Peabo Bryson was the king of collaborations in the 1990s. Of his 12 Hot 100 hits, seven were collaborations with other top artists, including two pairings each with Regina Belle and Roberta Flack.
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We learned over the weekend that the velvet-voiced Bryson has suffered a stroke and is currently under medical care. A representative for Bryson sent the following statement to Billboard: “At this time, the family requests privacy as they navigate this deeply personal moment together. The thoughts, prayers and love of friends and fans are welcomed and deeply appreciated.”
Bryson is best known for the duets “Beauty and the Beast” and “A Whole New World (Aladdin’s Theme).” Those songs, both composed by Alan Menken for Disney blockbusters, won back-to-back Oscars for best original song. Bryson also won back-to-back Grammy Awards for best pop duo/group collaboration for performing those hits, with Celine Dion and Belle, respectively.
Bryson and Dion, whose version of “Beauty and the Beast” was heard over the end credits of that film, performed the song on the 1992 Oscars in tandem with Angela Lansbury, who sang it in the body of the film. Bryson and Dion also performed the song at the 1992 American Music Awards, the 1993 Grammys, the World Music Awards, The Tonight Show With Jay Leno, Top of the Pops and more.
Bryson had 13 hits on Billboard’s R&B/Hip-Hop Songs chart before he landed his first hit on the Hot 100 – “Lovers After All,” a collab with Melissa Manchester, in 1981.
But now it’s your turn to weigh in. What’s your favorite of Bryson’s 12 Hot 100 hits? They are listed here in chronological order. Vote!
Coca-Cola Flow Fest — Mexico’s biggest reggaeton party celebrating Latin urban music — unveiled its 2026 lineup on Monday (June 1). Headlined by Anuel AA, Tito Double P, Ozuna and Kali Uchis, the event is set to take place Nov. 28 and 29 at Mexico City’s Autódromo Hermanos Rodríguez, promoter OCESA announced.
The lineup also features standout artists like Chencho Corleone, Manuel Turizo, Yandel, Trueno, Farruko, Ñengo Flow, Zion, El Bogueto, Tito El Bambino, and more. Additionally, this year’s Flow Fest will include special guests: Grupo Frontera on the first day, and Justin Quiles and Lenny Tavárez on the second.
The Autódromo Hermanos Rodríguez, home to Mexico City’s Formula 1 races, will once again transform into the global epicenter of perreo, hosting a star-studded lineup of world-renowned artists.
“This is THE call for everyone who wants to get their perreo on,” reads a post shared by Coca-Cola Flow Fest and OCESA on Instagram.
In previous editions, the Flow Fest has hosted icons and stars like Daddy Yankee, J Balvin, Don Omar, Feid, Wisin & Yandel, Maluma, Rauw Alejandro, Sebastián Yatra, Rels B, as well as representatives of “reggaeton mexa” scene like El Malilla and Cachirula & Loojan.
This year will also feature performances by Tokischa, Kevin Roldan, Ken-Y, Clarent, Dei V, Alleh, J Alvarez, FloyyMenor, Yan Block, and Kybba.
The presale for Citibanamex cardholders will take place this Thursday (June 4), organizers announced. General ticket sales will begin the following day.
Check out the full lineup for the Coca-Cola Flow Fest 2026 below:
Michael Jackson’s not-so-hidden gem “Chicago” debuts on the Billboard Hot 100 songs chart, among overall growth for his catalog as the late King of Pop’s biopic Michael continues to dominate at the box office.
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The viral “Chicago” enters the Hot 100 (dated June 6) at No. 30, almost entirely from 10.7 million official chart-eligible streams (up 30% week over week) in the United States May 22-28, according to data tracker Luminate. (Older songs are allowed to appear on the chart if ranking in the top 50 and showing meaningful gains.)
The song has drawn 388 million streams to date, with its latest frame up from 8.3 million (May 30-dated charts), 6.9 million (May 23), 5.4 million (May 16) and 3.8 million (May 9 — reflecting the first week of tracking after Michael premiered April 24). Its May 9 chart sum was 83% higher than the week before.
“Chicago” was released on Jackson’s album Xscape in 2014, nearly five years after he died. The set produced two Hot 100 hits that year: “Love Never Felt So Good,” with Justin Timberlake (No. 9 peak) and “Slave to the Rhythm” (No. 45).
Timbaland and JRoc produced “Chicago,” which Cory Rooney wrote.
The track becomes Jackson’s 52nd Hot 100 hit as a soloist, dating to his initial entry, “Got To Be There,” in 1971. It’s his first since Drake’s “Don’t Matter to Me,” featuring Jackson, debuted at its No. 9 peak in July 2018, becoming Jackson’s 30th top 10, 13 of which hit No. 1.
Plus, the Jackson 5/Jacksons, with Jackson as a member, tallied 11 Hot 100 top 10s, including four No. 1s, in 1969-84.
Jackson becomes the first artist to have debuted new entries on the Hot 100 in each decade since the 1970s. His totals by decade: ‘70s — 11; ‘80s — 20; ‘90s — 12; 2000s — four; ‘10s — four; and ‘20s — one.
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When Jackson’s “Thriller,” originally a No. 4 Hot 100 hit in 1984, rode Halloween gains to No. 10 on the Nov. 15, 2025-dated chart, he became the first artist ever to rank in the top 10 in six distinct decades.
Jackson’s iconic music has surged amid Michael’s run, but “Chicago” stands out as not having been a major hit upon its original release — and it’s not featured in the film. On the May 23-dated Hot 100, a personal-best six songs of his charted simultaneously, with all having bounded to the top 10 and five having reached No. 1 in their original release schedules in the ‘70s-‘80s: “Billie Jean,” “Human Nature,” “Beat It,” “Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough,” “Dirty Diana” and “Rock With You.”
On the latest Hot 100, “Chicago” is Jackson’s second-highest-charting song, after “Billie Jean” at No. 19. Below “Chicago” are “Human Nature” (No. 31) and “Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough” (No. 43).
Social media has helped “Chicago” take its place among Jackson’s Hot 100 history, including usage on TikTok.
In a 2014 track-by-track Billboard review of Xscape, Joe Levy praised “Chicago” as “a dark funk tale of an affair with a married woman, with trap snares and washes of keyboard drama. Out front, Jackson’s tenor voice lays out the promise of a love (‘This woman had to be an angel from heaven sent just for me’), while his backing vocal screams of the consequences (‘She tried to lead a double life, loving me while she was still your wife’). At the 3:20 mark, the drums drop out and the vocals and finger snaps take over.
“Timbaland sometimes felt he was hearing Jackson’s spirit speak to him in the studio,” Levy added. “This is one of those moments.”
When he’s not producing hits in the studio, Rogét Chahayed is working out. Alongside music, the Los Angeles native has dedicated the last few years of his life to fitness, which has resulted in Chahayed dropping 60 pounds.
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The energy from a rigorous late March workout in his home gym alongside Australian production duo FnZ poured into the studio for a jam session that followed and quickly led to the birth of the beat behind Drake’s “Janice STFU.”
“Within a minute or two, we found that main synth riff you hear in the song. We looked at each other like, ‘That’s crazy,’” Chahayed tells Billboard. “We would hit each other the next day like, ‘He’s gotta do something to this. If he doesn’t make something to this, we shouldn’t be doing music anymore.’ This s–t sounds like a hit without anything on it.”
While Chahayed saw potential in the brooding production, which was sent north of the border to OVO headquarters after some finishing touches from British producer B4u, nothing was official until ICEMAN‘s arrival.
Chahayed, who turned 38 on Sunday (May 31), found out about “Janice STFU” with the rest of the world while anxiously watching and running back YouTube’s episode four ICEMAN livestream on May 14 that came a couple of hours before the album reached streaming services.
Built around an addicting chorus interpolating Lykke Li’s “I Follow Rivers,” “Janice STFU” was tabbed an early standout from ICEMAN.
Drake used The Sopranos‘ Janice Soprano to inspire the track’s title, which provided a “full-circle” moment for the producer, as Chahayed — who fancies himself a diehard fan of the HBO series — estimates he’s watched The Sopranos about “50 or 60” times through. He talks up having a signed James Gandolfini (Tony Soprano) photo in his house and the water bottle sitting next to him during the interview is even slapped with a Sopranos sticker.
“Janice STFU” debuted atop the Billboard Hot 100 with 40.7 million official streams for the tracking week ending May 21, giving Drake his record-breaking 14th No. 1 — the most among male soloists — and Chahayed’s third (“SICKO MODE,” “First Class”).
The hit will spend a second week at the Hot 100‘s summit, which marks Drake’s first multi-week No. 1 since 2018’s “In My Feelings.” “Janice” also leads the Streaming Songs chart for a second week.
Chahayed notched a second ICEMAN placement with the 21 Savage-assisted “B’s on the Table” and even as the accolades like a Grammy nomination for producer of the year, non classical, and credits with Rosé and Bruno Mars (“APT.”) continue to pile up, he’s got no plans of slowing down.
“At the end of the day, as much as I want to make music for myself or score movies, I’m never gonna stop producing and make slappers,” he promises.
Check out the rest of our interview with the producer, who breaks down how his ICEMAN placements came about, plus so much more.
Another No. 1 hit. What was your reaction to seeing “Janice STFU” top the charts?
It’s been pretty crazy to see the impact it’s had on culture in general. It’s crazy to see how an artist like Drake, who’s been around for like two decades now, still make an impact through the days of mixtapes, DatPiff, blog era and CDs to streaming and now we’re in TikTok. It’s one of the more viral songs he’s had on there. It’s crazy to go on there and every few things I’m scrolling, I hear the song. It’s full circle for me because I’m a diehard Sopranos fan. I know they’re referencing Tony’s sister, Janice. It’s all these culminations coming full-circle.
Take me back, how does this work? Are you sending over beats to Drake or does this fall in your lap while working with other producers like FnZ?
All of my collaborations with Drake have been remote. He’s not an easily accessible guy. He’s got a lot of people in his circle and on his team. I’ve always found the best way to get through to him is sending the right music ideas. In this situation, I was working with FnZ. We collaborate often and get together once a month to cook up as many ideas as we can. We’ll make eight or nine things in a night. We spend a lot of time going into detail and picking sounds we think are going to make a difference.
This was end of March of this year, we’re trying to get ideas for ICEMAN. I had a song on there already with “B’s on the Table” and they had a few joints, but we wanted to get one more. I built a gym in my crib and we were f–king around and wanted to get one more in, so we went down to the studio and started with a jam session. I was looking for sounds and Zac from FnZ was tweaking the synths while I was playing. I was playing with melodies and Michael from FnZ was pulling up this hi-hat loop with a snare and a vocal chop. I started coming up with this thing and added a bass to it. Within a minute or two, we found that main synth riff you hear in the song. We looked at each other like, “That’s crazy.” We send it over to b4u, who’s been working with Drake heavy on this album. He finished it up.
When do you hear back that it’s done and hear about The Sopranos inspiration or the Lykke Li interpolation?
We had no idea what it was called. B4u was our point of contact for this situation. We sent him the sample and a few days later, FnZ sent me a text, “B4u said Drake started writing to this one.” I think we called the idea “Wired” originally. I’ve seen that text before that The Boy’s writing to it. He’s probably writing to so many beats. I don’t treat it as anything out of the ordinary.
Three weeks later, I got a text from b4u, “There’s one you did with FnZ, it sounds crazy and it might make the album.” That’s the only information I had. I didn’t know it’s called “Janice STFU” or what he’s rapping about, so we were eager to find out.
You heard the final version on the ICEMAN livestream with everyone?
I heard it on the stream before the actual release. FnZ hit me, “Yo, I think it’s called ‘Janice’ something.” I listened to it in the car and thought it sounded crazy. I had to keep going back on my YouTube to run it back. When it came out, I listened to the rest of the album and thought, “Holy s–t.” That one song, everyone kept hitting me that this was the one that was gonna push through.
People are really loving the Lykke Li “I Follow Rivers” interpolation on the chorus.
I didn’t really notice it at first, but when I was on Reddit and YouTube seeing people react, they were like, “It’s Lykke Li.” I get that the melody is similar, but I feel like the way Drake spun it was so creative and he puts this swing on it. I think it’s more genius to interpolate something from a different world of sound and put it into this. How did he think of putting this into the thing me and FnZ sent?
I’ve been a part of a lot of songs that have really good interpolations. I feel like you almost can’t make a hit nowadays without having some kind of homage or tribute to great melodies and great songs. “First Class,” Jack [Harlow] interpolates Fergie, “Kiss Me More” Doja interpolates Olivia Newton-John, and it’s cool to see Drake put his spin on it — it’s too fire.
It’s crazy that you sent over this one idea and it stuck with Drake. I figured you were sending over packs and packs of beats for him.
I probably sent like 100 ideas, loops and beats to people. Maybe a few hundred between loops for the drum guys and beats I made with people. It got to a point I didn’t think we were gonna make ICEMAN. I thought he had a million people sending him s–t and he had 100 songs done. FnZ and I have been working for five years now and they push me to find me the craziest sounds.
We did a song called “Dua Lipa” for Jack Harlow and “Kat Food ” for Lil Wayne. We’ll hang out together and be like, “We’re gonna get one of the craziest songs ever made.” We kind of manifested it. There was something about this day in particular…The energy was good, like I had just finished a crazy workout, because I got really into working out and training in the last year. This idea came as a result of like, fitness and taking care of ourselves and lifting weights and it kind of has that energy in it too. I feel like that’s not the lifestyle for a lot of producers. This has been my main thing lately, I lost 60 pounds in the last few years. I really attribute a lot of this success and better ideas to personal training. We would hit each other like, “He’s gotta do something to this. If he doesn’t make something to this, we shouldn’t be doing music anymore.” This s–t sounds like a hit without anything on it.
How did “B’s on the Table” come about? It sounds like that was already done before “Janice.”
That’s actually a beat that I made with London Cyr. We had a session a year ago with a beat that had these cool synth horns on it. I heard Drake really liked the beat and was doing something to it. I thought maybe it didn’t make the cut until London hit me, “Drake wants that same exact horn sound we did on a newer beat he’s doing.” He wanted the exact same sound and I forgot the sound. My engineer and I were sitting here for days going through every brass synth patch we had. I started to get tendonitis. I had a sound design dude make an identical sound and it still wasn’t cutting through.
B4u said he wanted more organic horn sounds and had me sending like 30 different versions of the horns you hear on the second half. That’s my part on the song. I’d get hit up at 1 a.m., 6 a.m. and 10 a.m. and I’d run home and try to finesse it. It was a lot of work. This whole album was a team effort. Communication is important. I knew 21 Savage was on it, but I didn’t know what it sounded like. They had just sent me the instrumental and a placeholder in the second half where the horns go. That’s the real rap motto, you got to be on call.
Do you have a special place for your plaques at your house?
All the plaques I have really are like gifts. My manager or publisher will have them for me. I’m definitely going to custom request a “Janice STFU” plaque. This is my third Hot 100 No. 1 in my career. I’m super grateful. My second one with Drake because he’s on “SICKO MODE.”
You said you were a massive Sopranos fan too, so that had to be cool.
Diehard Sopranos fan. I have all kinds of memorabilia. I have a signed James Gandolfini picture. I have a giant poster of the show. I’ve seen the show, probably as a whole, like 50 or 60 times through. I know everything that happens in every episode. If we’re watching it, I can basically go bar-for-bar. There’s a lot of meanings behind the song like, “Who’s Janice?” The song is so fire I don’t try to find out who he’s really talking about. I’m not a political guy like that. Janice in the show did get on everyone’s nerves. Drake was posting hints about The Sopranos on his other Instagram account. It’s the greatest show of all-time and Drake’s one of the greatest artists of all-time, so it’s a crazy full-circle thing. I guess watching the show 100 times and making beats every day paid off.
What’s the difference when producing for a rapper versus a pop artist?
When you’re working with pop artists, I feel like musically that they need a little bit less as far as sounds go. I always try to focus on what the song needs first. Later on, we can finish the production on it. When I work with a rapper, I feel like we got to find the most cutthroat crazy sound that pushes them. I feel like rappers are impatient. When you’re working with a pop artist, they’re willing to take time to craft the content of the song. When you’re playing rappers beats that are done and the song isn’t hitting, they’re like, “Nah, I need some s–t like this!” I learned that from the school of Dr. Dre. The pressure was always on. He was always hovering over you like, “What you got? You have anything crazy?” And if you didn’t, you felt inferior. They’re trying to make a hit and you got to give them a sound that pierces through the speaker so they almost want to fight with the beat. They want to spar with the beat.
Whereas when you’re writing for a pop artist, all you need is four good chords. All they really need is a piano or a guitar to make the song. Once they have the song, they’re sitting there with the songwriter for three or four hours and the producers are sitting there waiting for them to finish. That’s why I love rap more. Rap is more competitive. Rap is more like that blank canvas of what you can put on there musically. There’s more you could do with it.
Talk about your experience working with Jennifer Lopez and Mariah Carey.
I spent a lot of time in the studio with with Jennifer, and she is just like probably the hardest working person I’ve ever met in my life. It’s crazy, like you think of someone that has everything, all the success, wealth and fame, and she works like it’s her last day. She’s an incredible businesswoman, she’s very creative, always working on movies, always has ideas, always making music and she’s very detailed.
She was in the studio for every session for every song on that album. It wasn’t like a J Lo camp, where she would come in for an hour, like “I’m gonna go back to being a movie star.” No, she was in there in workout clothes. She’s just like a normal person in the studio. I was like, “Oh, she’s one of us.” She’s a nerd for this s–t.
She was always very positive and easy to reach. She always picked up my calls and told me from the beginning, “Don’t sugarcoat nothing. Tell me if this s–t doesn’t sound good. Tell me if this song doesn’t sound good. I need you to be direct with me.”
Mariah, I was brought into that session by my boy Anderson .Paak. So Mariah was also in the studio with us and she started really late, I think we started the sessions at 10 p.m. and we would be in there ’till like, six in the morning. It was so organic working with Mariah.
We did the “In Your Feelings” song and we’re sitting on the piano at Electric Lady Studios. Mariah is right there, just coming up with melodies. I’m just sitting there on the piano, like, “Holy s–t.” My mom used to play Mariah Carey in the car when I was a kid and like now I’m sitting on the piano writing a song with her. I still get those weird feelings of like, “I can’t believe this is happening.” They’re just normal people, like you and me, trying to write music, which is so cool to experience.
John Summit recently sat down with Billboard‘s Kristin Robinson for an episode of her On the Record podcast to talk about life as a high-flying dance star.
While acknowledging that the dance world functions differently than many other areas of the music industry — from how dance labels work as tastemakers to how the scene is fueled largely by singles rather than albums — Summit also talked about being one of the rare dance artists to headline a major multigenre festival.
Speaking to the question of whether dance artists need to “prove themselves more than pop artists” in order to earn this headlining multigenre festival slot, Summit said, “Yes, and you still see the comments of all the pop fans being like ‘Who the f–k is John Summit?’ And I was like, ‘Damn, I thought I was doing pretty well’, but I still have a lot of heads to turn still. I’ve kind of touched the pop realm, but I still think I’m just fully in dance music though, because I still haven’t had like, a Billboard [Hot] 100 track or anything. They chart in dance music, it’s just a different world.”
Later in the interview he comments again on the befuddled reactions among pop fans when the Lolla lineup was announced, saying that “Then the dance music fans [were] like ‘What are you talking about?’ We’re just totally in our own world [in dance], which I think is pretty awesome.”
Summit will headline Lollapalooza on July 30, with Lorde, Charli xcx, Smashing Pumpkins, Olivia Dean, Jennie, Tate McRae and The xx also headlining the three-day fest. The occasion marks something of a full circle moment for Summit, who grew up in the Chicagoland area and told Billboard in 2023 that seeing deadmau5 play Lolla in 2011 was the moment he knew he wanted to work in the genre too.
“I feel like everyone always has that moment when they’re like, ‘Oh my god, this is my genre,’” Summit said. “That’s when I knew I wanted to be a part of electronic music.”
Elsewhere in the interview, Summit says that after his recently announced North American arena tour wraps, “I don’t know when I’m going to play America next at all. I’m going to take a long break,” adding that he and his team are also narrowing down the number of shows he’ll play in Las Vegas. Listen to the complete interview below.
Inside Kingsway — a historic, gorgeous New Orleans residence that legendary producer Daniel Lanois turned into an idiosyncratic recording studio in the late ‘80s and ‘90s for Bob Dylan, U2, R.E.M., Emmylou Harris and others — Afro-Caribbean rhythms are vibrating and Vodou priestesses are singing.
Although it’s loaded with instruments (and a Senegalese fertility bed for those in need), Kingsway is no longer a recording studio these days, but the sound of music still hits different in the house. Built in 1848, this French Quarter home reverberates with history, even when music isn’t filling its 12,000 square feet. (Depending on who you talk to, including a few rock stars who have refused to sleep there, it’s haunted—but then again, what historic house in New Orleans isn’t?) Thanks to Kingsway owner/hotelier Sean Cummings, a man with a deep love for the music, food and foibles of his city, Kingsway opened its wrought-iron gates on a rainy Friday night to Vodou practitioners, storytellers, priests and priestesses hailing from Haiti, Benin, Cuba, Congo, Martinique, Angola, Ghana and, of course, New Orleans. It’s the night before the third annual New Orleans International Vodou Day on Saturday (May 23), and the attendees are gathered to greet, eat, drink and mingle.
In a spacious room next to the foyer, Mami Moun — a Manbo Asogwe (high priestess) and powerful singer — and Malou Beauvoir, a Haitian-American singer-songwriter, are blending their voices for an impromptu performance. Elevating the last-minute performance is Andrew Wiseman, a nimble local drummer and an instinctive conduit to rhythm, as well as the room itself, a space with a warm, vintage acoustic personality.
Traditional Vodou songs are intended to awaken the Lwa (also spelled Ioa), spirits created by Bondye (the supreme deity) to help humans in their daily lives. But when delivered by gifted singers such as these two, the music reaches deep into the spirit of anyone within earshot, whether they’re a believer or not. The music seems to evoke centuries of power and pain, soaring with an indomitable strength despite everything the African diaspora has been subjected to.
In case you’re wondering, yes, this is Vodou — spiritual practices and beliefs in Haiti, parts of Africa and the African diaspora — not voodoo. The latter term, often associated with a Westernized caricature of the practices, is rejected by some practitioners of the Afro-Caribbean religious practices who are hoping to shed misconceptions thrust upon them by Hollywood.
For many, keeping alive (or rediscovering) these traditions is personal, spiritual, artistic and academic all at once. During Saturday’s International Vodou Day Symposium, a dozen speakers gathered at Xavier University of Louisiana to share historical knowledge and present experiences.
Ethnomusicologist Houngan Collin Edouard was one of them. Like many collegiate lectures, the word “ontology” made an appearance; unlike most academic gatherings, attendees occasionally shouted out “ayibobo!” (a Haitian Creole affirmation) while he was speaking. Edouard, a PhD student at Yale who studies music in Vodou ceremonies, explored the transtemporal idea of music as a means of connecting with ancestors and Lwa spirits. In his heartfelt, well-researched presentation, he placed the musical Vodou voice in the context of the slavery these Afro-Caribbean traditions began to codify within, noting that “the voice travels if the body cannot.” Of traditional Vodou songs that people, himself included, still sing, he wondered, “Which one of my ancestors tried to sing that song while someone silenced him?”
Outside the presentation, Malou Beauvoir, who sang at Kingsway the night before, sat next to a table of her artistic output, from caftans to a children’s book meant to destigmatize the religion (Our Vodou: A Vodou Bedtime Tale) to her 2018 album Spiritwalker, which finds her powerful, alchemic voice exploring traditional Vodou songs in contemporary musical contexts. One of the songs on her album, “Papa Damballah,” is about a powerful Lwa spirit who became linked to St. Patrick due to their shared association with snakes. Of the cross-pollination, she noted that Irish Catholics headed to America for indentured servitude were often on the same boats as enslaved Africans headed for an even worse fate. “They were all on the same boat, praying together just to survive,” Beauvoir says.
That hope for survival — as Edouard puts it, the voice can move even when the body cannot — was felt in the singing and dancing of a post-symposium Vodou ceremony the next day. After a processional through various locations in New Orleans where enslaved peoples were sold, brutalized and massacred throughout the city’s complicated history, a proper Vodou ceremony had been planned to take over Congo Square, where enslaved Africans sang, danced and traded on Sunday afternoons beginning in the 1740s. Due to the rain on that particular Sunday, however, the Vodou ceremony was moved inside the Ninth Ward’s New Orleans Healing Center lobby.
The air hung heavy with incense as 20-some practitioners, dressed in immaculate white, participated in an hours-long ceremony, dancing around food and drink offerings and battery-powered votive candles (hey, it is 2026). Men on drums teased out centuries-old rhythms and the ceremonial lead singer (called houngenikon or adjenikon) directed the oceanic rising and falling of voices, most of them female, which seemed to ebb and flow through the room.
Aside from those directly involved in the ceremony — an eclectic group that included Divine Prince Ty Emmecca, who has appeared on Big Freedia: Queen of Bounce and is the Gulf Coast Godfather of the Royal Iconic House of LaBeija (Vodou is much more accepting of LGBTQ people than many religions) — or the symposium, locals from the community stopped by to participate and observe. A family-friendly gathering, many people brought their kids, some of whom danced along joyously to the music while others retreated into their iPads (much the same as one might find at any communal religious gathering these days).
Curious onlookers who stopped by weren’t met with any preaching or recruiting efforts. The participants in International Vodou Day seemed more interested in connecting, sharing and learning from each other. To pull back the curtain a bit, yes, but not to demystify Vodou — like any religious belief system, the undefinable is inherently part of it. Rather to demonstrate that these traditions, so inextricable from the city’s past, are about hope, seeking help and finding spiritual sustenance.
The difficult-to-pin-down artistic and spiritual energy of Vodou continues to permeate New Orleans culture and the music that’s come out of it. It’s a rhythm that runs strong through the Delta blues and beyond, present in everything from Jimi Hendrix to Beyoncé to Dr. John to Big Freedia. Like gospel, the voices of Vodou express hope, pain and joy all at once, connecting the present to the past in one of America’s great music cities — a cultural hub where people still fuel the rhythms.
Billboard’s airfare was covered by New Orleans & Company.
Rehacer El cielo y el infierno parece una idea peligrosísima incluso para un director como Spike Lee. No solamente porque la película de Akira Kurosawa (basada en la novela policíaca El rescate del rey de Evan Hunter), sigue siendo uno de los grandes thrillers morales de la historia del cine, sino porque su precisión narrativa, su comentario social y su desesperanza resultan casi imposibles de replicar. Y sin embargo, Highest 2 Lowest entiende algo fundamental desde el principio y es que no intenta competir directamente con Kurosawa. Spike Lee toma aquella estructura narrativa y la convierte en otra cosa. Más ruidosa, excesiva, nerviosa y profundamente neoyorquina.
Aquí, el empresario atormentado ya no es un ejecutivo de zapatos atrapado dentro de la rígida jerarquía corporativa japonesa de los sesenta. Ahora es David King (Denzel Washington), un legendario magnate de la industria musical que vive rodeado de lujo, memorabilia deportiva y una autoconfianza casi monárquica mientras contempla a Manhattan desde su penthouse. Entonces ocurre el secuestro. O al menos eso parece.
El hijo de King, supuestamente ha sido raptado y los criminales exigen 17.5 millones de dólares. Pero rápidamente aparece el gran giro heredado de Kurosawa: El joven secuestrado no es Trey (Aubrey Joseph), hijo de David, sino Kyle (Elijah Wright), el hijo de Paul Christopher (Jeffrey Wright), chofer, amigo y mano derecha de King. Y ahí reaparece el verdadero corazón moral de la historia: ¿Hasta dónde está dispuesto a sacrificarlo todo un hombre multimillonario para salvar al hijo de alguien que trabaja para él?
Spike Lee utiliza esa premisa para hablar no solamente de desigualdad económica, sino también de poder mediático, cultura de la celebridad y espectáculo contemporáneo. Porque a diferencia de la versión japonesa, aquí todo está atravesado por la fama, las redes sociales y la idea de que incluso la tragedia puede convertirse en performance pública.
Sobra decir que Denzel Washington está magnífico. Eso ya casi ni sorprende, pero sigue siendo cierto. Gracias a él, David King posee arrogancia, carisma, inteligencia y una vulnerabilidad que aparece apenas en pequeñas grietas. Washington entiende perfectamente que el personaje jamás debe transformarse en un mártir moral. Incluso en sus momentos más nobles sigue siendo un hombre acostumbrado a controlar absolutamente todo a su alrededor. Y Spike Lee filma esa figura con evidente fascinación.
La película prácticamente respira Nueva York. Yankees, hip hop, Brooklyn, el metro, pantallas gigantes, ruido urbano y conversaciones atravesadas por dinero y poder. Matthew Libatique fotografía la ciudad con una energía vibrante que convierte cada persecución y cada escena multitudinaria en un espectáculo visual lleno de movimiento constante.
Particularmente brillante resulta toda la secuencia del rescate en el metro rumbo al Yankee Stadium. Ahí Spike recuerda por qué sigue siendo uno de los directores estadounidenses con mayor control espacial y musical dentro de escenas caóticas. Y además está Eddie Palmieri. Spike Lee no utiliza su música como simple decoración nostálgica, sino como parte esencial de la identidad emocional y rítmica de la película.
La presencia del legendario pianista y compositor de salsa ayuda a conectar a Highest 2 Lowest con una Nueva York profundamente latina, callejera y musical que rara vez aparece en thrillers corporativos contemporáneos. La intervención musical de Palmieri le da a la película una energía urbana muy específica, casi febril, como si toda la ciudad estuviera latiendo debajo de la historia del secuestro. Y ahí Spike vuelve a demostrar algo que siempre entendió mejor que muchos directores estadounidenses: Nueva York no se filma solamente con imágenes, también se filma con sonido, ritmo y memoria cultural.
Pero la verdadera sorpresa de la película termina siendo el rapero A$AP Rocky. Yung Felon, la némesis de King introduce una tensión distinta dentro de la historia. No es simplemente un sospechoso o un antagonista, representa otra generación de ambición, resentimiento, sed de fama y oportunismo dentro de la industria musical. Las escenas entre él y Washington poseen una electricidad enorme, especialmente porque Rocky (quien ya había demostrado su calidad actoral en If I Had Legs, I’d Kick You), jamás intenta competir con el peso actoral de Denzel desde la intensidad exagerada. Lo hace desde la arrogancia juvenil y el desafío constante.
Jeffrey Wright también aporta muchísimo como Paul Christopher, el hombre atrapado emocionalmente entre la gratitud, la humillación y el miedo absoluto por la vida de su hijo (que de hecho es interpretado por su hijo en la vida real). Wright entiende muy bien algo importante y es que el personaje no solamente teme perder a Kyle, sino que también teme descubrir con exactitud cuánto vale realmente su vida para David King.
Sin embargo, la película pierde una parte importante de la dureza moral que hacía tan devastadora la obra de Kurosawa. Spike Lee es demasiado vitalista, energético y enamorado de la propia ciudad como para sostener completamente el tono sombrío y clínico del clásico original. Highest 2 Lowest es más entretenida, explosiva y espectacular, pero también menos pesimista. Hay momentos donde el thriller social queda parcialmente enterrado bajo la estilización visual, la música y los diálogos diseñados para generar un aplauso inmediato.
Pero aun así funciona, porque Lee comprende perfectamente que está haciendo un remix y no un intento de copia como sucedió con su fallida versión de Oldboy. Del mismo modo en que una canción puede apropiarse y remezclarse y seguir conservando su esencia, Highest 2 Lowest traduce las obsesiones de Kurosawa al lenguaje visual y a la furia política, social y racial del Estados Unidos contemporáneo que Lee sabe capturar muy bien.
The post Crítica: <i>El cielo y el infierno (Highest 2 Lowest)</i> appeared first on Rolling Stone en Español.
Dead Man’s Wire arranca con una posición moral poco frecuente en el cine de hechos reales reciente. Antes de estilizar y dramatizar, la película se detiene en el origen del conflicto. Tony Kiritsis fue empujado al abismo por un sistema financiero diseñado para ganar incluso cuando el deudor pierde. No se trata de justificar el secuestro ni la violencia, sino de exponer el terreno que los hizo posibles. Desde ese punto de partida, Gus Van Sant construye una obra que entiende el contexto social como parte inseparable del drama humano.
El caso de Tony Kiritsis ya había sido explorado antes desde el registro documental y sonoro, y Dead Man’s Wire expande de forma directa ese archivo previo. El documental Dead Man’s Line reconstruyó el secuestro desde el material televisivo original y los testimonios policiales, mostrando cómo los medios convirtieron el episodio en espectáculo nacional. Más tarde, el podcast American Hostage, dramatizado en formato seriado, se concentró en la voz de Kiritsis (Jon Hamm) y en su relación con la radio, dejando ver hasta qué punto el micrófono fue su única forma de negociación. La película de Van Sant toma distancia de ambos enfoques. No se limita a reconstruir los hechos ni a amplificar la teatralidad mediática, sino que usa ese material previo como base para interrogar el sistema económico y legal que empujó el caso hacia un callejón sin salida.
Van Sant filma la historia como si el tiempo no hubiera pasado. Su puesta en escena evoca el cine estadounidense de los setenta sin caer en la imitación vacía. Hay una textura analógica, una cámara que observa más de lo que juzga y una confianza absoluta en los actores. El resultado se siente tan refrescante como retro, del mismo modo en que Lenny Kravitz sonaba en los noventa: heredero de una tradición, pero vivo, urgente y presente.
La comparación con Dog Day Afternoon no solo es inevitable, es pertinente. Ambas películas retratan a un hombre común empujado a un acto desesperado, rodeado por cámaras, policías y espectadores que consumen el drama como entretenimiento. La diferencia está en el ángulo. Dead Man’s Wire es menos caótica y más clínica, menos histriónica y más política. Donde Lumet observaba la psicología colectiva, Van Sant se concentra en la maquinaria que tritura al individuo.
Bill Skarsgård, el payaso psicópata de It, entrega aquí una de las actuaciones más completas de su carrera. Su Tony Kiritsis no es un mártir ni un villano carismático. Es un hombre tenso, obsesivo, lúcido por momentos y peligrosamente convencido de su propia lógica. Skarsgård permite que tanto la determinación como el delirio y la paranoia se filtren en la mirada, en los silencios, en el humor seco con el que intenta normalizar lo intolerable. Nunca busca simpatía fácil. Tampoco se esconde detrás de la locura. Su interpretación sostiene la película entera.
Dacre Montgomery (Billy en Stranger Things), como Richard Hall, construye un contrapunto esencial. Su personaje no es solo rehén físico, sino heredero directo del sistema que Kiritsis enfrenta. Montgomery evita el trazo obvio del joven privilegiado y apuesta por una implosión constante: miedo, culpa, confusión y una obediencia aprendida hacia la figura paterna. Las escenas telefónicas con M.L. Hall son de las más elocuentes del filme, porque revelan la brutalidad de un poder que se niega a ceder incluso cuando la vida está en juego.
La presencia de Al Pacino no es decorativa ni nostálgica. Su M.L. Hall funciona como eco directo de sus propios papeles setenteros, pero invertido. Aquí encarna al capital blindado, al patriarca que no reconoce daño alguno en sus decisiones. Pacino actúa desde la soberbia y la seguridad absoluta, recordándonos que el verdadero antagonista no necesita armas ni gritos.
Colman Domingo, como el locutor de radio que amplifica la voz de Kiritsis, aporta una dimensión crucial: la del espectáculo. La película entiende que este caso no se sostuvo solo por la violencia, sino por la transmisión constante, por el deseo colectivo de escuchar, opinar y consumir la angustia ajena. Los medios no son simples testigos. Son participantes activos.
La banda sonora de Danny Elfman y la exquisita selección musical, refuerzan esa identidad clásica sin caer en el pastiche. Esto ayuda a que la cinta se sienta tensa, rítmica e impulsora. Van Sant la utiliza como motor narrativo, no como comentario sentimental. Todo avanza con una sensación de cuenta regresiva, incluso cuando los personajes están detenidos.
Lo más potente de Dead Man’s Wire es su conclusión implícita. No hemos cambiado. Las estructuras que aplastaron a Kiritsis siguen intactas. El capitalismo inmobiliario, la especulación, la desigualdad legal y la criminalización del desesperado siguen siendo moneda corriente. La película no busca redimir a su protagonista, pero tampoco permite que sea archivado como una anomalía histórica.
Dead Man’s Wire funciona como la pieza de compañía que faltaba para Dog Day Afternoon. Es cine político sin consignas, sostenido por una actuación central formidable, una dirección precisa y una convicción clara de que el pasado no está cerrado. Solo está esperando que volvamos a mirarlo para vernos en el espejo.
The post Crítica: <i>63 horas de pánico (Dead Man’s Wire)</i> appeared first on Rolling Stone en Español.
Después de ganar el Óscar por el escalofriante documental Navalny, Daniel Roher debutó en la ficción con una película pequeña, íntima y sorprendentemente cálida. Tuner parte de una premisa que sobre el papel parece absurda: Un afinador de pianos con hiperacusia descubre que su extraordinario oído también le permite abrir cajas fuertes. Sin embargo, la película tiene la inteligencia suficiente para entender que ese no es el verdadero centro de la historia.
Lo que realmente importa es la relación entre Niki White (Leo Woodall) y Harry Horowitz (Dustin Hoffman), dos afinadores de pianos unidos por una ironía casi perfecta. Mientras Niki escucha demasiado y vive obligado a protegerse del ruido constante del mundo, Harry comienza a perder el oído que lo convirtió en uno de los técnicos más respetados de Nueva York. La película encuentra en esa contradicción su mejor idea dramática.
Woodall continúa demostrando que es uno de los actores jóvenes más interesantes surgidos en los últimos años. Después de llamar la atención en The White Lotus, Prime Target y Bridget Jones; Mad About The Boy, aquí abandona parte del magnetismo seductor que lo hizo famoso para construir un personaje mucho más vulnerable. Niki es un hombre que parece vivir permanentemente incómodo dentro de su propia cabeza, escuchando sonidos que nadie más percibe. El actor logra transmitir esa ansiedad sin necesidad de exageraciones.
Pero quien termina robándose la película es Dustin Hoffman. A sus 88 años conserva intacta la capacidad de dominar una escena con apenas una mirada o una línea de diálogo. Harry podría haber sido el típico mentor gruñón y sabio que tantas veces ha aparecido en el cine, pero Hoffman lo convierte en alguien mucho más humano. Es divertido, terco, cariñoso y profundamente consciente de que el tiempo se le está acabando.
Las mejores escenas ocurren cuando ambos personajes simplemente trabajan. Afinando pianos, recorriendo Manhattan en una vieja camioneta o compartiendo conversaciones aparentemente intrascendentes, casi siempre sobre Jazz. Ahí es donde la película encuentra una naturalidad que resulta difícil de fabricar.
El problema aparece cuando la historia intenta convertirse en un thriller criminal muy similar al la estupenda serie Your Friends And Neighbors. Los problemas económicos de Harry, más la llegada de Uri (Lior Raz) y la posibilidad de utilizar el talento de Niki para abrir cajas fuertes introduce un conflicto que nunca alcanza la misma fuerza que la relación central. No ayuda que varios giros resulten previsibles y que algunas situaciones exijan una suspensión de la incredulidad bastante generosa.
Tampoco termina de funcionar del todo la subtrama romántica entre Niki y Ruthie (Havana Rose Liu). Aunque ambos actores tienen química y la película construye con sensibilidad su primer encuentro, la relación parece existir más para cumplir con ciertas convenciones narrativas que por una verdadera necesidad dramática.
Aun así, Tuner logra sostenerse porque entiende algo fundamental: los personajes importan más que la trama. Daniel Roher dirige como si los hermanos Safdie hubieran encontrado la virtud de la paciencia, sin caer en el exhibicionismo formal, permitiendo que los actores respiren y que los pequeños momentos adquieran peso propio. La película nunca busca impresionar con grandes golpes de efecto; prefiere apoyarse en emociones sencillas y relaciones creíbles.
Algunos elementos criminales parecen sacados de una película distinta y el desenlace apuesta por una resolución más complaciente de lo que la historia merecía. Pero incluso cuando tropieza, Tuner conserva una cualidad cada vez más escasa: resulta genuinamente agradable pasar tiempo con sus personajes. Su mayor virtud es recordar que una película puede ser modesta, imperfecta y aun así profundamente encantadora.
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Después de siete años, tres temporadas y una generación de espectadores marcada por sus excesos, Euphoria ha llegado oficialmente a su final.
Este domingo 31 de mayo, horas después de la emisión del octavo y último episodio de la tercera temporada, el creador de la serie, Sam Levinson, confirmó que la historia ha concluido. En una entrevista para el podcast Popcast de The New York Times, el realizador aseguró que el desenlace representa el cierre natural de la narrativa que impulsó la serie desde su estreno en 2019.
“En cuanto a la historia que nos propusimos contar, que es una historia sobre la adicción y sus consecuencias. Y siento que este es el final”, afirmó Levinson.
Nota de la redacción: LOS SIGUIENTES PÁRRAFOS PUEDE CONTENER SPOILERS
El episodio final estuvo marcado por una cadena de acontecimientos trágicos que terminaron cobrando la vida de varios personajes centrales. Entre ellos se encuentra Rue Bennett, interpretada por Zendaya, cuya muerte se produce tras consumir Percocet adulterado deliberadamente con fentanilo por el narcotraficante Alamo Brown, interpretado por Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje.
La muerte de Rue se suma a la de Laurie, la traficante interpretada por Martha Kelly, quien se suicida para evitar ser arrestada. Por su parte, Alamo Brown es asesinado por Ali, el personaje de Colman Domingo, en un acto de venganza por la muerte de Rue.
La temporada ya había dejado una baja importante una semana antes con la muerte de Nate Jacobs, personaje interpretado por Jacob Elordi, por lo que el cierre terminó convirtiéndose en uno de los más sangrientos de toda la serie.
Para Levinson, la decisión de terminar la historia de Rue también tuvo un significado profundamente personal. El creador explicó que el desenlace funciona como un homenaje a Angus Cloud, quien interpretó a Fezco y falleció en 2023 a los 25 años tras una sobredosis accidental.
“Al final es una tragedia, pero también es la verdad. Si experimentas o consumes drogas hoy en día, es muy posible que te maten, y creo que fue una forma de honrar a Angus y rezar por el futuro”, señaló.
Aunque HBO nunca había anunciado oficialmente el final de la producción, desde hace meses existían señales de que la serie se acercaba a su conclusión. La propia Zendaya había comentado recientemente que sentía que la historia estaba llegando a su cierre, mientras que el intervalo de cuatro años entre la segunda y la tercera temporada alimentó las especulaciones sobre el futuro del proyecto.
La producción también atravesó años turbulentos detrás de cámaras. A los retrasos provocados por las huelgas de Hollywood se sumaron rumores de tensiones creativas entre Levinson y Zendaya, cambios en el reparto, la salida de algunos actores y la muerte de Angus Cloud, uno de los miembros más queridos por los fans.
“Fue una experiencia muy gratificante en cuanto al elenco, el equipo y lo que logramos. Hay miles de cosas que tienen que salir bien para hacer algo así, y estoy inmensamente orgulloso del trabajo que hicimos y de la historia que contamos”, afirmó Levinson.
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