This first newsletter of the new year looks at some of the big questions we hope will be answered in the next 12 months, across film, TV, music and games
Welcome to 2026! I hope you are enjoying the final dribblings of the festive break, before reality bites on Monday. As is now tradition (well, we did it once before), this first newsletter of the new year looks at some of the big questions we hope will be answered in the next 12 months, across film, TV, music and games. Hopefully it will double up as a decent primer for the year ahead too, though for a more exhaustive rundown check the Guardian’s 2026 previews for film, music, TV, gaming, stage and art. Right, let’s get on with it:
Packed with incredible scenes, this heartbreaking anniversary documentary can’t help but offer up a huge serving of nostalgic bliss
There’s a theory that the world spun off its axis with the passing of David Bowie, 10 days into January 2016. It was also two days after his final, death-infused album Blackstar appeared from nowhere. As an artistic statement it was prophetic and impeccably theatrical. A feature-length documentary now shines a black light on that album’s recording, which some call Bowie’s creative resurrection. What does it reveal? And do we want to revisit that place, emotionally?
Thankfully, Bowie: The Final Act (Saturday 3 January, 10pm, Channel 4) does not live solely in the catacombs. It begins at the zenith of Bowie’s pop fame: the 1983 Serious Moonlight tour, where the Thin White Duke turned American soul hero. This MTV-approved, Pepsi advert-inducing stardom was the onset of a career-stalling ennui, Bowie’s artistic voice drying out under the bright lights he sought. It then ricochets back to the start of his musical journey, pinballing us through its highlights. With a mythology this seismic it would be a crime not to. David Bowie invented serving looks, you know. They just happened to come from another planet.
The Beirut-born pop star is back with his first English-language album in six years, the dazzling ‘Hyperlove’. He opens up to Roisin O’Connor about the lasting influence of his late mother, Joannie, his lambasting by music critics when he broke through in 2007, and why his pursuit of love and creativity are one and the same
“There’s no way I would set foot in it now,” Stephen Schwartz said of the Kennedy Center, which has seen many changes during the second Trump administration.
How did an Aussie, a Texan, an Irishman and three Cumbrians find themselves on the road on the Ukrainian frontline? For classic rock collective Hardwicke Circus, it was a no-brainer: ‘We thought they’d like to hear some rock’n’roll’
It is late October and, 10 kilometres from the frontline in Donetsk, east Ukraine, the inhabitants of a reconditioned ambulance are completely lost. While opening your phone and logging on to a maps app might appear the obvious solution, this would be extremely unwise here: Russian drones are overhead and hunting for any signals.
Inside the van are a motley crew: an 81-year-old Irish music industry veteran; a 72-year-old Texas rocker; an Australian keyboardist; a Ukrainian saxophonist; and three twenty-something musicians from Carlisle, Cumbria. Their destination is a military base where they are to perform for Ukrainian troops.
Brian King Joseph claims the rapper and actor was ‘priming’ him for ‘sexual exploitation’. Smith’s lawyer has called the allegations ‘false, baseless and reckless’
Will Smith is being sued by a violinist from his 2025 tour, who claims the rapper and actor exhibited “predatory behaviour” and was “deliberately grooming and priming” him for “further sexual exploitation”. Brian King Joseph is also pursuing the performer and his company Treyball Studios Management for wrongful termination and retaliation in a suit filed in the superior court of California.
Joseph alleges that he was hired for the tour in support of Smith’s new album, Based on a True Story, after first appearing on stage with Smith in December 2024. The suit claims that Smith once told Joseph, “You and I have such a special connection that I don’t have with anyone else.”
(Babel Label) The 80s sax star leads an A-list quartet, plus a shared trumpet role for Laura Jurd and Ballamy’s son Charlie
Opening 2026’s jazz reviews with a story from the mid-1980s might be risking audience restiveness, but that was the decade in which a far-sighted young saxophonist on the UK jazz scene called Iain Ballamy first appeared on this writer’s radar. The cross-generational lineup and captivating ideas of Riversphere, his first solo release in years, testify to exactly why he has stayed there for 40 years.
In their 20s, Ballamy and pianist/composer Django Bates frequently joined forces as two mavericks, skilfully respectful of the classic jazz tradition while adventurously and often mischievously transforming it. They were key figures in a gifted UK generation that created some of the sparkiest European jazz of the 1980s and 90s, most influentially in the revolutionary orchestra Loose Tubes, which brought together genres from old-school swing to vaudeville, improv and avant-rock, and on occasion really did get people dancing in the streets.
(Blue Blood International/Cooking Vinyl) The four-piece try to tap into modern pop’s deep well of nostalgia but come off like Westlife on a bad day
‘Blue’s in the house / Oh it’s party time!” muse the fortysomething man-band on Souls of the Underground, the penultimate song on this seventh album, and the fourth since their 2011 reunion. The British four-piece are keen to take us back to their early 00s heyday, a time of Met bar table service, where the ladies have “a little prosecco” and the guys have a “nice cold beer”. Musically, it’s a clunkier approximation of their (comparatively) harder-edged hybrid of pop, hip-hop and R&B; think 2002 “low ride” anthem Fly By II but on a Megabus budget.
It makes sense that they would want to tap into modern pop’s deep well of nostalgia, but rather than recalling what made Blue originally stand out, Reflections often feels like a tribute to other evergreen boybands. For most of the album’s 13 tracks, the tempo is mid, with the dreary, Westlife-on-a-bad-day Candlelight Fades a particular nadir. The windswept One Last Time and The Day the Earth Stood Still are attacked with gusto, but both feel like Patience-era Take That, while the pleasingly epic opener The Vow is hindered by very un-Barlow lyrics: “You’re a sweet child of mine / You’re like a grape to my vine.”
From CMAT and the Carpenters’ fresh starts to the Beatles’ Here Comes the Sun and Nina Simone’s Feeling Good, starting again is a rich theme in pop. Here are some of the best examples
It’s hard to imagine anyone’s heart not being lifted a little by Right Back Where We Started From: the euphoric rush of new love rendered into three minutes of cod-northern soul (performed, unexpectedly, by various ex members of ELO, the Animals and 60s soft-poppers Honeybus). Avoid the 80s cover by Sinitta at all costs.
(4AD) The standout act in the sprechgesang wave, the four-piece’s newly expansive sound carries singer Florence Shaw’s distinctive tales of mundane lives spiralling out of control
Dry Cleaning’s third album features a lot of strikingly odd lyrics. Take your pick from “alien offshoot mushroom, going the gym to get slim”; “my dream house is a negative space of rock”; or, indeed, “when I was a child I wanted to be a horse, eating onions, carrots, celery”. But it’s an ostensibly more straightforward line, from Cruise Ship Designer, that seems destined to attract the most attention. “I make sure there are hidden messages in my work,” says vocalist Florence Shaw as the track draws to a conclusion, the muscular guitar riff that’s driven it along devolving into a janky, trebly scrabble.
Initially, the lyric appears to characterise what Dry Cleaning do, and Shaw in particular. From the moment they first appeared with the 2018 EP Sweet Princess, the south London quartet have attracted adjectives such as “surreal”, “enigmatic” and “inscrutable”. Most of the British bands who emerged around the same time bearing a roughly equivalent blend of post-punk guitars and spoken-word vocals sounded angry or sarcastic or straightforwardly comedic. Dry Cleaning, on the other hand, seemed mysterious. Shaw’s lyrics were collages of overheard remarks, recycled YouTube comments, lines from adverts and non sequiturs, delivered in a voice that was too icy to sound whimsical. It’s variously been characterised as “anhedonic” and “achromatic”, but might more straightforwardly be described as sounding politely bored. She occasionally shifts from speaking into singing in an untutored voice that brings to mind Stuart Moxham of Young Marble Giants’ line about their understated vocalist Alison Statton sounding “as if she was at the bus stop or something”. It was all intriguingly confusing: here were songs that could indeed contain hidden messages, that seemed like puzzles to be unpicked.
Topped by Rosalía’s multilingual, ultra-ambitious Lux, here are the best albums of the year as voted for by 30 Guardian music writers • More on the best culture of 2025
Dying is a process and in a person’s final hours and days, Nickie and her Threshold Choir are there to accompany people on their way and bring comfort. Through specially composed songs, akin to lullabies, the choir cultivates an environment of love and safety around those on their deathbed. For the volunteer choir members, it is also an opportunity to channel their own experiences of grief and together open up conversations about death
With thanks to onscreen contributor, Lindsey, who died since the making of this film
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