Overpowering, explosive and intense, the trio’s contemporary form of psychedelia is rebooted for the troubled, disturbing climate of 2025

From Brighton
Recommended if you like Osees, Ty Segall, the noisier bits of King Gizzard
Up next Currently working on a debut album for release next year.

A city with its own psych festival, and indeed a gig promotion company called Acid Box, Brighton has no shortage of lysergic left-field rock bands. But while most of their local contemporaries tend to the more recumbent end of the psychedelic spectrum, Oral Habit deal in what they call “the ear-rattling psychic dream of choked-up acid punks”, a sound that feels overpowering, explosive and intense: you could say it’s more closely aligned to the disoriented racket of mid-60s freakbeat than the pie-eyed beatitudes of the Summer of Love; equally you could suggest it’s a very contemporary form of psychedelia, rebooted for the troubled, disturbing climate of 2025.

Singer-songwriter revered in Brazil for founding the Clube da Esquina collective and releasing two landmark albums of the 1970s

The year of 1972 was an extraordinary one for the young Brazilian singer, guitarist and songwriter Lô Borges. Along with his friend Milton Nascimento, he created one of the most celebrated albums in Brazilian music history, Clube da Esquina, featuring many of his compositions. In the same year he also released his first solo album, which gained similar recognition as a Brazilian classic. Borges, who has died aged 73, may not have achieved Nascimento’s international celebrity, but he played a key role in transforming his country’s music.

Clube da Esquina (Corner Club) had its genesis in a group of friends who met up to play and write songs on the corner of Divinópolis and Paraisópolis streets in Belo Horizonte, the state capital of Minas Gerais in the south east of Brazil.

(Otoroku)
The British free-jazz pianist Pat Thomas leads his quartet through a powerful fusion of Sufi inspiration, rhythmic intensity and improvisational fire

In April 2022, the wild and inquisitively wilful British free-jazz keyboardist and composer Pat Thomas was improvising with his eyes shut in the company of his quartet أحمد [Ahmed] at Glasgow’s Glue Factory. The music was dedicated to the 1950s-70s legacy of the late Art Blakey and Thelonious Monk bassist, oud player and early global-music pioneer Ahmed Abdul-Malik, the inspiration for the group’s work. When Thomas emerged from his trance, he was astonished to hear that an ecstatic crowd had been dancing the night away around him.

He shouldn’t have been surprised. Since أحمد [Ahmed]’s inception, their collective heat has fused abstract improv and groove music from all over the world: Duke Ellington, Thelonious Monk, dub, jungle, electronics, and the 1990s free-improv of Derek Bailey, Lol Coxhill and drummer Steve Noble have all inspired Thomas. Saxophonist Seymour Wright has absorbed the sax vocabulary of Evan Parker and the insights into collective improv and avant-swing of AMM drummer and teacher Eddie Prévost. Eclectic partners Joel Grip (bass) and Antonin Gerbal (drums) power and expand these infectious, volatile energies.

British rocker says it’s time to hang up his platform shoes and skintight jeans

Rapper joked ‘I never practice my speeches’ as he bags five awards

(Shelter Press)
The New York poet and multi-instrumentalist uses granular synthesis alongside their ‘dysfluency’ to craft a moving meditation on listening, identity and freedom

In JJJJJerome Ellis’s magical compositions, their stutter is a guiding light. Pauses and repetitions spark new life, new ideas, new possibilities, as Vesper Sparrow explores their “dysfluency” in the context of Black musical traditions. The Grenadian-Jamaican-American artist and former Yale lecturer is heady, intellectual company: in the manner of Alvin Lucier, they gently talk the listener through the sonic and political reverberations of their work. “The stutter … (cc)can be a musical instrument,” Ellis announces, before an exhilarating rush of tiny noises – made from hammered dulcimer, flute, piano, voices – fizz into being.

Fuelled by a loathing of Trump, the war in Gaza and anger at ‘the same old chauvinistic crap’, the 75-year-old – who cut her teeth with Dizzy Gillespie, Sonny Rollins and more – has no plans to stop protesting

When I speak to Dee Dee Bridgewater, the jazz singer is preparing for a concert that evening in Des Moines, Iowa, performing classy selections from the Great American Songbook. But even though she has also recorded this material for her recent album Elemental, Bridgewater is not really in the mood. “I just don’t feel like it’s the time to be doing love songs and whimsical songs from the 1920s and 30s,” she says. “They’re beautiful, but there’s some kind of spirit and energy pushing me to sing songs saying: people, we have to protect our democracy.”

Bridgewater is one of American jazz’s foremost voices. Capable of crooning and confronting, the two-time Grammy winner has a career that spans six decades and has never stopped evolving. She cut her teeth sharing the stage with several of jazz’s greatest band leaders – Sonny Rollins, Max Roach, Dizzy Gillespie, Dexter Gordon – before branching out into acting; singing pop and disco; and working out of France, the UK and Mali, always with a determination to create on her own terms.

I couldn’t repeat a song, and improvisation wasn’t allowed. I needed a very long set list.

The first time I picked up the trumpet was 15 years ago. Before that, I had tried the drums and the clarinet. They didn’t quite stick. But when I blew my first note on the trumpet, it resonated with me in a way nothing else had. From that moment, I knew: this was my instrument.

Since then, I’ve dedicated myself to music. I teach students from diverse backgrounds and nationalities to share my love for the trumpet with others. I’ve seen first-hand how little recognition musicians and musicologists receive. Music demands so much time, discipline, money, and years of study – yet it is so undervalued. I’d like to change that.

The King of Pop’s daughter has alleged that lawyers are ‘skimming money’ from his estate

Paris Jackson has alleged that lawyers are ‘skimming money’ from the late King of Pop’s estate

Hits include country songs and a Dutch anti-refugee anthem, both entirely made without human composition

Three songs generated by artificial intelligence topped music charts this week, reaching the highest spots on Spotify and Billboard charts.

Walk My Walk and Livin’ on Borrowed Time by the outfit Breaking Rust topped Spotify’s “Viral 50” songs in the US, which documents the “most viral tracks right now” on a daily basis, according to the streaming service. A Dutch song, We Say No, No, No to an Asylum Center, an anti-migrant anthem by JW “Broken Veteran” that protests against the creation of new asylum centers, took the top position in Spotify’s global version of the viral chart around the same time. Breaking Rust also appeared in the top five on the global chart.

Bertrand Chamayou, Leif Ove Andsnes
(Erato)
Leif Ove Andsnes and Bertrand Chamayou find lyrical intimacy and finely tuned emotional balance in Schubert’s late masterpieces for four hands

Schubert’s late works for piano four hands have attracted some starry pairings over the years, from Benjamin Britten and Sviatoslav Richter to Radu Lupu and Murray Perahia. Pulling them off requires an affinity for the composer’s distinctively private soundworld and a willingness to share a single instrument, often requiring a different way of thinking about the mechanics of making music.

Leif Ove Andsnes and Bertrand Chamayou are thoughtful musicians, and it’s immediately apparent from these affectionately searching accounts that they possess an emotional synergy. The great F minor Fantasia finds the Norwegian spinning seamless lyrical lines over the Frenchman’s cushioned bass. Dynamics are impeccably sculpted; the central Largo is weighty with perfectly balanced trills throughout. They can be playful, too, though their instincts turn inwards, probing the music’s spirit. The return of the poignant main theme is a heart-stopper.

Written in 1974, the Bowie-influenced songs on Trixies are set in a fictional south London nightclub, but were shelved when punk took the band in a new direction. Now, after Squeeze’s 50th anniversary, they’re seeing the light of day

In September 1974, when they were hopeful teenage unknowns in Deptford, Squeeze created a concept album, Trixies, set in a fictional south London nightclub. Believing they had come up with a substantial work, they recorded the 10 tracks on a borrowed Revox tape machine and expected the world to fall at their feet. But nothing happened. “All our friends liked it,” says singer and lead guitarist Glenn Tilbrook, who turned 17 just before the recording. “But that was the only feedback we had.”

The album was shelved, but less than five years later, the band began a run of classic hits, including Cool for Cats and Up the Junction, which had songwriting duo Tilbrook and fellow guitarist and vocalist Chris Difford hailed as heirs to Lennon and McCartney. Now, after recently celebrating 50 years as one of British pop’s best-loved bands, the pair have finally done their teenage vision justice. A fully rerecorded Trixies will be released next March. Taster track, Trixies Pt 1, arrives this week and suggests that all the Squeeze hallmarks of melody, romance and storytelling were there from the beginning, even if few people heard them.

(Young)
After 2018’s mellow Honey, the beloved Swede’s heady comeback pairs production worthy of Daft Punk and Moroder with deep romantic realism

At the end of last year, during her triumphant gig at the O2, Charli xcx brought Robyn out onstage. In a sense, it was just the latest in a series of guest appearances on the Brat tour: a string of collaborators from the album and its ensuing remixes – Lorde, Billie Eilish, Troye Sivan and Addison Rae among them – had turned up at different shows to perform their parts live. But as well as contributing her verse to their remix of 360, Robyn also took centre stage, performing her peerless 2010 single Dancing on My Own. Released when at least some of Charli xcx’s audience were still in nappies, it didn’t sound remotely like a throwback even in the context of a gig based around one of 2024’s most acclaimed and agenda-setting pop albums: the star of the show’s willingness to cede the spotlight to her felt like evidence of Robyn’s influence over contemporary pop.

You can see why the Swedish singer-songwriter carries so much clout among pop stars of the mid-2020s. When she opened an album with a track called Don’t Fucking Tell Me What to Do, she wasn’t joking: after launching as a 90s teen-pop star produced by Max Martin, she rejected the usual strictures placed on female pop – walking away from not one but two major label deals due to lack of artistic control – and seemed intent on following a more idiosyncratic, complex, messy path. She never saw being in the centre of mainstream pop as antithetical to making music with depth, or that touched on contentious issues. Despite the worldwide success of her debut, Robyn Is Here, her second album, My Truth, went unreleased outside Sweden because her US-based label baulked at Giving You Back, a song about an abortion she’d had in 1998: when asked to remove the song, Robyn refused.

There’s a collected confidence to these nine tracks that allows Celeste’s voice to step out the shadow of those early Billie Holiday comparisons, and speak distinctly to the listener’s heart

(Polydor)
It’s a difficult second album for the chart-topping singer, in more ways than one – but her sombre songcraft ends up being spectacular

In theory, the making of Celeste’s second album should have been plain sailing. Boosted by a win in the BBC Sound of 2020 poll, and her single A Little Love appearing on the John Lewis Christmas ad the same year, her debut album Not Your Muse entered the charts at No 1, spawned two big hits – Stop This Flame and Strange – and ultimately went gold. That’s the perfect starting place from which to make a second album: success, acclaim and attention, but not on the kind of overwhelming scale that seems ultimately paralysing, where it’s impossible to work out how you can follow it up.

And yet, the making of Woman of Faces has clearly been attended by some difficulty. Celeste has talked openly about butting heads with its producer, Jeff Bhasker, whose hugely impressive CV includes work with Harry Styles, Taylor Swift and Kanye West: she commissioned string arrangements from British composer and conductor Robert Ames, but Bhasker “didn’t let me use [them]”. Last month, she was on Instagram, protesting that her label was showing “very little support of the album I have made” and had threatened to drop her entirely if she “didn’t put two particular songs” on its track list. This accusation caused a certain degree of eyebrow-raising, not least because Celeste is signed to the same label that singer Raye complained about in 2021, insisting they had refused to allow her to release a debut album: Raye subsequently left the label, released the album herself to vast success and noted that record companies might be better served allowing artists to “always create with a sense of purpose, rather than the means to sell”.

As he moves into film production with the thriller Game, the musician – also known for Beak> – answers your questions on Myspace rappers, Bristol greats and whether Portishead will ever make new music

What made you decide to make a film, Game, and can you tell us a little bit about it? Zoe2025
As I’ve grown older, I’ve found myself having more film ideas than musical ones. Having an independent label, Invada Records, I wondered if I could actually make a film. I was at school with [co-writer and actor] Marc Bessant, I’ve worked with [director] John Minton for 20 years and I met [co-writer] Rob Williams – a scriptwriter for Judge Dredd and stuff – when he moved to Portishead [Somerset]. The idea of someone trapped in an upside down car comes from JG Ballard’s Concrete Island. Initially it was gonna be a horror film where the character was attacked by rabid dogs, but instead we set it during the end of rave culture. I immediately thought of Jason Williamson from Sleaford Mods for the role of a poacher and it turned out that his dad had rabbited. He’s brilliant in it.

How easy was it to recreate the sense of the 90s rave scene on film? k4ren123
There are only a couple of sequences, but we wanted to capture the way the rave scene went from free festivals to something more corporate where the drugs were really organised. All my mates in Portishead [the town] were ravers. I wasn’t. I went to a couple, but for the film I looked at lots of old footage and bought most of the clothes for the film on eBay. Nineties rave wasn’t fluorescent outfits. They were ordinary kids in street gear, so I’d think: what kind of trainers were they wearing?

NewJeans and Ador have been embroiled in a feud since last year’s ouster of the band’s former creative director and Ador’s former CEO Min Hee Jin

Seven out of 10 people surveyed by Live Nation would pick a concert over sex. Given our dating and ticketing hellscapes it is interesting to consider which is the more reliable pleasure

Let’s say you find yourself with an evening free. You’re feeling refreshed, open to experience, and eager to shake things up a bit from your usual post-work routine of slump-and-scroll. The world is your oyster! Would you rather a) go to a gig or b) have sex? The answer, as is so often the case with these “would you rather” questions, is obviously: “It depends.” Thinking adults may reasonably inquire: what is the gig? Who is the sex with? Is it likely to be good?

Few would opt for a Limp Bizkit/Slipknot/Korn triple bill if one enchanted evening with Jonathan Bailey was the alternative. But adjust either end of the equation, and it becomes less clearcut. For the 40,000 people asked this question by gig promoter Live Nation, however, no such clarification was offered – and the response came out unambiguously and overwhelmingly in favour of gigs.

As the world marks 10 years since the terrorist attacks in Paris, Roisin O’Connor speaks with some of the musicians who helped reopen the stricken venue, as well as the sister of British victim Nick Alexander, on how music brought a grieving community together