
Performers announced for 2025 Essence Festival: Dates, tickets, hosts, what to know
The 2025 Essence Festival of Culture will bring "legacy, rhythm, and resilience" to New Orleans this summer.
Attendees can expect performances from major artists like rapper GloRilla, R&B songstress Muni Long, and hip hop trailblazer and NOLA native Master P, according to a festival announcement.
The festival, which coincides with the 55th anniversary of Essence Magazine, is set for the Fourth of July weekend.
"This year's festival will be both a time capsule and a forward-looking celebration — honoring the legacy that began on the page and now lives boldly on the stage," Essence said.
Here's what we know about this year's festival.
Coachella 2025: Shaboozey, Megan Thee Stallion and other Sunday highs and lows
2025 Essence Festival of Culture: Dates, tickets, venue, hosts
The 2025 Essence Festival of Culture is set for July 4-6 in the New Orleans.
The festival said "elevated daytime experiences" would take place at the Ernest N. Morial Convention Center, while evening concerts are at the Caesars Superdome.
Tickets are currently available on Ticketmaster.
Comedian and "Black-ish" star Anthony Anderson and cultural multi-hyphenate Kenny Burns will serve as the hosts at the Caesars Superdome.
According to Essence, this year's theme is "We are Made Like This," which "speaks to the generations of Black brilliance that have shaped the world and continue to move it forward. "
Confirmed performers
According to Essence, current and legacy acts will take the stage at the Caesars Superdome and Ernest N. Morial Convention Center. Performers announced so far include:
Muni Long
Summer Walker
GloRilla
Maxwell
Davido
Master P
Boyz II Men
Donell Jones
Buju Banton
The Isley Brothers
Nas
Who is curating the Quincy Jones tribute?
Legendary producer Jermaine Dupri will spearhead a tribute for Quincy Jones. The late music icon died in late November at the age of 91.
Taylor Ardrey is a news reporter for USA TODAY. You can reach her at tardrey@gannett.com.
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Vox
12 minutes ago
- Vox
Should we feel weird about the Coldplay cheating drama?
is a culture writer interested in reality TV, movies, pop music, Black media, and celebrity culture. Previously, she wrote for the Daily Beast and contributed to several publications, including Vulture, W Magazine, and Bitch Media. What does it mean to be a private individual in public? Are we all just characters waiting to go viral? These questions have resurfaced following the instantly-infamous Jumbotron incident that occurred during a Coldplay concert last week. Astronomer CEO Andy Byron, who's married, and the company's head of human resources, Kristin Cabot, were caught cuddling before trying (and failing) to evade the camera. Chris Martin quipped, apparently accurately, that they acted like they were having an affair. Some, though, have taken a more hands-on approach to the drama. Once the concert footage went viral, users flooded the comments of Byron and Cabot's LinkedIn pages before they were taken down. Another Coldplay concertgoer sent TMZ additional footage of the couple canoodling. Users identified Byron's wife, flooding her social media, as well as a third Astronomer executive, who was spotted on the Jumbotron laughing at the ordeal. Understandably, a married CEO getting caught and subsequently resigning for having inappropriate relations with a subordinate hasn't warranted much sympathy. The ordeal is amusing to the extent that the players are largely unrelatable and seemingly thoughtless. Still, the fallout has been disconcerting to some. While the couple was exposed in a seemingly organic and accidental way, the speed at which the story escalated, with the help of online sleuths and even brands weighing in, demonstrated how easily personal matters can become public spectacles. It raises some obvious concerns about our relationship to privacy in a digital culture where the surveillance of strangers has been normalized and personal information is increasingly accessible. What happens to privacy when everything is available? What happens when exposing others is more and more commonly dressed up as fun? Since the early days of social media, average people have been at risk of becoming public, widely discussed figures overnight. Still, the advent of TikTok has made this a much more common occurrence — frequently without the permission of the people who go viral. The idea that you could be watched at any time but can never know when has gone from a philosophical prison design — Jeremy Bentham's concept of the panopticon— to a state of reality. In a 2023 BuzzFeed News story, reporter Clarissa-Jan Lim described this mostly TikTok-driven phenomenon as 'panopticontent,' where 'everything is content for the creating, and everyone is a nonplayer character in [users'] world[s].' In many cases, filming strangers has been proven to be a correct and necessary course of action. The Black Lives Matter movement was bolstered by citizens recording their negative interactions with police, for awareness-raising and proof in seeking justice. This seemed to inspire a surge in 'Karen' videos, exposing people for racist and other discriminatory behavior. However, post-pandemic, the tendency to pull out your phone and press record has descended into something much less urgent and more opportunistic. We've witnessed this before. At the height of tabloid culture in the '90s and early 2000s, we watched celebrities get hounded by paparazzi and have their personal lives examined with a microscope in magazines. Associate professor Jenna Drenten, who studies digital consumer culture at Loyola University Chicago, coined the term 'TikTok tabloid' to describe how this behavior has translated to the app in much more participatory fashion from observers. However, she says that users have created a power imbalance by subjecting regular people to this sort of spotlight. 'In the past, there was an implicit social contract: celebrities traded privacy for fame, and audiences felt justified in scrutinizing them,' says Drenten. 'But that logic doesn't cleanly apply to regular people caught in viral moments. And yet, the same infrastructure of judgment, spectacle, and moral commentary gets applied to them.' This behavior isn't just user-driven. It's often amplified and commodified by brands, as seen with Neon, Chipotle, and even betting platforms, like Polymarket, following the Coldplay incident. Drenten says that the 'blurring of public spectacle, private consequence, and corporate opportunism' is where things get even more 'ethically murky.' 'The viral attention economy is no longer limited to individuals or content creators,' she says. 'Brands are increasingly acting like culture-jacking spectators, helping to fuel the pile-on.' A larger problem often occurs after this content circulates and rakes in tons of views. The social mystery at the heart of any human drama routinely incites further engagement and sleuthing, with users becoming participants in the saga. As with the Astronomer CEO and his family, spectators usually end up doxxing the people involved, whether that's exposing their job positions or their home addresses. As this behavior gets swept up in more socially-sanctioned reactions (like jokes from regular people and brands), it affirms an increasing loss of etiquette around personal information, one that's been spearheaded by tech corporations, according to one Cornell University professor. Helen Nissenbaum, author of Privacy in Context: Technology, Policy, and the Integrity of Social Life, says tech companies have been influential in shaping our views on privacy based on what's accessible to us, creating an 'all bets are off' approach to spreading information. 'The big tech platforms have gotten away with a really poor conception of privacy,' Nissenbaum says. 'It's allowed them to say things like, 'If it's in public, anything goes.' This is how OpenAI defended itself by saying, 'We're scraping stuff on the open web without asking.'' Apps have normalized collecting and sharing users' personal information to target advertisers. There are now websites, like Did My Friends Vote, where you can easily but not always accurately access someone's voting history. These issues around theft and consent are playing out in the development of generative AI. The New York Times is currently suing OpenAI for using their original content to train its popular AI tool, ChatGPT. This sense of entitlement trickles down to practically anyone who owns a phone. Nissenbaum says, as a result, we need to adopt a 'new theory' and new 'social norms' around privacy. One way is to remind people that these extreme levels of surveillance and information-gathering are, in her words, 'creepy.' The consequence is a world where people feel less free to be their authentic selves in public, whether that's dressing how they want or attending a protest. 'When we get to this point where we accept that people can take videos, take photos, post it online for ICE or NSA or whoever to grab those photos, now we're in a police state,' she says. For now, the Coldplay Jumbotron incident might warrant some genuine laughs. But if we value not only our privacy but our sense of individuality, our impulse to amplify strangers' drama could probably use some reflection.


Newsweek
12 minutes ago
- Newsweek
Malcolm-Jamal Warner Was America's Brother
I am sad, so profoundly sad. I screamed, literally, on a call, when an alert crossed my laptop this week that Malcolm-Jamal Warner had died. I could not believe it, did not want to believe he, my friend, had drowned during a swim, somewhere in Costa Rica, while on a vacation with his wife and little daughter. Fifty-four, only 54-years-old. Why do the good often go prematurely? Matthew Perry. Tupac Shakur. Amy Winehouse. Kurt Cobain. Marilyn Monroe. Aaliyah. Bobby Kennedy. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Billie Holiday. Bruce Lee. Selena. Janis Joplin. Vincent van Gogh. Whitney Houston. James Dean. Princess Diana. Brittany Murphy, the list is diverse, mythical, and, yes, so profoundly sad. Meanwhile, we have also had a relentless parade of Black male celebrities—Chadwick Boseman, Kobe Bryant, DMX, Michael K. Williams, and more than I dare to count this decade—just go, gone, none of them even remotely senior citizens. Any death troubles my soul mightily, no matter who it is, famous or not. But I must admit, without shame, that it hurts in a certain kind of way any time I hear of another Black man gone, as elder Black folks often say, before their time. The late actor Malcolm-Jamal Warner attends the Disney ABC Television Group TCA summer press tour at The Beverly Hilton Hotel on August 6, 2017, in Beverly Hills, Calif. The late actor Malcolm-Jamal Warner attends the Disney ABC Television Group TCA summer press tour at The Beverly Hilton Hotel on August 6, 2017, in Beverly Hills, Calif. Jason LaVeris/FilmMagic/Getty Images Now it is Malcolm-Jamal Warner. Emmy-nominated actor. Grammy-winning musician. Grammy-nominated poet. Beloved husband, father, son. I do not recall when nor where nor how I first personally met him, but it was back in the day. Nevertheless, like hundreds of millions of viewers across the planet I was introduced to Malcolm-Jamal via The Cosby Show, one of only three U.S. television programs which have been No. 1 in ratings for five seasons (the others: All In The Family and American Idol). To say The Cosby Show was revolutionary and game-changing would be a gross understatement. In the 1980s America of Ronald Reagan, the AIDS and crack epidemics, and the initial explosion of brands like Apple and Nike, the show was a unicorn. It saved a struggling NBC network. It introduced our nation to a different way of viewing the Black experience. It became a global pop culture phenomenon during its eight-season run. We had never witnessed a Black family like this in television history: two professional parents with five children—four girls and one boy—supremely confident in their beings, the entire household a manifestation of the post-civil rights era of what was possible. No racist stereotypes, no demeaning facial expressions, no bowed heads, and no broken bodies from the old Hollywood. Yes, legit and righteous representation do matter, and as the lone male child in the clan Malcolm-Jamal remixed Theo Huxtable with an enchanting recipe of Black boy joy, a cool jazz meets hip-hop swagger, and an unsatiable thirst for the wholeness of life. Bill Cosby acts with Malcolm-Jamal Warner in a scene from "The Cosby Show." Bill Cosby acts with Malcolm-Jamal Warner in a scene from "The Cosby Show." Jacques M. Chenet/CORBIS/Corbis via Getty Images I am just slightly older than Malcolm-Jamal and never thought I would see someone like him on television. But there he was, in living color. I was inspired. I was doubly amped when I learned he had been born in Jersey City, N.J. like me. He was me and I was him. In Malcolm-Jamal's smile and laughter were mine, too. In his struggles from boyhood to manhood were my trials and tribulations, too. He was a kindred spirit, and, moreover, what Mary Tyler Moore meant to women 10 years earlier is what Malcolm-Jamal Warner meant to Black America, to boys Black like me. No, we cannot delete what the show's creator, Bill Cosby, has been charged with these many moons later. The rape, sexual assault, and sexual harassment allegations are brutal and "tarnished," as Malcolm-Jamal said in one interview, the great legacy of The Cosby Show, likely forever. But we also cannot merely throw away this historic TV show and its participants because of one person. The Malcolm-Jamal Warner that I came to know, as an actor, as a musician, as a fellow poet, as a voice, leader, and bridge-builder, was kind, supportive, and genuinely full of hope and love. If one simply scans any social media platform since the tragedy one will see the testimonies, from a wide spectrum, saying the exact same. Malcolm-Jamal Warner was a very different kind of man. Alas, I do not know what Malcolm-Jamal Warner thought about the accusations against his TV father other than a few statements here and there that one can easily Google. I imagine that he was tormented, and torn. I never spoke with him about being on a hit TV show so early in life. He knew I knew, just like I know he knew I had been on the very first season of MTV's The Real World. Ours was a safe space, two products of pop culture, who preferred to speak about poetry, music, and hip-hop. Two Black men in America, on this Earth, trying to navigate any and all spaces, perpetually, as we journeyed through the chapters of Reagan, the Bushes, the Clintons, Obama, Biden, and Trump. I do know in losing Malcolm-Jamal Warner, and the way we lost him, with so much breath still to breathe, leaving his wife and daughter and mother and father behind, is collective trauma that is unexplainable. I have cried, my wife has cried, my wife's mother and so many others we know have cried. Because losing him is akin to losing a blood relative, a close friend. Because Malcolm-Jamal, named after civil rights icon Malcolm X and jazz pianist Ahmad Jamal, was truly the brother we all needed. Kevin Powell is a Grammy-nominated poet, filmmaker, and author of 16 books. He previously wrote a Newsweek cover story on Spike Lee. Kevin lives in Brooklyn, N.Y. Follow him on all social media platforms: @poetkevinpowell. The views expressed in this article are the writer's own.


Eater
an hour ago
- Eater
Detroit's First Black-Owned Brewery Wants to Make Drinking Stout a Year-Round Tradition
is a writer born with over two decades of experience in the restaurant industry, and she has been covering the local food and beverage scene for the past eight years. Detroit's first Black-owned brewery, Roar Brewing, opened its taproom at 666 Selden Street in early July with a weekend celebration that kicked off on Thursday, July 10. The three-day event featured a ribbon-cutting ceremony, a set by Detroit's own DJ Invisible, live music performances, TVs broadcasting local sports, and a lively hustle line that energized the courtyard patio. And, of course, there were plenty of pints — most notably the MVP of the tap list, a black honey oat stout. That choice wasn't accidental; it speaks directly to the brewery's mission and identity. When discussing the lack of representation in Michigan's craft beer scene, especially in Detroit, owner Evan Fay attributes it to people's unfamiliarity with the product or fear of how they might be perceived as newcomers to the industry. 'Think of us as Detroit's Guinness' 'I don't think people don't drink craft beer. I think they just don't drink beer, yet,' Fay says. 'I didn't drink a ton of beer before going into the service, but once I started learning about its complexities and the people behind it, it changed my perspective. I started to imagine what my place in it could look like. I'm hoping to inspire others in that way, too.' Roar's black honey oat stout is the brewery's main beer, a rare choice since few breweries make a dark stout their flagship. 'We want to make everyone stout drinkers,' Fay says. 'It represents the brewery really well; dark, smooth, creamy, and there's a subtle sweetness from the honey. People think stouts are just for cold weather, but I want to enjoy them any time, all the time. Think of us as Detroit's Guinness.' Roar Brewing debuted with six beers. Courtney Burk 'Craft breweries are good at gathering the community together through their programming,' Fay says. 'When I was traveling a lot, breweries and cafes were where we went to grab a drink and get to know the city through there. Breweries and cafes are two businesses that I've started because of that aspect — building community to make everyone feel at home right away.' Fay's interest in beer started after college, while stationed in Cheyenne, Wyoming. 'My first experience with beer in college wasn't craft,' Fay says. 'But being stationed near Fort Collins, [Colorado], I'd visit New Belgium often and got immersed in the culture. Later in Alaska, spots like Midnight Sun Brewing had that same welcoming vibe. When we moved to Detroit, I knew I wanted to emulate that here.' Roar debuted with a lineup of six beers, which it calls its franchise players: a raspberry wheat, pilsner, IPA, amber, and that honey oat stout. The beers are brewed on a 10-barrel system by head brewer Dave Hale, formerly of Nain Rouge. Fay served as assistant brewer during the early stages, helping develop the lineup in collaboration, but stepped back as day-to-day operations began drawing his attention away from the brewing process. The brewery uses locally sourced ingredients, including malt from Great Lakes Malt and honey from Hives for Heroes, a Michigan-based, veteran-owned business. Roar's interior opens onto an extended patio through a roll-up garage door, linking it to the nearby restaurant corridor. The brewery plans to add an 800-square-foot, three-and-a-half-season room to the outdoor plaza to increase covered seating. Events include karaoke nights, hustle and line dancing, weekly drum circles, and sports watch parties, aiming to make the brewery both a gathering spot and a taproom. A small bites food menu is currently being developed in collaboration with the neighboring Barcade, an old-school video game arcade and beer bar, and the brewery collaborated with So Creamalicious on a popcorn flight that pairs with the taproom's franchise players beer flight. The brewery also offers a pay-it-forward program inspired by Midnight Sun Brewing, where guests can buy a beer for someone who has experienced a specific situation or moment written on a card, which is then hung on the wall. Instead of a traditional mug club, Roar offers a season pass model tied to Detroit's pro sports teams. The annual Roar Pride membership costs about $175, while season pass memberships range from approximately $100 to $150. The brewery also has plans to host three brewery tours a day with beertenders facilitating them. Fay's goal is for everyone that works at Roar to know as much about the beer and the brewing process as the brewers do. The aim is to make beer really accessible to everyone in a comfortable and inviting environment. Roar Brewing is located at 666 Selden Street in Detroit; open 4 p.m. to midnight Monday though Thursday, noon to midnight Friday and Saturday, and noon to 8 p.m. on Sunday — except during football season.