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Edinburgh Reporter
7 hours ago
- Entertainment
- Edinburgh Reporter
Alice Cooper live at the Playhouse ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
What better venue than the Playhouse Theatre for the Alice Cooper show with its resident ghost, Arthur, knocking about on the ninth floor? Opening act Bobbie Dazzle kicks the night into action with a platform boot and some foot-stomping British glam rock at 7:30pm prompt. During Flowers On Mars, there's an immediate and positive reaction from the audience for the act's first time in Edinburgh. Fronted by Siân Greenway, the cat-suited show-woman sings joyfully about all that glitters and is gold during Revolution, with its power-chorus and chords to match. Back To The City contains an infectious Mott The Hoople-style intro that turns into another infectious earworm. A cover of Abba's Watch Out is a good fit for the band and clearly connected with what this Edinburgh audience loved about the early 1970s. It's not long before two plague doctors walk across the stage in front of a massive banner that reads 'Banned in Scotland! Alice Cooper! In a top hat and spider eyes, Cooper bursts out to the crunching riff and sing-along chorus of Lock Me Up that runs into Welcome To The Show. His trio of guitarists and bassist Chuck Garrick line up behind him like a gang of rock vampires, as the track suggests, they look like they have just been let out of a cage. A veteran in the front row catches Cooper's cane after he launches it into the manic front row, she lets out a shriek of glee after catching it and guards it with her life. It's not long before Alice digs into his bounty of hits and jukebox classics, the irresistible guitar hook of No More Mr Nice Guy cranks up as Cooper points his sword into far the stalls. Perhaps there would have been no Sex Pistols without Cooper's I'm Eighteen, the song Johnny Rotten performed when asked to audition for the band. During the performance, Cooper still subtly captures the tension, attitude, and anxiety of being a teenager. Another theatrical high point is He's Back (The Man Behind The Mask), the track has a life of its own and a cult following due to its synth leanings and the fact that it was also the theme for Friday the 13th Part VI: Jason Lives. During the performance, the original shock rocker produces another moment of memorable theatre when a supposed fan runs on stage to take pictures, at Cooper's instruction, Jason slits the fan's throat, blood spurts, and the Coop's goons remove the body from the stage. Bass player Chuck Garrick bumps and stomps along on bass and delivers the groove as Cooper shakes a handful of yellow maracas during the funky, comic-horror 1976 cut Go To Hell. The unmistakable riff of his late 80s pop-rock classic Poison finds Alice return to the stage in a purple tunic while stalking the stage. A melodic Ballad of Dwight Fry finds Alice breaking free of a straitjacket to overcome his tormentor during another big-show number. It features his wife, Sheryl, a dancer and choreographer who has been part of Cooper's show on and off for 50 years. She sends her husband to the guillotine during a singalong of I Love The Dead. The show ends with his 1972 classic School's Out, as the riff begins, massive colourful balloons bounce out onto the crowd's heads and burst, showering them with confetti. A final encore of Feed My Frankenstein finishes with a Cooper version of the monster thrashing around the stage. At the end, there's a fitting tribute to another rock titan, Ozzy Osbourne, who passed away the day before. Alice leads the Edinburgh crowd for a chant of 'Ozzy, Ozzy, Ozzy Ozzy'. Cooper remains a master of his craft and one of rock n' roll's greatest survivors. PHOTO Richard Purden Alice with Nita Strauss Bobbie Dazzle by Richard Purden Like this: Like Related
Kuwait Times
4 days ago
- Entertainment
- Kuwait Times
Serbian youth pumps up protest at last EXIT festival
Serbia's youthful anti-graft protesters have celebrated what may prove to be the country's last ever EXIT music festival, but hope the energy it generated will still boost their fight for change. Long a symbol of youth-led resistance, the four-day dance party came to an end this week and hundreds of thousands of festival-goers headed home re-energized to continue their struggle. Within the walls of the festival's iconic fortress venue, and on the streets of Novi Sad, where the student-led movement began in November, symbols of resistance were everywhere. An image of a bloodied red hand, a stark symbol of the protests, beamed down from screens onto heaving mosh pits throughout screaming punk sets, while the protest's rallying cry bounced over thumping techno. The movement is nine months old and, for many, EXIT was a chance to renew their protest under a more international spotlight. 'This is basically about keeping the fire alive and responding to this regime,' Srdan Kovacevic told AFP at on the bridge into the festival. Festival-goers streamed past signs memorializing the 16 people killed in a train station roof collapse - a tragedy that sparked anti-graft demonstrations against the country's right-wing government. 'I think it is very important to stand on this side and raise awareness not only domestically but internationally,' said Vanja Manic-Matic, a French language teacher. This could be the last time Serbian protest chants are heard at the festival's iconic Serbian site, after organizers announced a decision to leave their home country. First launched 25 years ago in opposition to strongman Slobodan Milosevic's rule, organizers now accuse President Aleksandar Vucic's government of pressuring it to pull out of the Balkan nation. Following their backing of the anti-corruption movement, the festival claims the government cut funding and sponsors were pressured to withdraw. Festival-goers react during a concert at the Serbia's largest music festival "EXIT", in Novi Sad. 'Pumpaj' punks Since November, massive rallies, some drawing hundreds of thousands, have gripped Serbia - triggering the collapse of a government faced with accusations of deep-rooted corruption. But Vucic, in power since 2012, remains at the head of a reshuffled administration and refuses to hold new elections, a key demand of the protesters. Instead, the government has trained its sights on EXIT, one of the country's most significant international tourism draws. 'This is a great thing because it shows how crooked everything is in Serbia,' Filip Ubovic, a 23-year-old Belgrade student, told a press conference during EXIT. On festival fences, rally photos were hung alongside protest banners, while crowds screamed the movement's chant: 'Pumpaj!', or 'Pump it up!' in English. Local bands were joined by international artists, including punk legends the Sex Pistols, in encouraging the crowd to chant the protest slogan. 'Stand up for your rights, show that the people have power. Pump it!' shouted Italian singer Gala. 'Inevitable' 'It's a great sign to Europe, to the world, that we are here. We are ready for the fight until we win,' 22-year-old student protester Aleksa Savic said during the festival. Following a massive rally in Belgrade in late June, major roads and public squares have been frequently blocked by roaming protesters in cities around the country. Vucic has responded by calling for the arrest of demonstrators he alleged are 'paid by foreign interests'. Dozens have been detained in recent weeks. As summer holidays begin and the cities empty, Kovacevic admitted turning out large numbers against the government was becoming difficult, but he nevertheless believed fresh elections were 'inevitable'. 'It's not just that it must happen, but it will happen,' the 53-year-old lawyer said. Making an EXIT EXIT plans to move abroad, reportedly to the foot of the Giza Pyramid outside Cairo. 'This is the hardest decision in our 25-year history, but we believe freedom has no price,' festival founder and director Dusan Kovacevic said. It is part of a larger cultural exodus from Serbia. Several theatre and film festivals have been cancelled or defunded without explanation in recent months. In June, a former paramilitary unit leader was installed as head of the national theatre company, triggering an outcry from artists. 'I think it will have a big cultural impact on both Serbia and Novi Sad. I'm simply sad that this is the last EXIT,' 25-year-old Veljko said as he arrived for the festival's last day. In the closing hours of EXIT, organizers issued an emotional farewell to the crowd. 'Thank you all for being brave enough to come this year - to send a message to the whole world that love and light are unstoppable,' EXIT's founder declared. — AFP
Chicago Tribune
5 days ago
- Politics
- Chicago Tribune
Today in History: Neil Armstrong and Edwin Aldrin walk on the moon
Today is Sunday, July 20, the 201st day of 2025. There are 164 days left in the year. Today in History: On July 20, 1969, astronauts Neil Armstrong and Edwin 'Buzz' Aldrin became the first men to walk on the moon after reaching its surface in their Apollo 11 lunar module. Also on this date: In 1917, America's World War I draft lottery began as Secretary of War Newton Baker, wearing a blindfold, reached into a glass bowl and pulled out a capsule containing the number 258 during a ceremony inside the Senate office building. In 1944, an attempt by a group of German officials to assassinate Adolf Hitler with a bomb failed as the explosion only wounded the Nazi leader. In 1951, Jordan's King Abdullah I was assassinated in Jerusalem by a Palestinian gunman who was shot dead on the spot by security. In 1976, America's Viking 1 robot spacecraft made a successful, first-ever landing on Mars. In 1977, a flash flood hit Johnstown, Pennsylvania, killing more than 80 people and causing $350 million worth of damage. In 1990, Supreme Court Justice William J. Brennan, one of the court's most liberal voices, announced he was stepping down. In 1993, White House deputy counsel Vincent Foster Jr., 48, was found shot to death in a park near Washington, D.C.; it was ruled a suicide. In 2006, the Senate voted 98-0 to renew the landmark 1965 Voting Rights Act for another quarter-century. In 2007, President George W. Bush signed an executive order prohibiting cruel and inhuman treatment, including humiliation or denigration of religious beliefs, in the detention and interrogation of terrorism suspects. In 2012, gunman James Holmes opened fire inside a crowded movie theater in Aurora, Colorado, during a midnight showing of 'The Dark Knight Rises,' killing 12 people and wounding 70 others. (Holmes was later convicted of murder and attempted murder, and sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole.) In 2015, the United States and Cuba restored full diplomatic relations after more than five decades of frosty relations rooted in the Cold War. Today's Birthdays: Former Sen. Barbara A. Mikulski, D-Md., is 89. Baseball Hall of Famer Tony Oliva is 87. Artist Judy Chicago is 86. Country singer T.G. Sheppard is 81. Singer Kim Carnes is 80. Rock musician Carlos Santana is 78. Author and commentator Thomas Friedman is 72. Rock musician Paul Cook (Sex Pistols) is 69. Actor Frank Whaley is 62. Conservationist and TV personality Terri Irwin is 61. Rock musician Stone Gossard (Pearl Jam) is 59. Actor Josh Holloway (TV: 'Lost') is 56. Singer Vitamin C is 56. Actor Sandra Oh is 54. Hockey Hall of Famer Peter Forsberg is 52. Actor Omar Epps is 52. Basketball Hall of Famer Ray Allen is 50. Hockey Hall of Famer Pavel Datsyuk is 47. Supermodel Gisele Bundchen is 45. Actor Percy Daggs III is 43. Actor John Francis Daley is 40. Dancer-singer-actor Julianne Hough is 37. Former MLB pitcher Stephen Strasburg is 37.
Irish Times
7 days ago
- Entertainment
- Irish Times
Dexys' Kevin Rowland: ‘Growing up in England, you had an inferiority complex. Our dads were judged as scruffy Paddies'
It was the last great debut single of the 1970s, a scorched-earth soul song with an upstart attitude. Before a note sounded it had made a statement: radio interference, a snatch of Deep Purple, then the Sex Pistols , then The Specials, then an earnest young man's voice declaring, 'For God's sake, burn it down'. Dexys Midnight Runners ' Dance Stance was a declaration of culture war delivered by a second-generation-Irish Wolverhampton/London/Birmingham transplant who sounded like Jackie Wilson on uppers. He came mob-handed, backed by what looked like a gang of stevedores wearing woolly caps and donkey jackets. The single sounded exuberant but felt revolutionary, a reclamation of Celtic soul that namechecked a litany of Hibernian writers – Oscar Wilde , Brendan Behan , Seán O'Casey , Bernard Shaw , Samuel Beckett , Eugene O'Neill , Edna O'Brien and Laurence Sterne . For an Irish kid, hearing such names blasting from the BBC in the age of Margaret Thatcher , H-blocks and hunger strikes seemed radical. 'It was written from anger, from rage, from hearing Irish joke after Irish joke around where I was living – Smethwick, which is a real working-class area just outside Birmingham,' says Kevin Rowland , Dexys' leader, who has just written his memoir, Bless Me Father: A Life Story. READ MORE 'I just thought, This is f**king ridiculous. The people telling those jokes were not the f**king brightest tools in the box by any means, and they would be laughing at the Irish. And they weren't just Irish jokes; they were anti-Irish jokes.' The cover of Dexys' debut album, Searching for the Young Soul Rebels, released in the summer of 1980, featured a photograph of a 13-year-old Catholic Belfast boy carrying all his belongings, forced from his home because of 'civil unrest'. 'The cover of that album at that time, especially in Birmingham – probably more so later in 1982, when we started to bring more Irish influences, with Come on Eileen, or singing a little bit in Irish at the end of The Waltz – it felt subversive, because there was such hostility. 'No one wanted to hear anything about Ireland, especially in Birmingham so shortly after those pub bombings, which were horrendous. So it felt like almost sneaking it in. I just felt a f**king need to do it.' Kevin Rowland of Dexys Midnight Runners. Photograph: Nicky Johnston Much of Rowland's book represents a coming to terms with his lineage, exploring that singular position occupied by second-generation Irish musicians in Britain in the post-punk years: John Lydon , Shane MacGowan , Elvis Costello , Siobhán Fahey, the Smiths . Has he compared notes with any of his contemporaries? 'Strangely enough I have done, I've talked to Johnny Marr a little bit about it, more on email than anything else. Siobhán Fahey' – of Bananarama and Shakespears Sister – 'is a good friend. We have a good laugh. If I see her socially, before long I'll start talking to her, like, 'Howya! By God, ye're a fine woman!' We can go on like that for an hour,' Rowland says. 'The thing about those second-generation musicians, from John Lydon right through to Oasis , with most of our fathers working on building sites, there's not an also-ran among them. They're all at the cutting edge of their culture. 'It's incredible, really. Look at the population of Ireland and the population of England: a disproportionate amount of significant players were second-generation Irish.' A passage from the latter part of Bless Me Father takes a more metaphysical angle: 'As I drove from Knock airport to Crossmolina, past all the barren, rocky fields, it struck me that Mayo is almost deserted – still decimated from the potato blight of 1845 to 1850. And it is haunted. There is no other word for it. I looked over the deserted fields where villages once were, and I could feel spirits crying out to be heard.' Does he think our songs and stories come from expression of unresolved trauma? 'I don't know if it has to come out in stories or music, but I think we're definitely haunted by trauma. I never even heard about the Famine in childhood. My parents didn't mention it. I probably was in my 20s when I found out about it. Absolutely zero taught in school. No mention of Ireland,' Rowland says. Dexys Midnight Runners in 1982. Photograph: Brian Cooke/Redferns 'Growing up in England, it was impossible not to have a bit of an inferiority complex, because it was foisted upon you. We were obviously poorer than the English, and our dads were judged as scruffy Paddies. 'There was a study in the 1980s or 1990s about Irish people emigrating to England. I read it out as part of a speech for my dad's 90th-birthday party. I think the British government commissioned it. An Indian lady did the study, and she concluded that something like 30 or 40 per cent of Irish immigrants were more likely to suffer from heart disease , cancer , alcoholism etc, than the Irish that stayed at home. 'That's the irony, because they came for a better life. They fared less well than the host nation and less well than immigrants from other countries and Irish emigrants that went to America or wherever.' Perhaps as a reaction to all this austerity, Rowland and his contemporaries deployed sartorial self-expression as a way of asserting pride and individuality. Yet he was riddled by self-doubt. Rowland grew up at odds with his father and his environment, a juvenile delinquent given to thieving and truancy. Something miraculous happened when he assembled the first Dexys line-up. What was the click? 'It was the music and the clothes. I just had a vision. I'd been in all this trouble, I had all this stuff from my old man and was very much seen in the family as the one who was going nowhere, or to prison, and that carried on into my 20s,' Rowland says. 'And so all of a sudden, when The Killjoys' – his first band – 'broke up I had it in my mind to form this soul band. I thought, people are going to want to dance again; people are going to want to go look good again. 'I didn't know much about brass, but I knew we'd have a brass section. I felt on a mission, and the clothes were part of it, because style had gone out with punk. It became kind of standard. It lost its edge. 'And the fact that I'd trained in hairdressing, and by that time I was pretty good at it, I just thought, shit, my whole f**king life has been leading to this music, hair, clothes: put it all together.' That newfound zeal was infectious. Dexys all agreed to sign on the dole to devote themselves to writing, rehearsing and playing gigs. They bunked on to trains without paying, practised in squats and arts centres, lifted gear. And somewhere along the way they conceived a look – a Birmingham version of On the Waterfront – that was as striking in its way as The Clash or The Specials. 'It was a good look,' Rowland says, 'but it painted us into a corner. There wasn't really anywhere we could go from there. If we'd started off with the wild stuff, the asymmetric hair and the big trousers, and then delved into that New York docker look for a couple of months and then something else, that would have been great. But we were presenting it as real, as opposed to, 'These are some cool clothes we're wearing'. 'And we were playing this music that had depth in the same way as Roxy Music. You listen to early Roxy Music – If There Is Something, on the first album – there's real yearning going on there. The guy is singing from his pain. He's pouring his heart out. The arrangement is incredible. And then we could have moved on. 'It was a bit of a dark period when the first band broke up, late 1980. Spandau Ballet and Duran Duran started to come through wearing what we'd been wearing, and all of a sudden they're the new thing; we're not the new thing. It was quite tough – so tough that I f**king buried it. It was only, like, 20 years later that I woke up and thought, sh*t.' The disappointment didn't prevent him from immediately conceiving a new sound, a post-punk take on Van Morrison's album Saint Dominic's Preview, wedded to a prototypal raggle-taggle look: dungarees, curly hair, earrings, hobo chic. The Too-Rye-Ay album anticipated The Pogues, The Waterboys and even Elvis Costello's and U2's defections towards roots and acoustic music. The single Come On Eileen was huge, but the band apparently didn't receive much money from its success. The next album, Don't Stand Me Down, one of the lost classics of the 1980s, cost a fortune to record and sold poorly. Rowland wouldn't see royalties from his boom years until as late as 2014. From the late 1980s to the millennium he was as humbled as a star could be, spiralling from drug addiction to the dole queue to borderline homelessness. For years his earnings were attached and his debts were so grievous it looked as if they might outlive him. 'I was bitter for a long time,' he says. 'But you can't stay bitter. I dwelled on that shit for years, man. There was a long period of inactivity. We did an album in 1985, I did a solo thing in 1988; the next one was 1999, then after that it was 2012. 'The biggest thing was when I got into recovery from cocaine addiction, you learn to deal with your resentments. I had to work really hard at it.' In the end, Bless Me Father's real narrative arc is that of the prodigal son. After years of conflict and resentment, he finally made peace when his father had a stroke. 'I thought, we'll never be close. I just accepted it. And then something happened. He had that stroke, and he just softened completely. I was able to hug him, and it was incredible.' I ask if Rowland learned anything about himself from the process of writing the book. He pauses for a full 20 seconds before answering. 'I think one of the things I learned is that I used to beat myself up for some of the decisions I've made. We've talked about them: changing the look, not being more successful, not taking the opportunities that were there, not following up on things in a career way kind of way. 'But when I think about it, to be quite honest, given my background, it's a bit of a miracle that I had any success in the music business. I did reach that conclusion right at the end of it: 'F**king hell!'' Bless Me Father: A Life Story is published by Ebury Spotlight
eNCA
18-07-2025
- Entertainment
- eNCA
Serbian youth pumps up protest at last EXIT festival
NOVI SAD - Serbia's youthful anti-graft protesters have celebrated what may prove to be the country's last ever EXIT music festival, but hope the energy it generated will still boost their fight for change. Long a symbol of youth-led resistance, the four-day dance party came to an end this week and hundreds of thousands of festival-goers headed home re-energised to continue their struggle. Within the walls of the festival's iconic fortress venue, and on the streets of Novi Sad, where the student-led movement began in November, symbols of resistance were everywhere. An image of a bloodied red hand, a stark symbol of the protests, beamed down from screens onto heaving mosh pits throughout screaming punk sets, while the protest's rallying cry bounced over thumping techno. The movement is nine months old and, for many, EXIT was a chance to renew their protest under a more international spotlight. "This is basically about keeping the fire alive and responding to this regime," Srdan Kovacevic told AFP at on the bridge into the festival. AFP | Nenad MIHAJLOVIC Festival-goers streamed past signs memorialising the 16 people killed in a train station roof collapse -- a tragedy that sparked anti-graft demonstrations against the country's right-wing government. "I think it is very important to stand on this side and raise awareness not only domestically but internationally," said Vanja Manic-Matic, a French language teacher. This could be the last time Serbian protest chants are heard at the festival's iconic Serbian site, after organisers announced a decision to leave their home country. First launched 25 years ago in opposition to strongman Slobodan Milosevic's rule, organisers now accuse President Aleksandar Vucic's government of pressuring it to pull out of the Balkan nation. Following their backing of the anti-corruption movement, the festival claims the government cut funding and sponsors were pressured to withdraw. - 'Pumpaj' punks - Since November, massive rallies, some drawing hundreds of thousands, have gripped Serbia -- triggering the collapse of a government faced with accusations of deep-rooted corruption. But Vucic, in power since 2012, remains at the head of a reshuffled administration and refuses to hold new elections, a key demand of the protesters. Instead, the government has trained its sights on EXIT, one of the country's most significant international tourism draws. "This is a great thing because it shows how crooked everything is in Serbia," Filip Ubovic, a 23-year-old Belgrade student, told a press conference during EXIT. On festival fences, rally photos were hung alongside protest banners, while crowds screamed the movement's chant: "Pumpaj!", or "Pump it up!" in English. Local bands were joined by international artists, including punk legends the Sex Pistols, in encouraging the crowd to chant the protest slogan. "Stand up for your rights, show that the people have power. Pump it!" shouted Italian singer Gala. - 'Inevitable' - "It's a great sign to Europe, to the world, that we are here. We are ready for the fight until we win," 22-year-old student protester Aleksa Savic said during the festival. AFP | Nenad MIHAJLOVIC Following a massive rally in Belgrade in late June, major roads and public squares have been frequently blocked by roaming protesters in cities around the country. Vucic has responded by calling for the arrest of demonstrators he alleged are "paid by foreign interests". Dozens have been detained in recent weeks. As summer holidays begin and the cities empty, Kovacevic admitted turning out large numbers against the government was becoming difficult, but he nevertheless believed fresh elections were "inevitable". "It's not just that it must happen, but it will happen," the 53-year-old lawyer said. - Making an EXIT - EXIT plans to move abroad, reportedly to the foot of the Giza Pyramid outside Cairo. "This is the hardest decision in our 25-year history, but we believe freedom has no price," festival founder and director Dusan Kovacevic said. AFP | Sasa Djordjevic It is part of a larger cultural exodus from Serbia. Several theatre and film festivals have been cancelled or defunded without explanation in recent months. In June, a former paramilitary unit leader was installed as head of the national theatre company, triggering an outcry from artists. "I think it will have a big cultural impact on both Serbia and Novi Sad. I'm simply sad that this is the last EXIT," 25-year-old Veljko said as he arrived for the festival's last day. In the closing hours of EXIT, organisers issued an emotional farewell to the crowd. "Thank you all for being brave enough to come this year -- to send a message to the whole world that love and light are unstoppable," EXIT's founder declared.
