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On All Hallows' Eve in 1517, Martin Luther, a 33-year-old German priest and scholar, took a pivotal step that would change the course of history. He marched up to the church in Wittenberg and nailed a document to the door, containing 95 statements, or theses, protesting against corruption in the church.Luther's actions led to his excommunication and a dramatic escape, but they also marked the beginning of the Reformation. As a musician himself, Luther knew the power of music in spreading his new doctrine. He saw music as a divine gift 'next to theology' and used it to incite people to do good and to teach them.Luther's hymns, known as chorales in the German-speaking world, were simple, memorable tunes, often adapted from popular melodies, repeated verse to verse. The words were in everyday German, and the hymn tunes were harmonized with simple, block chords, making it possible for anyone to sing along.One of Luther's most famous hymns, Ein feste Burg ist unser Gott (A Safe Stronghold Our God is Still), is still sung today in churches around the world. His hymns were widely distributed using the relatively new technology of the movable type printing press, invented by Johannes Gutenberg.Luther's musical legacy continued to influence composers, including Heinrich Schütz and Johann Sebastian Bach, who composed new chorales and clothed existing ones in rich harmonies. Bach's chorale preludes, where an elaborate melodic line unfolds until the chorale tune emerges, remain iconic.The chorales have also had a lasting impact on popular music, with arrangements by artists like the Swingle Singers and Myra Hess, and even influencing 1970s pop music, such as Apollo's 'Joy' and The Beach Boys' 'Lady Lynda'.

Jon McClure, the Sheffield‑born frontman of Reverend and the Makers, has taken a seat on the board of Sheffield FC – the world’s oldest football club – after joining a new minority‑ownership group with David Bianchi. The move marks the first time the musician has taken on a formal role in a football institution.McClure, a lifelong Wednesday supporter, first approached the club eight years ago but felt he wasn’t yet “in a mature enough position” to steward a cultural landmark. Since last month he has been actively reviewing the club’s operations and seeking ways to modernise a team that currently competes in the ninth tier of English football.The appointment comes as Sheffield FC enjoys a surge in interest, having recorded a club‑record league attendance of 1,172 spectators for a recent defeat to Tadcaster. The side will host the same opponents again in a Northern Counties East League playoff semi‑final after finishing third in the division.Unlike the high‑profile takeovers at Dagenham & Redbridge or Wrexham, McClure insists his approach will be “more considered”. He acknowledges the club’s history of “years of dysfunction” and warns against “putting rocket boosters on a three‑wheeler”, emphasizing a need for steady stabilisation before growth.Founded in 1857, Sheffield FC’s claim to fame is its role in codifying the modern game – a narrative McClure says is “still under‑told”. The club boasts the first football kit, the first recorded derby and a unique FIFA order of merit shared only with Real Madrid, offering “global IP opportunities”, according to the chair.To translate heritage into footfall, McClure has introduced free entry for children, hoping to lift typical matchday crowds from 300‑400 to larger numbers. He also highlights a logistical hurdle: the club’s “Home of Football” ground sits in Dronfield, Derbyshire, outside Sheffield’s city limits, prompting a long‑term ambition to relocate to a multi‑purpose venue in the city centre.McClure’s celebrity connections are already bearing fruit. He invited Sheffield music legend Richard Hawley to a recent fixture and maintains a friendly rapport with Sheffield United manager Chris Wilder, despite the historic rivalry between the city’s clubs.In a nod to modern digital culture, McClure’s brother Chris created the viral persona “Steve Bracknall”, the fictional assistant manager of the Royal Oak. When the Royal Oak played a real match at Sheffield FC, the event drew over 2,000 fans on the ground and half a million online viewers, including Robbie Williams, branding it “the biggest game in Sunday league history”.Looking ahead, McClure is keen to expand the club’s junior and women’s programmes, envisioning an “1857 Academy” that could scale globally if built on the right foundations. While a leap to the Northern Premier League is the realistic target, the broader goal is to cement Sheffield FC as a thriving community hub that honors its status as the birthplace of football.

An Iranian musician has staged a bold protest at a local power station, highlighting growing tensions between Iran and the United States under the leadership of former President Donald Trump. The protest comes amid a backdrop of heightened US-Iran relations, with Trump's administration imposing significant sanctions on Iran.The musician's actions reflect a broader discontent within Iran against US threats and policies. While details of the protest and the musician's identity remain scarce, the event underscores the complex dynamics at play in the region.This development is a testament to the ongoing challenges in US-Iran relations, with both countries navigating a delicate balance of power and diplomacy.

BBC Two’s three‑part series ‘Michael Jackson: An American Tragedy’ attempts to map the arc of the King of Pop from a Midwestern child prodigy to a global phenomenon whose legacy is still contested. Released ahead of the family‑approved biopic Michael, the documentary does not promise fresh revelations; instead, it seeks to place the singer’s meteoric fame, legal controversies and post‑mortem financial empire within a single narrative. The first episode, titled Fame, foregrounds Jackson’s musical genius while also exposing the fraught dynamics of his family life. Interviews with siblings and childhood acquaintances depict a household where “six bunk beds in one room” were the norm, and where fear of their father, Joe Jackson, loomed large. La Toyia Jackson’s recollection that “Michael had a fear of my father – we all did” underscores the pressure that shaped his early years. In The Reckoning, the series shifts to the period of criminal investigations and media scrutiny. Former spiritual adviser Rabbi Shmuley Boteach describes the tragedy as a man who, despite unparalleled attention, remained “utterly lonely.” Prosecutor Ron Zonen argues that the sheer scale of the Jackson enterprise eclipsed the pursuit of justice, noting the obviousness of the abuse allegations in his view. The episode also revisits the 2003 Martin Bashir documentary, which Boteach recalls as a “shock” that contributed to the star’s eventual downfall. The final installment, The Resurrection, examines the attempts to revive Jackson’s career, his sudden death, and the ripple effects of the 2019 Leaving Neverland documentary. The review notes that the allegations have reshaped public perception to the point where many, including the reviewer, find it difficult to engage with his music. The series concludes that the ongoing legal battles—seven alleged victims are currently suing the estate—represent “the most extraordinary effort to uncancel someone in history.” While the documentary assembles an extensive roster of interviewees—family members, former managers, record executives, and even Donald Trump—it occasionally suffers from an overly broad brushstroke that blurs moral clarity. The reviewer acknowledges the valiant effort to strike a middle ground but questions whether such balance is sufficient for a story marked by “wild extremes.” Overall, the series provides a comprehensive, if not groundbreaking, overview of Jackson’s complex narrative, serving as a timely companion piece to the upcoming biopic and a reminder that the conversation around his legacy remains far from settled. Michael Jackson: An American Tragedy is currently streaming on iPlayer.

Stephen Fry opened his appearance on ITV’s The Assembly with a startling question: “You tried to kill yourself a couple of times. Are you happy to be alive now?” The boldness set the tone for a conversation that veered far from the usual celebrity‑friendly script.The programme distinguishes itself by placing a well‑known guest in front of a panel of young adults with neurodivergence or learning disabilities. Free from the conventional safeguards of mainstream talk shows, the panel asks questions that are simultaneously unconventional and deeply human, prompting guests to respond without the usual rehearsed veneer.For Fry, the format proved liberating. Known for translating complex ideas into accessible language, he used the platform to discuss suicidal ideation, likening the experience to the lingering memory of a broken limb—painful yet now distant. This candidness allowed him to reaffirm why he remains a cultural touchstone.One of the most memorable moments came when a participant asked, “I read that you are bipolar. One of my family has that. How can I help them?” Fry responded with a vivid analogy, describing bipolar disorder as a “rainstorm raging inside you—eventually the sun returns, and it’s the weather, not the person, that changes.” This explanation resonated as both compassionate and educational.The interview oscillated between gravitas and levity. Fry fielded whimsical queries such as “Can you help me meet Céline Dion?” and “How much have you spent on cocaine?” alongside the probing “Are you a top or a bottom?” The juxtaposition amplified the emotional weight of the serious topics.At one point, a young panelist named Luca chose not to ask a question, instead performing William Wordsworth’s poem “The World Is Too Much With Us” with theatrical flair—a rare blend of poetry and performance that underscored the show’s experimental spirit.Another highlight involved Jacob, a panel member who brandished a list of Fry’s past advertising gigs—Heineken, Twinings, Honda, and more—before delivering the punchline, “Is there anything you wouldn’t do for money?” The extended joke built a collective laugh that softened the subsequent, more probing inquiries.Critics have likened the show’s tone to a hybrid of Radio 4’s In the Psychiatrist’s Chair and the cheeky, irreverent style of classic British comedy interviews such as those with Dame Edna Everage or Mrs Merton, creating a unique space where vulnerability and humor coexist.The episode concluded with Nina Simone’s “I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel to Be Free” playing as Fry reflected on his experiences with antisemitism and bipolar disorder. Moved by the music, he rose and danced, offering a visual testament to the therapeutic power of the format.The Assembly aired on ITV1 and is now available for streaming on ITVX.

In the spring of 2002, the modest Free Butt pub on Brighton’s seafront buzzed with a restless energy. Future stars such as Natasha Khan, then a university art student, danced atop the bar while the Yeah Yeah Yeahs thundered through their first UK dates. Behind the scenes, band frontmen like Guy McKnight of Eighties Matchbox B‑Line Disaster served pints, and budding engineers like Steve Ansell of Cat on Form fine‑tuned the sound. The atmosphere felt like a rite of passage, where any performer could slip from a cramped stage to national attention.Unlike the neatly branded scenes of New York’s garage‑rock revival or London’s Libertines‑driven hype, Brighton’s early‑2000s scene resisted a single aesthetic. Rock groups emerged from rehearsal rooms and tiny clubs with wildly different looks and sounds, creating a cultural mosaic rather than a monolithic movement.Electrelane’s guitarist recalls recording their debut Rock It to the Moon in a studio once owned by the Levellers, and crafting their sophomore effort inside a former public toilet. These unconventional spaces proved surprisingly fertile, underscoring the city’s DIY spirit.By the turn of the millennium, the big‑beat dominance of Fatboy Slim and Skint Records had faded, making way for a grassroots rock surge. Sea Power relocated from Reading to Brighton, drawn by the city’s “dilapidated charm and fresh sea air”. Their self‑organized Club Sea Power nights at the Lift offered a chaotic yet liberating platform that eventually caught Rough Trade’s attention.Women played a pivotal role in shaping the scene’s infrastructure. Promoters Lisa Lout and Anna Moulson, both still active, booked seminal shows—including the Strokes’ first UK gig at the Lift in 2001—and helped launch the Great Escape festival. Their efforts ensured that bands such as the Pipettes, Electrelane and Bat for Lashes could share stages and media coverage.Artists recall the city’s palpable sense of belonging. Rose Dougall of the Pipettes describes a landscape where “alternative culture was on every street, from vintage shops to the colour of the houses,” and where “small venues made it feel attainable to launch a project.” Similarly, Brakes frontman Eamon Hamilton contrasts Brighton’s walk‑able, collaborative vibe with London’s darker, more competitive energy.Music journalism mirrored the scene’s intensity. Everett True and photographer Steve Gullick launched Careless Talk Costs Lives in 2002, a deliberately short‑run magazine that championed female writers and bands at a time when the industry was still heavily male‑dominated.As rents surged through the 2010s, many of the cheap flats, rehearsal rooms and iconic venues that underpinned the scene vanished. The Free Butt closed, independent record stores shuttered, and the once‑abundant low‑cost infrastructure dwindled, prompting a migration of creative energy down the coast to places like Margate, Ramsgate, Folkestone and Shoreham.Nevertheless, the remnants of Brighton’s network continue to nurture new talent, from the Kooks to Dream Wife and Gazelle Twin. The city’s strength lies not in a singular sound but in its capacity to host a “constant collision of wildly dissimilar bands,” allowing artists to develop authentically and fearlessly.

NASA's sonifications have made it possible for us to experience the cosmos in a new way, transforming electromagnetic energy into sound waves that our ears can pick up. This innovative approach has allowed us to 'hear' the orbits and energies of celestial bodies like Jupiter, Saturn, and the Sun. The Artemis II mission, which recently slingshotted four astronauts around the moon and back, has provided a unique opportunity for us to connect with the astronauts on board. The mundane details of the mission, such as the wake-up music that NASA pipes into their module every orbital morning, have given us a glimpse into the daily lives of these space travelers. In the 1960s, the Apollo 10 mission encountered mysterious sounds while on the far side of the moon. The astronauts reported hearing a high whistling sound accompanied by a lower whooshing noise. Initially, this sparked speculation, but it was later discovered that the sounds were caused by interference between two VHF radio transmitters on board the spacecraft. NASA's sonifications are not just limited to the sounds of spacecraft. The agency has also created sonifications of cosmic phenomena like black holes and supernovae. These sonifications have allowed scientists to better understand the behavior of these phenomena and have also inspired artistic works. The article also touches on the connection between music and the universe. Samantha Harvey's novel Orbital describes the sounds of celestial bodies, such as Neptune's sound being 'liquid and rushing, a tide crashing onto a shore in a howling storm.' The article also mentions the 'music of the spheres', a concept that dates back to ancient Greece, which suggests that the universe is governed by musical ratios. Overall, NASA's sonifications have opened up new ways for us to experience and understand the cosmos, and have inspired a new generation of artists and scientists to explore the intersection of music and space exploration.

Arthur Rosenfeld, 73, and Meryl Tankard, 70, open the performance by introducing themselves as “sprightly old geezers,” setting a tone of candid humor that runs through the evening. The production, ‘Kontakthof – Echoes of 78,’ is a fresh staging of Pina Bausch’s iconic 1978 work, now re‑imagined by Australian choreographer Meryl Tankard. Unlike the 2010 London run that split the piece between teenagers and senior amateurs, this rendition features the eight surviving members of the original cast—all now in their late sixties to early eighties—performing the very roles they created half a century ago. A ninth dancer was absent due to illness. Their live movements are mirrored on a large screen by the black‑and‑white film of the 1978 performance, creating a visual palimpsest where past and present dance together. The choreography, set to 1930s dance‑hall songs, remains a wry commentary on courtship, power dynamics and consent. Tankard’s direction emphasizes the passage of time, allowing audiences to witness the same steps executed by bodies that have aged, yet retain a striking vitality. Dancers such as Josephine Ann Endicott, now in her seventies, glide across the stage in silk dresses, their frames more fragile but their confidence undiminished. Moments of poignancy arise when the film shows cast members who have since passed away. Onstage, John Giffin reaches for his late partner’s face, only to grasp empty air—a visual metaphor for loss that resonated deeply with the audience. Personal revelations punctuate the performance: Beatrice Libonati, 71, describes herself as “paranoid and a misanthrope,” while Tankard admits, “I wish I’d had children; I miss my mother every day,” underscoring the undercurrent of longing that runs through the piece. Beyond its narrative, the production offers a meditation on continuity. Bausch’s signature walking patterns—slow circles and linear traverses—are repeated, suggesting that despite changing bodies, the human species continues to tread familiar social routes. The music, unchanged from the original, carries on until the final dancer pauses, symbolising the inevitable end of the dance of life. The show runs at Sadler’s Wells, London through 11 April, offering a rare glimpse into how art can bridge generations and celebrate the endurance of the human spirit.

Bill Ackman's Pershing Square has unveiled a €55.75 bn cash‑and‑shares bid to acquire Universal Music Group (UMG), valuing the label at €30.40 per share – a 78% premium over the previous close of €17.10. The proposal translates to roughly $64.31 bn, positioning it as one of the largest recent takeovers in the entertainment sector. The offer is tied to a strategic plan to relocate UMG’s primary listing from Amsterdam to New York. A U.S. listing would broaden the investor base, potentially attracting index funds and enhancing liquidity, which Ackman argues could lift earnings and drive a higher market valuation. In a letter to UMG’s board, Ackman praised chairman‑CEO Lucian Grainge while criticizing what he described as an “underutilized balance sheet” and the company’s €2.7 bn investment in Spotify Technology. He suggested that a refreshed governance structure – including former Hollywood super‑agent Michael Ovitz as board chair and two Pershing Square directors – would better position the label for future growth. Market reaction was immediate: UMG shares jumped 13% on the news, while Bollore Group’s stock rose 5% and Vivendi’s shares climbed over 10%. Pershing Square currently holds a 4.7% stake in UMG, making it the fourth‑largest shareholder. Key shareholders whose support is essential include Bollore Group (18.5% stake), Vivendi (13.4%), and China’s Tencent. Notably, the Bollore family controls about 80% of UMG’s voting rights, giving it decisive influence over any transaction. Industry analysts point to several headwinds that have pressured UMG’s share price, which has fallen nearly one‑third since its 2021 IPO. Streaming growth is decelerating, and concerns about AI‑generated music – from copyright disputes to fully synthetic songs – are reshaping the competitive landscape. A recent survey found that 97% of listeners can differentiate between AI‑created tracks and human‑composed music. Despite these challenges, global music revenues continue to rise year over year, prompting major labels such as Sony and Warner Music to double‑down on streaming partnerships with platforms like Spotify, Amazon, Apple and Deezer. Under the proposed structure, Pershing’s SPARC Holdings would merge with UMG, creating a Nevada‑incorporated entity listed on the New York Stock Exchange. If approved, the deal could set a precedent for how legacy entertainment firms adapt to evolving technology and investor expectations.