Tributes have been paid to Brigitte Bardot, the French actor and singer who became an international sex symbol before turning her back on the film industry and embracing the cause of animal rights activism, who has died aged 91.
The French president, Emmanuel Macron, wrote on social media that Bardot had “embodied a life of freedom” and “universal brilliance”. France was mourning “a legend of the century”, he said.
Both industries dominate the world but now face fundamental transformation and uncertainty at home
South Korea’s entertainment dominance appears unshakeable. From BTS conquering global charts to Parasite sweeping the Oscars in 2020 and Korean dramas topping Netflix, Korean popular culture has never been more visible. Exports driven by the country’s arts hit a record $15.18bn (£11bn) in 2024, cementing the country’s reputation as a cultural superpower.
But inside South Korea, the two industries that helped build the Korean Wave – cinema and K-pop – are now experiencing fundamental transformations, with their survival strategies potentially undermining the creative foundations of their success.
The band may be relatively new but its members have spent years steeped in the scene, giving them edge and an ear for tracks that rip through a room
From London, UK
Recommended if you like Metallica, Terror, Trapped Under Ice
Up next Performing at Collision festival, Bedford, 11 April
One of the surprise success stories of the last year has been the resurgence of hardcore. From the ascent of the young, Grammy-nominated bands Turnstile and Knocked Loose to the comeback of Deftones and their fresh grip on gen Z, as well as the growth of the UK festival Outbreak, heavy guitar music is enjoying a renaissance. After releasing their debut album, Faded Intentions, in November, False Reality might seem like a new name to watch in this world – but they have deep roots.
Gary Graffman in 2018, when he turned 90. He was an acclaimed concert pianist before developing focal dystonia, the neurological disorder that restricted him to his left hand, in his 50s.
Despite funding cuts and shuttered venues, homegrown music, TV, film and, yes, memes have dominated the global zeitgeist over the past 12 years. Now this culture must be future-proofed from the forces of globalisation
On the face of it, British culture looks doomed. Our music industry is now borderline untenable, with grassroots venues shuttering at speed (125 in 2023 alone) and artists unable to afford to play the few that are left; touring has become a loss leader that even established acts must subsidise with other work. Meanwhile, streaming has gutted the value of recorded music, leading to industry contraction at the highest level: earlier this year the UK divisions of Warners and Atlantic – two of our biggest record labels – were effectively subsumed into the US business.
In comedy, the Edinburgh fringe – the crucible of modern British standup, sketch and sitcom – is in existential crisis thanks to a dearth of sponsorship and prohibitively high costs for performers. Our film industry is at this point almost totally reliant on (dwindling) US funds; while Britain remains a popular filming destination due to tax breaks and appealing locations, the vast majority of the productions made here ultimately generate American profits.
There is a sense of deep knowing and calm to Not Offended, the lone song released this year by the Danish-Montenegrin musician (also an earlier graduate of the Copenhagen music school currently producing every interesting alternative pop star). To warmly droning organ that hangs like the last streak of sunlight above a darkening horizon, Milovic assures someone that they haven’t offended her – but her steady Teutonic tenderness, reminiscent of Molly Nilsson or Sophia Kennedy, suggests that their actions weren’t provocative so much as evasive. Strings flutter tentatively as she addresses this person who can’t look life in the eye right now. “I see you clearly,” Milovic sings, as the drums kick in and the strings become full-blooded: a reminder of the ease that letting go can offer. Laura Snapes
As a child he performed in the West End and appeared in a Stormzy video. But after his early music career faltered, he began to write about his troubled childhood – and hit a nerve
From Newham, London Recommended if you like Dave, Bashy, Nemzzz Up next Debut mixtape planned for spring
It’s a measure of how quickly Keaton Edmund, AKA Kidwild, has speed-run his way through a performing arts career that the rapper describes himself as being in the “comeback part of my life” at age 20.
In this week’s newsletter: We’ve had our say; now it’s your turn. Overlooked telly gems, unforgettable gigs and albums on repeat – readers share the cultural moments that made their year
Merry Christmas – and welcome to the last Guide of 2025! After sharing our favourite culture of the year in last week’s edition, we now turn this newsletter over to you, our readers, so you can reveal your own cultural highlights of 2025, including some big series we missed, and some great new musical tips. Enjoy the rest of the holidays and we’ll see you this time next week for the first Guide of 2026!
Perry Bamonte, The Cure guitarist and keyboardist, died at home over Christmas at 65 after short illness. Band confirms death of 'warm-hearted' musician.
After 20 years playing around the world, the group had two UK gigs cancelled this year after protests from activists. It’s made them feel targeted for who they are, the band say
Josh Breslaw was looking forward to a homecoming gig with his band of two decades’ standing. Oi Va Voi, a predominantly Jewish collective mixing traditional eastern European folk tunes with drum’n’bass and dance, were due to conclude a spring tour of Turkey with a gig in May at Bristol’s Strange Brew club, plus one in Brighton where Breslaw lives. But then, after protests from local activists about both the band’s past performances in Israel, and with Israeli singer Zohara, Strange Brew abruptly cancelled, citing “the ongoing situation in Gaza”.
To be told they hadn’t met the venue’s “ethical standards” was devastating, says Breslaw, the band’s 52-year-old drummer: “It felt so unjust.” But worse came when his home-town venue cancelled in solidarity. “It changed how I felt about the city, how I felt about parts of the music industry. And it changed how I felt about the political home I always felt I lived in.” Although the Brighton promoter swiftly apologised, only in November did Strange Brew issue a statementsaying it had “made a mistake”, adding that the band likely only attracted scrutiny because they are “a Jewish band performing with an Israeli singer”.
Towards the end of Tether, there is a song called Silk and Velvet; its sound is characteristic of Annahstasia’s debut album. Fingerpicked acoustic guitar and her extraordinary vocals – husky, expressive, elegant – are front and centre. The arrangement is subtle but not drearily tasteful: arching noise that could be feedback or a distorted pedal steel guitar, which gradually swells into something climactic before dying away. The lyrics, meanwhile, concern themselves with selling out: “Maybe I’m an analyst, an antisocial bitch,” she sings. “Who sells her dreams for money.”
I had gone out with friends to mark the end of university, and one by one they disappeared. With the music throbbing, I learned I could be comfortable in my own company
Between the ages of 16 and 21, the big night out wasn’t just a hobby, it was a calling. Getting together with friends, getting drunk, being blasted by music, meeting new friends in the smoking area, getting more drunk, somehow making it home eight hours later – these were things I excelled at, the precious moments where I could try to lose myself and avoid the anxiety that inevitably came with daybreak.
The escapism wasn’t just selfish fun. It felt like a necessary avoidance of reality, which for me consisted of having a mother with a terminal illness who would die when I was 19, leaving me at university to cope with my grief. Going out, dancing and chatting rubbish to friends was one way to survive.
Heartbreak and humour combine in the Danish duo’s appealing blend of balladry, shoegaze and miminalist pop
From Copenhagen, Denmark Recommended if you like Alex G, Dido, Astrid Sonne Up next Playing Primavera and Roskilde in summer 2026
In the hands of Andrea Thuesen and Vilhelm Strange, the band name Snuggle feels more than a little ironic. The Danish duo’s debut album Goodbyehouse, released on the cultishly adored label Escho, derives from a period when the pair’s lives were in a state of major upheaval, and comfort was in short supply. “We had fun – you can hear humour a bit on the album – and we went through some tough times, existential crisis, and you can hear that too,” says Theusen over a video call from her home in Copenhagen.
Whether it was pop stars, athletes and Hollywood A-listers baring all or real-life heroes and fearless campaigners, Guardian photographers captured the people behind this year’s biggest stories and most revealing profiles
UK saxophonist, composer and bandleader Tom Smith was dropping clues to his distinctively contemporary take on jazz traditions as a BBC Young Jazz Musician of the Year finalist in 2014 and 2016, and later as a leader of groups including the sax trio Gecko and the LGBTQI+ ensemble Queertet. But his powerful big band’s 2025 release, A Year in the Life, unveiled how exultantly Smith’s writing mingles orchestral influences from Maria Schneider and Carla Bley with slamming groovers from the big-band swing era, and a deep grasp of bebop chordal acrobatics, with raw and metallic guitar interventions thrown in.
(Decca, six CDs) This six-disc collection to mark the late pianist’s 80th birthday is full of treats and includes rare ventures into Chopin and Copland, along with Lupu’s legendary rendition of Bartók at Leeds in 1969
First, a personal declaration. Of the many hundreds of pianists I must have heard in more than 50 years of recital going, a multitude that has included many of the greatest names of the 20th century, none gave me more consistent pleasure or a greater sense of wonder than Radu Lupu. If ever a pianist’s appearance, especially in his later years, belied the character of his playing it was Lupu: that the intensely serious, heavily bearded figure who hunched over the keyboard in a way more appropriate to a seance than a recital could produce playing of such velvety tonal beauty was extraordinary enough; that such a beguiling sound world was allied to a mind of such penetrating musical intelligence sometimes seemed miraculous.
Lupu died in 2022, at the age of 76. He had retired from the concert platform three years before, and had ceased to make studio recordings some years before that. Decca, for whom he recorded exclusively for over two decades, released his complete recordings in 2015, and with that comprehensive box, one thought, the legacy would be complete. But now, to mark what would have been the pianist’s 80th birthday, the company has produced this wonderful surprise: six discs made up of unreleased studio sessions and BBC, Dutch and SWR radio tapes, dating between 1970 and 2002, of works that Lupu otherwise did not record.
I grew up listening to the Mamas and the Papas’ hits but had never heard their albums before this year. I had no idea anything as creepy as Mansions lurked within their sunny oeuvre. Its sound is ominous, its mood one of stoned paranoia, its subject rich hippies sequestered in the titular luxury homes, haunted by the sensation that the flower-power dream is going wrong.
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