Award-winning Samoan artist Ladi6 unpacks life leading up to her first album since her mother's passing
She's sound-tracked various moments in our lives over the decades, and now with a brand new album on the horizon, Ladi6 is still bringing the alofa through her music.
Awards and accolades aside, there was much to unpack with the legendary Samoan artist, mother, and student counsellor who is now on the cusp of releasing her fifth album, Le Vā.
From hilarious high school memories with her cousin, Scribe, to the conflicting feelings she felt after being named a Member of the New Zealand Order of Merit, Ladi6 gets nostalgic with Nesia Daily before discussing what this new record tells us about the era she finds herself in today.
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ABC News
20 hours ago
- ABC News
U2 singer Bono lays his life bare in one-man stage show Stories of Surrender
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But as the new movie Bono: Stories of Surrender shows, there's a complicated, endearingly contradictory man behind the often-outsized public profile; one whose idealism is frequently troubled by self-doubt, and whose pursuit of stardom stems from a past steeped in loss. Filmed over several nights of his New York residency, Stories of Surrender vividly captures Bono's one-man adaptation of his best-selling 2022 memoir, Surrender, translating the book's revealing candour to the stage with the singer's typically self-reflexive humour. As he quipped to Jimmy Kimmel recently: "I play an aging rock star on a massive ego trip." There are no mirror-balls or giant lemons or jumbotrons broadcasting prank calls to The White House, just a starkly lit stage and a few empty pieces of furniture to stand in for key figures in his life — including the rest of U2, who are nowhere to be found. It begins, as many such stories do, with a health scare that prompts a crisis of faith and life evaluation. "How did I get here?" Bono asks, echoing the words of his contemporary David Byrne, after an operation on his "eccentric" heart in 2016. Still, it's hardly a sombre opening: the star is in full-tilt carnival-barker mode, part preacher, part game-show host, a pair of wraparound shades short of his Zoo TV MacPhisto. Bono's brand of ironic bravado, in which every sincere moment is inevitably chased by a self-deprecating shot, will do little to convince detractors who regard him as the epitome of anti-cool. For U2 fans, however, it's a wonderful reminder of just how adept he is with a pithy turn of phrase or ready-made pop graffiti — he's perhaps the only songwriter to land the line "you're turning tricks with your crucifix" on a major motion picture soundtrack aimed at children. Much of Bono's humour appears to originate from his late father, Bob Hewson, a man who looms over the show despite appearing only as an empty chair and a glass of Black Bush whiskey. Playing both father and son, Bono recreates infrequent pub meetings with his Da, who remains hilariously unimpressed with his kid's success (labelling him "a baritone who thinks he's a tenor"), nor his phone calls from Pavarotti (Bono's impression of the Italian opera giant is among the film's funniest moments). Their relationship was complex. After a 14-year-old Bono lost his mother, who collapsed at his grandfather's funeral ("It sounds almost too Irish, I know," he jokes), his father never spoke of her again. Her death haunted almost every aspect of the rocker's life and career. At the very same time, he would meet his future wife, Ali, and the musicians — The Edge, Larry Mullen Jr, and Adam Clayton — with whom he'd rocket to mulleted 80s stardom. The stories of U2's early adventures are invariably charming, as the teenage band fumbles about to land on their signature sound — at one point Bono urging The Edge to make his guitar "sound like an electric drill into the ear". It's Bono's reckoning with fame that proves to be the real revelation, however, as he and his band mates wrestle with their spiritual beliefs in the wake of new-found celebrity. "Fame is currency," Bono reasons. "You wouldn't need charity if the world was just, so — get the cheque." If the humanitarian act borders on Vegas schtick, Bono is the first to admit it. "I am an over-paid, over-regarded, over-rewarded, over-fed rock 'n' roll star," he says in voiceover, commenting on the action. And whenever the self-therapy pauses for a burst of music, it's hard to resist those soaring pipes, still stirring after all these years and audible wear and tear. 'With Or Without You', delivered here in thorny tribute to his wife, remains as sad and gorgeous as ever, while 'Sunday Bloody Sunday' takes on a new, ghostly power in a stripped back, slowed down performance. 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News.com.au
a day ago
- News.com.au
‘He might have cried': Nathan Cleary braces for ‘weird' showdown with Jarome Luai as great mates prepare for first NRL meeting
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News.com.au
a day ago
- News.com.au
One shouted word ruins the vibe at star's otherwise-stunning Sydney concert
One shouted word from a heckler was all it took to momentarily kill the vibe during British singer Alison Moyet's Sydney show over the weekend. Moyet, 63, is touring to mark the 40th anniversary of her solo career – a career that started even before that, as one-half of the chart-topping electro duo Yazoo (of Only You fame) in the early 80s. Moyet, though, has always bristled at any notion she's a heritage act, only here to play 80s retro circuit – and her musical output has long backed that up. Perhaps her finest work, 2002's Hometime, arrived shortly after she'd turned 40; in recent years, a fruitful collaboration with producer Guy Sigsworth saw her return to her edgy electro roots across two stellar albums. Songs from 1982 to 2024 got an airing during Saturday's near-sold-out show at Sydney's Darling Harbour Theatre. Moyet was in fine voice throughout, and was charming, frequently hilarious company, stopping to sip tea between songs and offer self-effacing stories from throughout her life. After one cheer from the dark, she made a confession: In-ear monitors meant she could never really hear anything audience members yelled at her during gigs, and therefore interpreted all muffled noise only as praise. It's just as well, because about half a dozen songs into the show, a lone heckle began. 'EIGHTIES!' one man yelled, filling the brief silence between songs. And again, echoing through the theatre a couple of songs later: 'EIGHTIES!' Not even a 'play the hits,' or 'sing Only You ' (which she did, by the way). Just a barked, one-word order, reducing an artist's 40-plus-year career to the brief period several decades ago when she was a twenty-something, radio-ready pop star: EIGHTIES. Thank god she didn't hear it – but the rest of us did, and it momentarily soured the atmosphere at an otherwise stunning show, as fans lapped up a precious two hours with an artist who visits our shores all too rarely. And as the concert wore on, guess what happened? Moyet did sing the eighties hits, delivering Yazoo bangers Situation and Don't Go, along with her classic debut solo single, Love Resurrection, during an encore set that had the audience out of their seats and rushing to the front of the stage to form an impromptu dance floor. It's almost like she … knows how to structure her set, sending the show out on a high with her best-known songs rather than burning through them early? This entitled, 'just play the hits' attitude is common here in Australia. In 2023, the Red Hot Chili Peppers copped a fierce audience backlash when they dared leave Under The Bridge off the setlist during one of their Aussie stadium shows. resident RHCP superfan Jasmine Kazlauskasan leapt in to give an impassioned defence of the band amid a backlash that saw some concertgoers declare they'd never see them live again. More recently, Kylie Minogue's latest tour made its world debut here in Australia amid complaints from some fans that she was playing too much new material – and from others, that she wasn't playing enough. Moyet had even tried to tackle the issue head-on at the top of Saturday's show, warning the audience that a setlist comprised solely of faithful renditions of her early material would feel like 'bad karaoke' – something that holds no interest for her as an artist. Perhaps her heckler would've been better off staying home and doing some 'bad karaoke' of the 80s hits he was only interested in hearing.
