difficult for us to grasp. I think this helps us return to an understanding that it was a sensory experience,' said Clark. 'If we're going to do these people who died 500 years ago some sort of justice as historians, we've got to understand the world as they saw it and as experienced it.' The book has been loaned to Buckland by the British Library and can be viewed at the abbey. The University of Exeter Chapel Choir will perform the music live in Buckland Abbey's medieval Great Barn on 16 and 17 August.
