Latest news with #Kinks
Telegraph
4 days ago
- Business
- Telegraph
The Beatles and Kinks would be howling about tax in Labour's Britain
'If you get too cold, I'll tax the heat / If you take a walk, I'll tax your feet / Cause I'm the taxman / Yeah, I'm the taxman.' Those lyrics by George Harrison are from Taxman, the first song on the Beatles' Revolver album, released in 1966. That same year, the Kinks released Sunny Afternoon, with Ray Davies' blunt first line: 'The taxman's taken all my dough.' Artists and songwriters are often ahead of the curve – quite literally in this case. For it wasn't until 1974 that US economist Arthur Laffer drew a line on a napkin capturing what Harrison and Davies were saying: as tax rates rise beyond a certain point, entrepreneurs and wealth creators get cheesed off. They then do less – or move overseas – and the broader economy suffers. What become known as the Laffer curve, sketched at a smart Washington restaurant during a dinner with Republican Party bigwigs, had a profound impact on policymaking in America and elsewhere. Its core idea – that there's an optimal tax rate that maximises revenue, beyond which higher rates lower total revenues by stifling economic activity – was adopted by Ronald Reagan, a showbiz-star-turned-policymaker, as he entered the White House in 1981. Laffer's insight fed into 'supply-side economics' – the school of thought that finally countered post-war 'big state' ideology. It's no good just borrowing and spending more government money in a bid to boost growth if the tax burden crushes genuine commerce. Reagan's Economic Recovery Tax Act of 1981 sparked much howling from vested interests grown fat on state largesse. But it cut income tax significantly – and the US averaged 3.5pc annual growth for the rest of the decade, rescuing the world's biggest economy from 1970s stagnation. Approaching the first anniversary of this Labour Government, UK tax revenues are heading for 38pc of GDP, the highest tax burden since the early 1960s – above levels which riled the Beatles and the Kinks. Yet the public finances are extremely precarious. The Government borrowed £148bn during the fiscal year that ended in April, £61bn more than the Office for Budget Responsibility estimated when that same fiscal year started. It's important to remember the vast scale of that 12-month forecasting error during current rows over whether Rachel Reeves, the Chancellor, has a single-digit-billion buffer in the national accounts in four years' time – the 'fiscal headroom' that dominates political discussion. Arguing obsessively about contingencies of less than 1pc of public spending which may or may not exist in 2029 is pure displacement activity. Our political and media class meanwhile all but ignores today's stark realities – an annual debt interest bill that's twice yearly defence spending and gilt yields consistently way above those seen during Liz Truss's mini-Budget crisis of October 2022. Yes, it's important to rein-in our runaway benefits bill. Even before the Government's latest cave-in, spending on sickness and disability benefits was set to rise sharply by the end of this decade, from under £50bn to well over £70bn a year, albeit by a few billion less after Labour announced its welfare reforms. Now that Sir Keir Starmer has folded, even that minor slowdown in the rate of increase of benefit spending won't happen. The only way to fix the public finances is to get growth going, so tax revenues rise and our vast 100pc-of-GDP-plus debt burden, and near-crisis-level debt service costs, fall as a share of national income. But Labour's tax rises since last July have crushed economic activity, curtailing tax revenues and weakening the public finances further – a sure sign we're beyond the peak of the Laffer curve, with yet higher tax rates set to prove even more counter-productive. The disastrous rise in employers' National Insurance contributions (NICs) has hammered hiring, undermining NIC revenues overall. Employment has fallen every month since the policy was unveiled in last October's budget, by an astonishing 109,000 in May alone, the month after this tax on jobs was introduced. During that same autumn Budget, Reeves raised capital gains tax from 10pc to 18pc for basic-rate taxpayers and 20pc to 24pc for those paying the higher rate. The Office for Budget Responsibility has since sharply downgraded capital gains tax (CGT) revenue forecasts, wiping £23bn off the projected tax take by 2030. Labour indulged its ideological fantasies by loading more taxes on non-dom international financiers based in the UK. Now multiple billionaires have fled and foreign direct investment projects have fallen to a two-decade low – imagine the jobs and tax revenues we've lost. Building on Tory mistakes, Labour increased taxes even more on North Sea drilling, killing off countless energy extraction projects, again destroying valuable revenue streams. Then there's the spiteful imposition of VAT on school fees which has seen four times more pupils withdrawn by cash-strapped households than ministers predicted and countless school closures – another case of more taxation destroying ambition and enterprise, hitting revenues overall. Back in the early 1980s, inspired by Laffer and Reagan, Margaret Thatcher's Tories lowered tax rates, setting Britain on a path to recovery. David Cameron and Theresa May's governments gradually cut corporation tax (CT) from 28pc in 2010 to 19pc by 2017, with CT revenues hitting 2.7pc of GDP by 2019, up from 2.1pc a decade earlier when the tax rate was much higher. Taxation is complicated – the historical and contemporary examples above are subject to other factors, too. But evidence of many decades shows that countries where the state is relatively small grow faster and are more prosperous, with those consistently spending beyond their means collapsing into crisis. The Beatles and the Kinks didn't leave the UK for tax purposes, unlike the Rolling Stones. But their songs captured the national mood, speaking for the silent majority, a mood that prevails today. Taxation is far too high – and raising tax rates even more will only compound Britain's fiscal and commercial weakness.
The Onion
17-06-2025
- Entertainment
- The Onion
You Sure You're In The Mood For Another Wes Anderson Film With Everything That's Going On?
Hey, guys. It's me, acclaimed filmmaker Wes Anderson. I just finished my latest movie, The Phoenician Scheme, and it's going to be great. It's got everything—an ensemble cast of A-listers, set designs to die for, and a mid-century setting in exotic locales. But real quick, before I go ahead and release it, I wanted to ask, are you sure you're still in the mood for one of my movies? You know, with everything that's been going on lately? I just thought that maybe I should check in first. Because I would hate to release The Phoenician Scheme, my charming and absurdist black comedy caper, only for everyone to feel too weird to go see it—which, by the way, would totally make sense. I would feel weird if I were you. There's a lot on your plates at the moment. It's okay. You can be honest with me. If Benicio del Toro wearing a fez is too much for you to handle right now, you can tell me. But, I mean, hey, no judgment if you are in the mood to see it. Be my guest! If you're ready to show up to the theater May 30—given the state of the world—and say, 'One for The Phoenician Scheme, please,' all the more power to you. Maybe this 101-minute fanciful romp featuring Michael Cera as a private tutor who speaks in a Norwegian accent is exactly what you're looking for. It won't preserve habeas corpus or the First Amendment or civil rights. But it will make you think, 'Huh, is that an oud I'm hearing in this Kinks cover?' Oof. Things sure are bad. Thank God I moved to Paris 20 years ago! Just as a gut check, how about I list off some of the things you might see in my movie and you tell me if they're dealbreakers? Tom Hanks and Bryan Cranston rattling off my signature droll dialogue—enticing or not? What about meticulously framed scenes that blend nostalgia and melancholy with just a dash of whimsy? And do you like the idea of Benedict Cumberbatch as a character with elaborate facial hair named Uncle Nubar? Or is that kind of a red flag? If you aren't really feeling another one of my films, just let me know. All I'm trying to do here is make sure this is what you genuinely want. Don't go just to make me happy. I'd have no problem sitting on the movie for a few years, if that's what you need. Maybe I could release The Phoenician Scheme in 2028, or 2030. But then again, who knows— maybe things will be much, much worse by then. Maybe this is your last chance to see my work before total economic and democratic collapse. Do you think there will be film festivals in the camps? Shoot. Now I wish I'd made a movie about a film festival in the camps. Don't freak out. I'm not saying things will get worse. I'm just saying they could. I'm trying to be empathetic, as an expat. Of course, here in France, there are plenty of problems too. Not sure what they are, though. I get my news from literary magazines. So, I don't know, what do you think? You want it? You want The Phoenician Scheme? Tilda Swinton isn't in this one, if that sways your mind one way or the other. But Jeffrey Wright is back. He wears a sea captain's hat and suspenders. Anyway, I have to go now. I'm riding my bicycle to the bakery. Just let me know by the end of Cannes. Au revoir.
Yahoo
17-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Classic Rock Band Releases Never-Before-Heard Live Version of Iconic Hit
Classic Rock Band Releases Never-Before-Heard Live Version of Iconic Hit originally appeared on Parade. A legendary classic rock band has released a never-before-heard version of one of their greatest hits. On Thursday, June 12, iconic British rock band The Kinks released a live version of their 1966 hit "Sunny Afternoon" that was recorded at their 1993 Royal Albert Hall show in London. It has never been released before, so unless you were there, you've never heard this version. Listen here. This live version of "Sunny Afternoon" is part of the band celebrating its 60th anniversary with a trilogy of albums called The Journey. The Journey — Part 1 and The Journey — Part 2 came out in 2023; now the final chapter in the trilogy, The Journey — Part 3, is being released on July 11, 2025, and will feature two discs of special 1 features 11 classic tracks from the band's Arista period, remastered from the original production tapes. Disc 2 is a very special release featuring recordings previously never released and discovered in the Kinks studio archive, selected from their July 11, 1993, Royal Albert Hall show. 'As far as performances go, it was a high point achievement of the Kinks,' founding member Dave Davies said of the Royal Albert Hall show. Pre-orders and pre-saves can be made here. Disc 1: Catch Me Now I'm Falling (2025 Remaster) (Wish I Could Fly Like) Superman (2025 Remaster) A Rock'n'Roll Fantasy (2025 Remaster) Sleepwalker (2025 Remaster) Living On A Thin Line (2025 Remaster) Come Dancing (2025 Remaster) Around The Dial (2025 Remaster) Do It Again (2025 Remaster) Better Things (2025 Remaster) Destroyer (2025 Remaster) Low Budget (2025 Remaster) Misfits (2025 Remaster) Disc 2: One of Our DJs Is Missing (Live at the Royal Albert Hall, 1993) Till The End of The Day (Live at the Royal Albert Hall, 1993) Where Have All The Good Times Gone (Live at the Royal Albert Hall, 1993) Low Budget (Live at the Royal Albert Hall, 1993) Apeman (Live at the Royal Albert Hall, 1993) Phobia (Live at the Royal Albert Hall, 1993) Only a Dream (Live at the Royal Albert Hall, 1993) Scattered (Live at the Royal Albert Hall, 1993) Celluloid Heroes (Live at the Royal Albert Hall, 1993) I'm Not Like Everybody Else (Live at the Royal Albert Hall, 1993) Dedicated Follower of Fashion (Live at the Royal Albert Hall, 1993) The Informer (Live at the Royal Albert Hall, 1993) Death of a Clown (Live at the Royal Albert Hall, 1993) Sunny Afternoon (Live at the Royal Albert Hall, 1993) You Really Got Me (Live at the Royal Albert Hall, 1993) Days (Live at the Royal Albert Hall, 1993) 🎬 SIGN UP for Parade's Daily newsletter to get the latest pop culture news & celebrity interviews delivered right to your inbox 🎬 Classic Rock Band Releases Never-Before-Heard Live Version of Iconic Hit first appeared on Parade on Jun 12, 2025 This story was originally reported by Parade on Jun 12, 2025, where it first appeared.
The Age
13-06-2025
- Entertainment
- The Age
Paul Kelly's latest song sat in a shed for 40 years. It was in good company
Dean Lukin was a household name in 1984. Paul Kelly not so much. In August that year, in a share flat in Sydney, the rising songwriter was cheering at the TV as the fisherman from Port Lincoln won Olympic gold for weightlifting in Los Angeles. Fast-forward 40 years and Dan Kelly finds a dusty cassette in his uncle's back shed in St Kilda. Cool Hand Lukin had been recorded in that long-ago flat around a kitchen table: a simple mix of strident strums, handclaps, recorder, sweet harmonies and a story for the ages. Finally, last week, it was released. Leaving it off his Post album was probably the right choice. It would have been dated already. Released last week, it became something more valuable — like a cracked photograph or a message in a bottle. The lost years are everything. My favourite lost song might be Time Song by the Kinks. Left off Village Green Preservation Society, it vanished for 50 years until the 2018 reissue. Imagine Ray Davies at 74, hearing his 24-year-old self on that tape: 'When we were young / And our bodies were strong / We thought we'd sail into sunsets / When our time came along.' We tend to think of songs as arriving complete, of their time. But more often they miss the moment, unfinished, set aside or just lost in the churn. When they resurface they're not the same. We're not the same. Time has a way of making them feel deeper, sadder, wiser — less about the pop thrill than the long game. Some songs are born so fragile or strange it takes years for anyone to know what to do with them. Vegetable Man, by Pink Floyd's Syd Barrett, was too close to the edge he fell over, and so shelved for decades by a band still reckoning with his loss. Nick Drake's Tow the Line, recorded just before his death in 1974, sounded less like a demo than a quiet truth that just needed a bit of distance.
Sydney Morning Herald
13-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Sydney Morning Herald
Paul Kelly's latest song sat in a shed for 40 years. It was in good company
Dean Lukin was a household name in 1984. Paul Kelly not so much. In August that year, in a share flat in Sydney, the rising songwriter was cheering at the TV as the fisherman from Port Lincoln won Olympic gold for weightlifting in Los Angeles. Fast-forward 40 years and Dan Kelly finds a dusty cassette in his uncle's back shed in St Kilda. Cool Hand Lukin had been recorded in that long-ago flat around a kitchen table: a simple mix of strident strums, handclaps, recorder, sweet harmonies and a story for the ages. Finally, last week, it was released. Leaving it off his Post album was probably the right choice. It would have been dated already. Released last week, it became something more valuable — like a cracked photograph or a message in a bottle. The lost years are everything. My favourite lost song might be Time Song by the Kinks. Left off Village Green Preservation Society, it vanished for 50 years until the 2018 reissue. Imagine Ray Davies at 74, hearing his 24-year-old self on that tape: 'When we were young / And our bodies were strong / We thought we'd sail into sunsets / When our time came along.' We tend to think of songs as arriving complete, of their time. But more often they miss the moment, unfinished, set aside or just lost in the churn. When they resurface they're not the same. We're not the same. Time has a way of making them feel deeper, sadder, wiser — less about the pop thrill than the long game. Some songs are born so fragile or strange it takes years for anyone to know what to do with them. Vegetable Man, by Pink Floyd's Syd Barrett, was too close to the edge he fell over, and so shelved for decades by a band still reckoning with his loss. Nick Drake's Tow the Line, recorded just before his death in 1974, sounded less like a demo than a quiet truth that just needed a bit of distance.
