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Times
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- Times
Amsterdam's anarchic new five-star hotel
Inside the Rosewood Amsterdam, which opened at the beginning of May after a decade-long transformation, there are spliffs for sale in a vending machine, and I passed by Johnny Rotten on the landing. Nick Cave and Kate Bush I spotted in the bar. For clarity, though, the spliffs were made of ceramic by the artist Casper Braat, and the musicians are photographic portraits by Anton Corbijn. This new Rosewood likes to wear its art on its sleeve — in fact, it's almost as much of a gallery as a hotel. From the outside, it would be easy to mistake it for another of the city's museums. It's set in the former Palace of Justice, in a building dating back to 1665, and its neoclassical bulk stretches out over almost a block along the central Prinsengracht canal. Most of the group's hotels are in legacy landmark buildings: a former bank in Munich, for instance. In London there's an Edwardian pile in Holborn and, this autumn, there will also be the former US Embassy. Compared to the easygoing cafés and shops around it, the plain, rather grubby façade in Amsterdam (heritage laws mean it can't be cleaned or illuminated at night) cuts a rather stern, almost disapproving figure. It's an image the team here are keen to dispel, envisaging it as much of a local hangout as a gilded retreat for high-net-worth guests. Thomas Harlander, the hotel's managing director, tells me that curious Amsterdamers have been dropping in to explore the building, enjoying the two courtyards landscaped by the High Line designer Piet Oudolf and a modestly priced, well-populated all-day café. The main court room, where high-profile cases (such as the 1980s kidnapping of the brewery billionaire Freddy Heineken) were tried, is now a sprawling library space with a vintage grand piano in one corner and a modern tapestry depicting an AI-realised missing part of Rembrandt's The Night Watch. Its openness is reflected in its design. 'We thought it was important that people could see into the building — transparency is a very Amsterdam thing,' says Piet Boon, whose city-based studio also designed Rosewood's first Japanese resort on Miyakojima. 'During Covid we'd walk around the canals, peering into houses to see how other people lived.' • Read more luxury reviews, advice and insights from our experts Anyone able to peer through my third-floor suite window would glimpse a soft-focus space with curvaceous sofa and chairs, a drinks cabinet with small bottles of ready-mixed cocktails to one side, and a framed set of vintage Amsterdam postcards on the wall. In the bathroom, a white stone tub is positioned by the window, while the bed, backed by a mottled-gold headboard, looks out over gabled houses and the canal (on my arrival, almost on cue, a little boat motors past with a cargo of tulips). Among the 134 rooms are also five 'Houses'. These are apartment-sized suites, such as the Library House, styled in whiter-shade-of-pale bling with windows on two sides and a cascade of small chandeliers, lined by shelves filled with books and collectables. House 020 displays a bespoke collection of jewellery by Bibi van der Velden. But it's the hotel's 1,000-piece art collection that really catches the imagination. The lobby was inspired by the dramatic entrance of the Rijksmuseum, with sightlines that take you straight through to an enormous screen at the far end — the canvas for swirling, fluctuating video art, shifting from vivid floral still-lifes to ethereal classical figures, sourced from the Nxt Museum nearby. Along one corridor runs a series of white, colour-changing discs resembling a vintage radio valve, casting an orange glow over walls and ceiling. I'm particularly taken by a vase in the lobby made entirely of Smurf figures, while Maarten Baas's Grandfather Clock, in which a figure looms into view every minute to scrub out the minute hand and re-draw it, is surprisingly enthralling. In the entrance, Studio Molen's Statica — displayed at last year's Art Basel Hong Kong — is a trellis-like city made up of tiny bronze figures, which can be picked up and slotted back in new homes. There's an abundance of space here, a rarity in this city where many hotels are squeezed into canalside townhouses. The subterranean spa, its swimming pool cast in daylight from a long aperture above, has hammam-style arches and a monastic calm. There's also a space for reformer Pilates and sound therapy, though the 90-minute aromatic restore massage was all I needed. Along a corridor you could ride a tuk-tuk down is the moodily lit Advocatuur bar, flamboyantly dressed with diamond-shaped pendants above the counter and a menu of Indian-inspired cocktails and small plates. (I'm told that the late mayor requested an Indian restaurant here when he brokered the deal, along with Ayurvedic treatments and a club for the city's thriving Indian business community.) Further along is Eeuwen, the main restaurant — an intimate space where a painting of a rather louche young man gazes down at me as I devour Zeeland oysters topped with tingly grapefruit granita, and pork chop with creamy dollops of sea vierge and celeriac puree. The chef David Ordóñez has a nimble way with Dutch ingredients, with an approach that's more bistro than fine dining (little slabs of brioche topped with crab salad is a highlight, and quite rightly arrives on its own little plinth). Amsterdam's food scene has ramped up in recent years, a side of the city the Rosewood is keen to champion. I hop on board Captain Arnaut's Twenties salon boat, moored outside, and take the 90-minute voyage to Der Durgerdam, a small hotel in a village of the same name where the inventive lunch menu includes tomato tartare and a rare pudding of caramelised celeriac pie. The Rosewood is also linking up with Over-Amstel, the new farm from the South African owners of the Newt, taking guests there by boat for yoga and cheese-making sessions. Back at the Rosewood, I'm beckoned downstairs to make my own artistic contribution to the hotel. One of the law court's former holding cells has been turned into a very intimate, palo santo-scented tasting room for the hotel's genever — the OG of gin — distilled in a gleaming still named Martha. The bar manager signs me up for a kopstootje, a Dutch tradition that involved taking the first sip of genever with your arms behind your back, then chasing it with a pickled egg and small glass of beer. The ritual ends with a temporary tattoo rubbed on my wrist and then I graffiti my name on the wall — I'm part of the club. With the genever christened Provo, in honour of a short-lived Sixties anarchist-art movement — which included flooding the city with free bikes painted white to counter the tyranny of the motorcar — it's another irreverent attempt to puncture the building's formality. I wonder how radical a hotel that charges €1,200 a night can actually be, but like the rest of Rosewood Amsterdam, it's a refreshing way of transporting guests beyond the city's clichés. Doubles from £1,200,
Daily Mail
21-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Daily Mail
Sex Pistols star John Lydon reveals his heartache over his beloved wife Nora's 'painful' death following five year battle with Alzheimer's disease
Sex Pistols front man John Lydon has opened up on the loss of his wife, who he says suffered 'physical and mental torment' on the day she died. The Punk icon, 69, lost his beloved spouse of 44 years Nora Foster in April 2023 after a five year battle with Alzheimer's disease. John, who was known as Johnny Rotten during his Sex Pistols days, had drawn an incredible amount of public sympathy following her death having selflessly cared for Nora full-time until her final hours. Now over two years after she passed, the extravagant singer has opened up on the 'agony' he felt as Nora suffered a painful death. In an interview with The Daily Telegraph, the 69-year-old said: 'The pain will never go away. She died painfully, suffocating. they call it the death rattle.' From A-list scandals and red carpet mishaps to exclusive pictures and viral moments, subscribe to the Daily Mail's new Showbiz newsletter to stay in the loop. Recalling the moment doctors asked him whether they should prolong Nora's life, he added: 'I couldn't say "yes, stop". No, I fought for her life as hard as she fought for it. 'It's insane, and you don't know how to handle it (the death of a partner). And you can end up being really aggressive with people mollycoddling you. But you have to be full of rage to break out of it, or you'll end up as that sympathetic doddering old idiot that you know you would hate yourself.' The singer had previously admitted he 'always loved' Nora having met her in 1975 at a Vivienne Westwood clothes shop - 'there was an instant attracton,' he said. Following her death, John had 'wallowed in alcohol and sadness and self-pity,' he told Metro, but the singer has since come out of that struggle. He insists however that the agony of losing Nora will never go away. Two years after her death, John will be hitting the road on tour again next week on his Not The Last Tour with his post-Sex Pistols band PiL (Public Image Ltd). Despite his grief, the artist insists that the upcoming 28-date tour isn't a farewell but more a tongue-in-cheek dig at bands who falsely claim they're bowing out. 'The industry is riddled with artists claiming they're on their final tour but have already booked themselves for five years after,' he quipped. Johnny Rotten, as he was then known, shot to fame during the 1970s as the Sex Pistols' lead vocalist But while John is kicking off his tour, his old band - consisting of Steve Jones, Paul Cook and Glen Matlock - are enjoying their own with new front man Frank Carter. John previously blasted the Sex Pistols recent tour as 'karaoke', branding the group 'impossible to deal with'. The singer revealed he is indeed no longer on speaking terms with his old band mates after they fell out over a Disney+ TV series he opposed. The dispute resulted in a High Court battle between John and the Sex Pistols over the use of the band's music in the series - which Rotten ultimately lost. John said he 'won't forget' that his old band mates 'dragged him through the courts' while Nora was seriously ill. The Sex Pistols shot to fame after forming in 1975, but just three years later they had split up. Their only album together, Never Mind the B******s* - a UK number one - is now a staple of punk rock. The band - whose controversial legacy rests upon their anti-establishment values - famously called the Royal family 'fascists' in 1977's God Save The Queen. But in 1978, John formed Public Image Ltd, with the first line-up of the band including bassist Jah Wobble and former Clash guitarist Keith Levene. The group's line up has changed a number of times over the last 40-plus-years with Lydon remaining a constant member. Lydon appeared on I'm A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here in 2004 and sensationally walked out after just ten days, though not before releasing a torrent of abuse at viewers watching at home.
Telegraph
20-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Telegraph
John Lydon: ‘Politicians are all the same. Starmer is the most beautiful traitor of all'
John Lydon has opinions and is not afraid to share them. The former Sex Pistols frontman recently appeared on ITV's This Morning show joining in condemnation of Irish punk rap trio, Kneecap, declaring them his 'enemies'. Once the most controversial figure in popular music himself, 69-year-old Lydon expressed disgust after a two-year-old video surfaced of a Kneecap member shouting 'Kill your local MP' onstage. When even Johnny Rotten is outraged, it's probably time to start asking yourself some serious questions about your behaviour. But when we meet later the same day in a backroom at his London agent's office, Lydon cheerfully admits he has never heard Kneecap ('I mean Northern Irish rap, come on, who's got time for that?') and was only responding to reports of a particular incident. 'It sounds like they're copying what they think is the Sex Pistols manifesto of 'be outrageous', and it's all bollocks! The sadness to me is that one of them has advocated killing all Conservatives. That's where they're my enemy, right there, to advocate the death of another human being, that's not acceptable.' Probing, however, reveals a slightly more nuanced position. He is certainly not calling for Kneecap to be banned. 'They've said something stupid, and I'm with them for that. I'm well aware of how words can be misinterpreted. Words are weapons. I use them, I love them, they're the tools of my trade. But they should never be banned. Every ignorant, illiterate, stupid statement should be let out there and made to confront reality. That's said with nothing but love, right? I've been through the ringer. Welcome to my world.' This kind of volatile zig-zagging through often contradictory points of view is very much Lydon's way. His replies fire out in a cheerfully scattershot attack, see-sawing between philosophical ruminations, sentimental reminiscences, and cheap jokes. He arrives in the office in a storm of action, wearing an enormously outsize brightly coloured jacket, sporting a bright yellow Mohican haircut, loudly complaining about a turd floating in the toilet ('Disgusting! I hope nobody's gonna try and pin that on me!') and announcing 'Everybody's a c–t!' He cracks a beer can open, burps loudly, lights the first of an endless chain of cigarettes and pops a giant pill in his mouth. 'It's for allergies,' he explains. 'I'm allergic to just about everything mankind has thrown at me. Man, I have learned, is not very kind.' All of this is delivered with highly distinctive and theatrical inflections – rising and falling tones, arbitrarily extended words, syllables stretched to breaking point. He smiles a lot, baring gleaming white American teeth that have long since replaced the decaying mouthful that earned him his punk nickname, and laughs with a leering cackle. He is a lot, but then he always was, and I suppose he had to be, to become the self-propelling catalyst for the punk movement. He was 19 when he joined the Sex Pistols in 1975, and just 22 when they broke up in 1978. 'The first rehearsals of the Pistols, it was thrilling to hear the discordancy of Steve (Jones)'s guitar, because he was learning too. And I thought 'I can fit my thoughts into this.'' With Rotten at the front delivering incendiary lyrics in a keening rant, the quartet released a series of culture shifting singles including Anarchy in the UK and God Save the Queen, and made one classic album, Never Mind the Bollocks (1977), that still sounds like rock's most violent storm of youth rebellion. 'I landed lucky. I hit on a psyche button at that time,' is the only way he can explain it. 'I was clued in to what was needed for the next step.' Despite brief lucrative reunions, Rotten is no longer on speaking terms with his former bandmates. They fell out over a Disney + TV series that Lydon opposed ('It was so dull and silly, like a watered down Grange Hill') and wound up in a bitter lawsuit that Lydon lost in 2021. Currently, the remaining Pistols (guitarist Jones, drummer Paul Cook and bassist Glen Matlock) are touring with another frontman, 41-year-old hardcore punk singer Frank Carter. 'They just shouldn't have done it,' says Lydon. 'It's just disrespectful all round. And that's a curious word to use, but it is. It's a cheeky audacity, because you three silly c–ts couldn't have put a song together without me, and now you're pretending I don't exist with a karaoke bloke up front. And sending out veiled messages in the media wanting to reconcile. Yeah, go f–k yourselves big time. Drag me through the law courts while my lovely, sweet wife Nora was dying of Alzheimer's. On your f–king bike, lads. No, I'll not forget.' Lydon's wife of 44 years died in April 2023, after a long illness during which Lydon had been her full-time carer. The couple were very close, and no matter what controversies have stirred around the provocative frontman, his deep love and selfless care for his partner has drawn enormous public sympathy. 'I've done my moping, I've done my misery period, I'm very much raring to go,' he insists. 'I need to get out of the house, and this is the best way I know.' He has certainly got a lot of activity on the horizon, including a current tour with his post-Pistols band PiL (Public Image Ltd), new album and books in the works, and the resumption of his private passion for painting. Yet Nora is a constant presence in the conversation, frequently intruding into his thoughts. 'The pain will never go away,' he admits, and tells me, unbidden, that 'she died painfully, suffocating. They call it the death rattle.' He recalls a moment doctors asked if they should stop actively prolonging her life. 'I couldn't say 'yes, stop.' No. I fought for her life as hard as she fought for it. And now I'm on the other side.' He later confesses that he went through a period of rage. 'It's insane, and you don't know how to handle it. And you can end up being really aggressive with people mollycoddling you. But you have to be full of rage to break out of it, or you'll end up as that sympathetic doddering old idiot that you know you would hate yourself to be.' Lydon insists he has 'no regrets' about any aspect of his often turbulent life. 'Not anything at all. And that's exactly how I approach my lovely wife's death: as not regretful. Somehow there's something good and poignant in this. I've yet to know what that is, but I have high expectations.' He also says 'it is invigorating. The prospect of death now does not terrify me at all, whereas it might have done years ago. Now it's, well, they're on the other side of whatever it is. I'll either join them and then it's all happy days or nothing exists anymore, and that's OK.' Lydon is good company, fizzing with ideas and humour, even if there is a certain volatility and neediness lurking close to the surface. Much to the bemusement of many lifelong fans, he has lately become something of a favourite of conservative media, partly because of his sneering disillusionment with Labour in the UK and Democrats in America (where he has been based for decades and been a citizen since 2013). Yet his allegiances are not as straightforward as they might seem. 'I hate all politicians, just always automatically instinctively have,' he says, proclaiming left and right to be 'all the same, all toffs together, lining their own pockets. The most wonderful deceptor of all is Starmer, a beautiful act of treachery that one'. The man who opened his musical account with the fearsome declaration, 'I am an antichrist / I am an anarchist' has been a vocal supporter of President Trump, but that doesn't mean he's an unequivocal admirer, nicknaming him 'the Orange Bad Man' and likening him to 'a wrecking ball'. 'Frankly, the business of government is broken, and it needs smashing up and being reconstituted,' he says. 'And as ugly and horrible and vile as that man is, he's also incredibly funny, and there's an irony in his humour that is lacking in the reporting here. You have to live in America to understand how this man touches the hearts of working class people. He talks our lingo, and we like it.' He doesn't share the left's fears that Trump is a harbinger of fascism, or as Lydon puts it, 'there's nothing about the Orange Bad Man that is about goose stepping' and fully expects him to be gone at the end of his four year term. 'You don't have to like the c–t. In fact, it helps if you don't have any view on him at all. Solve the problem, and then f–k off!' At the end of our interview, we repair to a bar with some mutual acquaintances. There, I see another side of Lydon, where he is not always the centre of attention, and displays genuine curiosity about other people's lives and opinions. He tells some funny off the record stories too, one of which involves the time Gary Glitter took Johnny Rotten and his mother to Tramps nightclub and introduced them to George Best. 'There's some names you never thought you'd hear in the same story,' he chuckles. With his outsized colourful clothing, exaggerated mannerisms, gleefully provocative and often self-contradictory pronouncements, it may be helpful to view Lydon as a kind of jester figure, a notion he seizes upon approvingly. 'The jester, the clown, these are the smartest fellas on the block, they show you how to laugh at everything and not take yourself too serious, either,' he argues. 'In feudal medieval Britain the court jester would say things that everybody wanted to say, but wouldn't dare, because it's 'off with your head!'' Frequently referring to the extreme poverty of his upbringing, exacerbated by a bout of childhood Meningitis that led to an extended coma and left him with amnesia for four crucial developmental years, he acknowledges his entire persona as 'a survival tool, absolutely. Tormented soul as I am, you don't always have to be tormented. You can twist that around and make it a valuable tool in your artillery.' There was just one moment in the hours we were together when all the bravado and energy seemed to suddenly dissipate, and he visibly slumped as something reminded him of Nora. 'Oh, I miss her like mad,' he said, briefly staring into space, before barking 'But there mustn't be sadness!' as if as an instruction to himself. 'We don't know what's coming next. I want to be burned like my baby. I still sleep with her ashes next to me. And it's really, really nice, that feeling of when it is my time, they'll dump my ashes in there. My brother's going to use our ashes to plant a pear tree, which is Nora's favourite fruit. So there we go.' And he sings a sudden burst of A Partridge in a Pear Tree, burps theatrically, and lights another cigarette.
Belfast Telegraph
07-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Belfast Telegraph
Sex Pistols frontman John Lydon describes Belfast band Kneecap as his ‘enemy'
Godfather of punk John Lydon – formerly known by stage name Johnny Rotten – has hit out at Belfast rap group Kneecap, branding them as his 'enemy'. The comments from the Sex Pistols frontman come after he was asked about the trio's recent controversy that has engulfed the band, as it was revealed last week that footage from a 2023 gig that appeared to show a band member shouting death threats towards Conservative MPs.
The Sun
07-05-2025
- Entertainment
- The Sun
John Lydon leaves GMB's Susanna Reid stunned with VERY cheeky remark as Sex Pistols star causes havoc live on air
SEX Pistols star John Lydon left Good Morning Britain anchor Susanna Reid shocked after letting slip a VERY cheeky remark live on-air. The punk rocker, known by his stage name Johnny Rotten, left the ITV presenter, 54, giggling after his impromptu remark centred on his age. 5 5 5 The God Save The Queen hitmaker was on Wednesday's episode of the daytime series to chat about his new spoken word shows. Yet in an unexpected turn, he directed the chat towards his age. Talking of the tour, Good Morning Britain host Ed Balls, 58, asked: "Is there any music in that?" John said: "First I will get the eight months of gigging out of the way, then I'll do the talky tour. "They are very different aspects. "I am only 69 years young and 69 is my favourite position. "So I might as well try all these different things." His cheeky reference to the sex position left Susanna giggling in shock, while co-host Ed Balls could be seen wide-eyed in shock. Ed then said after the comment: I think it's going to be controversial and fabulous." Susanna then added: "Yes, and continues to be gloriously outrageous. John Lydon thank you very much." Sex Pistols John Lydon slams This Morning's Holly and Phil before breaking down in tears One fan was quick to note the awkward moment and posted on X: "His favourite what?!" Another posted: "Well that interview was finished quickly," as a third wrote: "Susanna giggles at the thought of a 69 with Johnny Lydon." One then posted: "John Lydon on #GMB - had to turn the channel, just embarrassing." Yet another took the opposing stance and added: "Love John Lydon a national treasure." John's comment came amid his promotion for his Public Image Ltd tour. He previously told how he didn't think he would tour again after the loss of his wife Nora, aged 80, in 2023. 5 5
