Latest news with #KissMe
Yahoo
16-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
'Underrated' '90s Band Performs Iconic Rom-Com Hit and Fans Can't Get Over How Good It Still Sounds
'Underrated' '90s Band Performs Iconic Rom-Com Hit and Fans Can't Get Over How Good It Still Sounds originally appeared on Parade. There are some bands we definitely don't give their proper dues while they're at their prime. It's only through years of reflection (with a few helpful social media reminders) that we remember these bands exist and were without a doubt incredible. Sixpence None the Richer was without a doubt one of those her ethereal voice, lead singer Leigh Nash was essentially the soundtrack to our most cherished '90s rom-coms, including the iconic "Kiss Me" tune that played at the end of She's All That. The band is currently wrapping up a tour in Latin America, and fans are slowly starting to share footage from shows, and one fan's recording of "Kiss Me" is transporting them back in time with how great they sound. People couldn't get over how great she sounds after all these years, and mostly talked about how magical it made people feel. "When music was music," complimented one fan. "Yep I'm old," admitted one fan. "But very fortunate that I experienced the 90s>" "Teen years with this music in the 90s was epic: crushes, heartbreaks and growing up," reminisced another. While the band released a new track in 2024, it's pretty evident that they still have the chops to perform and product. We can't wait to see what else the future has in store for them. P.S. American tour soon, please? 🎬SIGN UP for Parade's Daily newsletter to get the latest pop culture news & celebrity interviews delivered right to your inbox🎬 'Underrated' '90s Band Performs Iconic Rom-Com Hit and Fans Can't Get Over How Good It Still Sounds first appeared on Parade on Jul 16, 2025 This story was originally reported by Parade on Jul 16, 2025, where it first appeared. Solve the daily Crossword
The Age
12-07-2025
- Entertainment
- The Age
Bullied as a teen, Ted Lasso's Hannah Waddingham found success in midlife
This story is part of the July 13 edition of Sunday Life. See all 14 stories. Hannah Waddingham has just returned from rubbing shoulders in Cannes. Dressed in a burgundy suit, black bra and stilettos, she looks as if she's come straight from the film festival's red carpet. 'Cannes is a completely different beast,' she says. 'Walking up plenty of stairs in the gown is a bit like, 'Don't be the wanker who falls!' That's a lot of pink taffeta up in the air.' Has she face-planted on a red carpet before? 'No, but what I'm saying is, people shouldn't think that I'm endlessly confident because I'm absolutely not. I'm just good at styling it out.' Ever since Waddingham found fame five years ago playing Rebecca Welton, the tough but vulnerable owner of AFC Richmond on the Apple TV+ show Ted Lasso, I've had her pegged in the 'endlessly confident' category. 'That's easy to think when I'm six-foot, two in heels,' she says, sitting down for lunch. 'I have massive impostor syndrome all the time.' The pinch-me movie-star existence has been a long time coming for the single mother-of-one. For two decades, Waddingham was a leading lady in the West End, with three Olivier nominations to prove it – Spamalot, A Little Night Music, Kiss Me, Kate. But it was the gentle football comedy Ted Lasso that kicked her career into the premier league, and scooped her an Emmy award for best supporting actress in 2021. Since then, she has bounced between making Hollywood blockbusters (Mission: Impossible – The Final Reckoning, The Fall Guy, Lilo & Stitch) and hosting primetime gigs. These days, the actor is almost inescapable but, throughout her 30s, she struggled to make the leap from stage to screen. 'I could not get arrested on British television at all,' she recalls. In 2014, after more than a decade of piddly screen parts alongside her theatre career, Waddingham landed a recurring role in the ITV sitcom Benidorm and, the following year, played Septa Unella, the taciturn nun ('Shame! Shame!' ) in Game of Thrones. Then came Sex Education, in which she played a lesbian mum, Ted Lasso and global fame erroneously described as 'overnight'. In her hustling years, her 180cm height had often been cited as a factor in not getting cast. 'You'll be too big on camera so stay in your lane,' she says, recalling the general sentiment. Thankfully Jason Sudeikis, the 185cm creator and star of Ted Lasso, was happy for Waddingham to wear heels and be taller than him on screen. Other actors aren't so relaxed: 'I even had a couple of day players [actors on set briefly] in Ted Lasso going, 'Is it all right if she doesn't wear shoes in this scene?' ' The heels stayed on. Our food arrives. Waddingham looks at her kale-heavy superfood salad sadly. 'Good job we're not on a date. That's going to go right in my teeth,' she says. She is single but, while in a relationship in her late 30s, she decided that she wanted a child. She conceived naturally and, on her 40th birthday, took her baby daughter home from the hospital. Waddingham later separated from the father, Gianluca Cugnetto, an Italian hospitality businessman. She is now a single parent and doesn't name her 10-year-old publicly. 'Thank god she is the utter joy of my life because it is unyielding responsibility. I feel like more people should talk about how exhausting it is,' she says, chuckling. 'Not only physically showing up for them but being the best version of yourself, because they respond to actions far more than words.' When it comes to romance, Waddingham is 'quite picky unless someone is sensational'. In her book, sensational means a kind, positive and upbeat man. 'I can't have people in my life whose default setting is glass half-empty. I just find it exhausting because I am absolutely the opposite,' she says. We're politely sharing the fries when I accidentally put my foot in it: I ask if men find her intimidating. 'The whole intimidating thing is a very easy mantle to thrust upon me,' she says, irked. 'But if people bother to lean in, I'm not at all.' Why do you think that mantle has been thrust? 'I'm tall and front-footed and have strong opinions. But you would never call a man intimidating if he was those things.' I move on to Waddingham calling out bad behaviour on set. She once overheard a sound guy saying something inappropriate to a colleague and challenged him to say it to the whole room on a microphone. 'If a man was standing up for people on set no one would put it in an interview,' she says. 'Society is brought up still to think that if a woman speaks her mind, if a woman pushes the needle, that she's intimidating, and men just don't get that.' While posing on the red carpet at the Olivier awards last year, she chastised a photographer who had shouted at her to 'show a bit of leg'. 'Oh my god, you'd never say that to a man, my friend,' she told him. Now, Waddingham is fed up with that brief exchange being endlessly brought up by interviewers. 'I am completely silly, soft, vulnerable, sensitive, all the rest of it,' she says. 'Then when people behave badly, I call them out and that's it. But it's very easy to be defined by that.' She stresses that she loves men and that plenty of them (Sudeikis, for example) have been her biggest champions. However, gendered language rankles her. 'A man just wears a suit, but a woman wears a power suit,' she says. 'You're not a female boss, you're a boss bitch. You wouldn't call a man a boss bastard.' Waddingham grew up in south London, with her mother, Melodie Kelly, who was an opera singer in the English National Opera, her father, Harry, a marketing director and former model, and her older brother, who went into the police. Her maternal grandparents were also professional opera singers. Her mother was a 'grafter' who would often have rehearsals all day, nip home to cook supper and then head out for an evening's performance in the West End. 'That auditorium was like my childcare,' Waddingham says wistfully. 'I thought everyone's mum was an opera singer.' She died in December. 'The reason we get upset is because we love them,' Waddingham says, starting to cry. 'She gave me my voice and I hear her in my singing voice all the time.' Waddingham went to a private girls' school, and has previously talked about being bullied for her height. When I raise the subject, however, she doesn't want to discuss it. 'I wouldn't want to give fuel to those people. I'm sure they're absolutely nowhere now.' As a statuesque 15-year-old, Waddingham was scouted by a modelling agency. After her parents let her start working at 16, the professionals told her to sign up with a plus-size agency. 'You turn up at a casting and there'd be the normal models at the time smoking, sitting, waiting to go in, and then all us plus-size models had a lovely time,' she says. 'We'd stand in there with milkshakes, a packet of crisps.' The modelling gigs helped pay for drama school, which sounds like a mixed experience. One female drama instructor told 19-year-old Waddingham that she'd never work on screen because, in the teacher's words, it 'looks like one side of her face has had a stroke'. This bizarre cruelty had a lasting effect. 'She really knocked my confidence so much that I then didn't audition for things for years on telly,' she says. 'I hope she's rotting somewhere. Silly cow. People like that – it's their own insecurities and I know that now.' Theatre work came quickly. For the first decade of her career, Waddingham was cast in stereotypical bombshell roles. 'Always 'a funny, busty blonde' or 'sexy, busty blonde',' she recalls. 'Change the front of it but 'busty blonde' will be at the end of it.' Fast-forward to today. Her daughter is showing interest in the family business and has just starred in a school production of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. 'I need her to be aware that I really grafted for 22 years. Life is not being picked up by a black Mercedes,' she says. Finding Mercedes-waiting-outside levels of success in her 40s rather than her 20s was a blessing. 'I probably would have found it incredibly overwhelming,' she says. 'Whereas I'm loving every single second of it now and know that I've earned it.' She knows she should pause for breath but admits 'part of me is ravenous for the fun of it all'. She is presently based in Prague, along with her daughter and the nanny, to film Ride or Die, a Prime Video series in which she plays a glamorous assassin ('The most juicy, satisfying, exhausting role I've ever played') alongside Bill Nighy and Octavia Spencer. Ten days after that shoot finishes she will work on High in the Clouds, an animated musical film based on a children's book by Paul McCartney. Ringo Starr, Celine Dion, Lionel Richie and McCartney himself are in the cast. 'If I'm going to be in a room recording songs with Paul McCartney, I need to be rested,' she says, emphasising every letter of 'rested'. After that, season four of Ted Lasso kicks off. Loading Throughout her career, Waddingham would rip up the scripts after she finished an audition. 'I'm a fatalist,' she explains. 'I believe that if something's coming for you, it will flow to you.' Is it true she has a mental list of the industry bigwigs who thwarted her progress? 'People at parties for years that would look round me. I'm just quietly never working with them. 'I remember you, motherf---er,' ' she says, flashing a wolfish grin. Despite her recent successes and accolades, she insists that she still doesn't think of herself as famous: 'I've just become more known.' What are the upsides? 'Being afforded the luxury of the kind of roles that I always knew I could play and, as a single mum, the luxury of being able to put my daughter in great schools. It does give you freedom,' she says. 'I genuinely don't give a shit about fame. I never have. I never will.'
Sydney Morning Herald
12-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Sydney Morning Herald
Bullied as a teen, Ted Lasso's Hannah Waddingham found success in midlife
This story is part of the July 13 edition of Sunday Life. See all 14 stories. Hannah Waddingham has just returned from rubbing shoulders in Cannes. Dressed in a burgundy suit, black bra and stilettos, she looks as if she's come straight from the film festival's red carpet. 'Cannes is a completely different beast,' she says. 'Walking up plenty of stairs in the gown is a bit like, 'Don't be the wanker who falls!' That's a lot of pink taffeta up in the air.' Has she face-planted on a red carpet before? 'No, but what I'm saying is, people shouldn't think that I'm endlessly confident because I'm absolutely not. I'm just good at styling it out.' Ever since Waddingham found fame five years ago playing Rebecca Welton, the tough but vulnerable owner of AFC Richmond on the Apple TV+ show Ted Lasso, I've had her pegged in the 'endlessly confident' category. 'That's easy to think when I'm six-foot, two in heels,' she says, sitting down for lunch. 'I have massive impostor syndrome all the time.' The pinch-me movie-star existence has been a long time coming for the single mother-of-one. For two decades, Waddingham was a leading lady in the West End, with three Olivier nominations to prove it – Spamalot, A Little Night Music, Kiss Me, Kate. But it was the gentle football comedy Ted Lasso that kicked her career into the premier league, and scooped her an Emmy award for best supporting actress in 2021. Since then, she has bounced between making Hollywood blockbusters (Mission: Impossible – The Final Reckoning, The Fall Guy, Lilo & Stitch) and hosting primetime gigs. These days, the actor is almost inescapable but, throughout her 30s, she struggled to make the leap from stage to screen. 'I could not get arrested on British television at all,' she recalls. In 2014, after more than a decade of piddly screen parts alongside her theatre career, Waddingham landed a recurring role in the ITV sitcom Benidorm and, the following year, played Septa Unella, the taciturn nun ('Shame! Shame!' ) in Game of Thrones. Then came Sex Education, in which she played a lesbian mum, Ted Lasso and global fame erroneously described as 'overnight'. In her hustling years, her 180cm height had often been cited as a factor in not getting cast. 'You'll be too big on camera so stay in your lane,' she says, recalling the general sentiment. Thankfully Jason Sudeikis, the 185cm creator and star of Ted Lasso, was happy for Waddingham to wear heels and be taller than him on screen. Other actors aren't so relaxed: 'I even had a couple of day players [actors on set briefly] in Ted Lasso going, 'Is it all right if she doesn't wear shoes in this scene?' ' The heels stayed on. Our food arrives. Waddingham looks at her kale-heavy superfood salad sadly. 'Good job we're not on a date. That's going to go right in my teeth,' she says. She is single but, while in a relationship in her late 30s, she decided that she wanted a child. She conceived naturally and, on her 40th birthday, took her baby daughter home from the hospital. Waddingham later separated from the father, Gianluca Cugnetto, an Italian hospitality businessman. She is now a single parent and doesn't name her 10-year-old publicly. 'Thank god she is the utter joy of my life because it is unyielding responsibility. I feel like more people should talk about how exhausting it is,' she says, chuckling. 'Not only physically showing up for them but being the best version of yourself, because they respond to actions far more than words.' When it comes to romance, Waddingham is 'quite picky unless someone is sensational'. In her book, sensational means a kind, positive and upbeat man. 'I can't have people in my life whose default setting is glass half-empty. I just find it exhausting because I am absolutely the opposite,' she says. We're politely sharing the fries when I accidentally put my foot in it: I ask if men find her intimidating. 'The whole intimidating thing is a very easy mantle to thrust upon me,' she says, irked. 'But if people bother to lean in, I'm not at all.' Why do you think that mantle has been thrust? 'I'm tall and front-footed and have strong opinions. But you would never call a man intimidating if he was those things.' I move on to Waddingham calling out bad behaviour on set. She once overheard a sound guy saying something inappropriate to a colleague and challenged him to say it to the whole room on a microphone. 'If a man was standing up for people on set no one would put it in an interview,' she says. 'Society is brought up still to think that if a woman speaks her mind, if a woman pushes the needle, that she's intimidating, and men just don't get that.' While posing on the red carpet at the Olivier awards last year, she chastised a photographer who had shouted at her to 'show a bit of leg'. 'Oh my god, you'd never say that to a man, my friend,' she told him. Now, Waddingham is fed up with that brief exchange being endlessly brought up by interviewers. 'I am completely silly, soft, vulnerable, sensitive, all the rest of it,' she says. 'Then when people behave badly, I call them out and that's it. But it's very easy to be defined by that.' She stresses that she loves men and that plenty of them (Sudeikis, for example) have been her biggest champions. However, gendered language rankles her. 'A man just wears a suit, but a woman wears a power suit,' she says. 'You're not a female boss, you're a boss bitch. You wouldn't call a man a boss bastard.' Waddingham grew up in south London, with her mother, Melodie Kelly, who was an opera singer in the English National Opera, her father, Harry, a marketing director and former model, and her older brother, who went into the police. Her maternal grandparents were also professional opera singers. Her mother was a 'grafter' who would often have rehearsals all day, nip home to cook supper and then head out for an evening's performance in the West End. 'That auditorium was like my childcare,' Waddingham says wistfully. 'I thought everyone's mum was an opera singer.' She died in December. 'The reason we get upset is because we love them,' Waddingham says, starting to cry. 'She gave me my voice and I hear her in my singing voice all the time.' Waddingham went to a private girls' school, and has previously talked about being bullied for her height. When I raise the subject, however, she doesn't want to discuss it. 'I wouldn't want to give fuel to those people. I'm sure they're absolutely nowhere now.' As a statuesque 15-year-old, Waddingham was scouted by a modelling agency. After her parents let her start working at 16, the professionals told her to sign up with a plus-size agency. 'You turn up at a casting and there'd be the normal models at the time smoking, sitting, waiting to go in, and then all us plus-size models had a lovely time,' she says. 'We'd stand in there with milkshakes, a packet of crisps.' The modelling gigs helped pay for drama school, which sounds like a mixed experience. One female drama instructor told 19-year-old Waddingham that she'd never work on screen because, in the teacher's words, it 'looks like one side of her face has had a stroke'. This bizarre cruelty had a lasting effect. 'She really knocked my confidence so much that I then didn't audition for things for years on telly,' she says. 'I hope she's rotting somewhere. Silly cow. People like that – it's their own insecurities and I know that now.' Theatre work came quickly. For the first decade of her career, Waddingham was cast in stereotypical bombshell roles. 'Always 'a funny, busty blonde' or 'sexy, busty blonde',' she recalls. 'Change the front of it but 'busty blonde' will be at the end of it.' Fast-forward to today. Her daughter is showing interest in the family business and has just starred in a school production of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. 'I need her to be aware that I really grafted for 22 years. Life is not being picked up by a black Mercedes,' she says. Finding Mercedes-waiting-outside levels of success in her 40s rather than her 20s was a blessing. 'I probably would have found it incredibly overwhelming,' she says. 'Whereas I'm loving every single second of it now and know that I've earned it.' She knows she should pause for breath but admits 'part of me is ravenous for the fun of it all'. She is presently based in Prague, along with her daughter and the nanny, to film Ride or Die, a Prime Video series in which she plays a glamorous assassin ('The most juicy, satisfying, exhausting role I've ever played') alongside Bill Nighy and Octavia Spencer. Ten days after that shoot finishes she will work on High in the Clouds, an animated musical film based on a children's book by Paul McCartney. Ringo Starr, Celine Dion, Lionel Richie and McCartney himself are in the cast. 'If I'm going to be in a room recording songs with Paul McCartney, I need to be rested,' she says, emphasising every letter of 'rested'. After that, season four of Ted Lasso kicks off. Loading Throughout her career, Waddingham would rip up the scripts after she finished an audition. 'I'm a fatalist,' she explains. 'I believe that if something's coming for you, it will flow to you.' Is it true she has a mental list of the industry bigwigs who thwarted her progress? 'People at parties for years that would look round me. I'm just quietly never working with them. 'I remember you, motherf---er,' ' she says, flashing a wolfish grin. Despite her recent successes and accolades, she insists that she still doesn't think of herself as famous: 'I've just become more known.' What are the upsides? 'Being afforded the luxury of the kind of roles that I always knew I could play and, as a single mum, the luxury of being able to put my daughter in great schools. It does give you freedom,' she says. 'I genuinely don't give a shit about fame. I never have. I never will.'
Atlantic
03-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Atlantic
Ken Casey: ‘I'm Not Going to Shut Up'
Ken Casey, the founder and front man of the Celtic punk band Dropkick Murphys, is the physical, attitudinal, and linguistic personification of Boston. Proof of this can be found in the way he pronounces MAGA. To wit: 'Magger,' as in, 'This Magger guy in the audience was waving his fucking Trump hat in people's faces, and I could just tell he wanted to enter into discourse with me.' A second proof is that 'enter into discourse' is a thing Ben Affleck would say in a movie about South Boston right before punching someone in the face. The third is Casey's articulation of what I took to be a personal code: 'I'm not going to shut up, just out of spite.' The aforementioned discourse took place at a show in Florida in March. Video of the incident has moved across the internet, and it has provoked at least some Dropkick Murphy fans—white, male, and not particularly predisposed to the Democratic Party in its current form—to abandon the band. Casey accepts this as the price for preserving his soul. 'I think everything we've been doing for the past 30 years was a kind of warm-up for the moment we're in,' he told me. The band is most famous for its furious, frenzied anthem 'I'm Shipping Up to Boston,' but it is also known, among certain high-information voters and union activists, as a last repository of working-class values. As white men have lurched to the right, the band is on a mission to convince them that they're being played by a grifter. 'Thirty years ago, the Reagan era, everyone was in lockstep with what we were saying,' he said. 'Now people say our message is outdated or elite or we're part of some machine.' Casey and I were talking on a sunny day this spring at Fenway Park (inevitably), where he was filming a promotional video for the Red Sox's Dropkick Murphy Bobblehead Night (July 11, in case you were wondering). Casey, who is tattooed up to the neck and carries himself like a bartender, is amused by the idea that anyone would consider him an elitist. He is, after all, a writer of both 'Kiss Me, I'm Shitfaced' and 'Smash Shit Up.' 'They take the fact that we don't support Trump as us being shills for the Democrats,' he said. 'They love to call us cucks, which I find ironic because there's a good portion of MAGA that would probably step aside and let Donald Trump have their way with their significant other if he asked.' There's also a bit of grace to be found in the culture war, as Casey discovered at the now-famous Florida show. 'These two guys had their MAGA shirts and hats and a cardboard blowup of Trump's head, and they're in the front row, so they're definitely trolling,' Casey said. 'We've had this before, guys with MAGA hats just shoving it in people's faces.' Casey addressed the audience, first with an accusation: 'Where the fuck are all the other punk bands?' The answer is that the bands are scared, just like so many others. Punk bands are no exception, which is a small irony, given the oppositional iconoclasm of so much of punk, and the movement's anti-authoritarian roots. It's striking that few singers, bands, and movie stars—so many of them reliably progressive when the stakes are trivial—seem willing to address the country's perilous political moment. (Casey's friend Bruce Springsteen is a noteworthy exception.) Intimidation works, and complicity is the norm, not the exception. 'You've got the biggest bands running scared,' Casey said. The latest Dropkick Murphys album, For the People, is compensation for the silence of other quarters. Only a minority of the songs on the album address the political moment directly, but those that do were written in anger. The first single, 'Who'll Stand for Us,' addresses the betrayal of working Americans: 'Through crime and crusade / Our labor, it's been stolen / We've been robbed of our freedom / We've been held down and beholden.' Fury runs like a red streak through For the People. 'The reason we speak out is we don't care if we lose fans,' Casey said from the stage in Florida. 'When history is said and done, we want it known that Dropkick Murphys stood with the people and stood with the workers. And it's all a fucking scam, guys.' He then addressed the Trumpists in the front row. 'I want to propose, in the name of decency and fairness—I'd like to propose a friendly wager. Do you support American workers? Of course you do. Do you support American business? Obviously. I don't know if you are aware, because we don't go around bragging about it, but Dropkick Murphys only sells American-made merchandise.' The wager was simple: He'd give the man in the Trump shirt $100 and a Dropkick Murphys T-shirt if his Trump shirt had been made in America. If the fan lost, he'd still get the Dropkick Murphy shirt. Casey knows a safe bet. The shirt, of course, had been made in Nicaragua. But Casey felt no need to humiliate the Trumpist. 'He's a good sport!' Casey told the cheering crowd. 'He's taking the shirt off! We're taking crime off the street! God bless your fucking heart!' After the show, Casey, as is his practice, left the stage through the audience, and talked to the Trump supporters. 'There was him and his son, and they were the nicest two guys. It made me think, I have to get past the shirt and the hat, because they were almost doing it for a laugh, like it was their form of silent protest. This guy said, 'I've been coming to see you for 20 years. I consider you family, and I don't let politics come between family.' And I was like, Wow. It was a good lesson. But how many families out there in America have politics come between them, you know?' Casey says that identity politics—and especially the exploitation of identity politics by Trump-aligned Republicans—alienate from the Democrats the sort of people he grew up with. Recently, the band performed at an anti-Trump protest at Boston's City Hall Plaza. Afterward, Casey told me, 'even people I know said, 'Oh, you were at that rally? I always knew you were gay.'' He continued, 'This is why people in labor and the left want us to be involved in some of this protest. MAGA, they use this male-masculinity issue the way they use trans and woke to divide. They're teaching the young males that this is the soft party.' Although Casey personally leans Bernie philosophically, he's realistic about the left and about the Democratic Party's dysfunction. 'If I think about all the people I know in my life that have shifted over to Trump voters—AOC ain't bringing them back. I actually like her, but it ain't happening.' Who else does he like? Someone who can speak to people outside the progressive bubble. He likes Kentucky Governor Andy Beshear, a successful Democratic governor of a red state. 'I'm not against going full-on progressive,' he said, 'but if it's not going to be that, you got to find a centrist. It can't be mush. It's got to be someone who can speak the language of that working-class-male group that they seem to have lost. That's why I love the idea of a veteran, whether it's Wes Moore or Ruben Gallego, or even Adam Kinzinger, who's talking about running as a Democrat.' He'd rather not have to think about electoral politics this much, he said at Fenway. But he is still shocked that so many people in his life fell for Trumpism. 'My father died when I was young, and I was raised by my grandfather, who was basically like, 'If I ever see you bullying someone, I'll kick the shit out of you. And if I ever see you back down from a bully, I'll kick the shit out of you.'' 'I've just never liked bullies,' he continued, 'and I don't understand people who do. It's really not that hard. I wish more people would see that it's not hard to stand up.'
Yahoo
13-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Goth Icon Shares New ‘Dramatic' Version of Hit Song
Goth Icon Shares New 'Dramatic' Version of Hit Song originally appeared on Parade. Few are more synonymous with goth—be it music, fashion, or lifestyle—than Robert Smith of The Cure. Since forming in the '70s, The Cure has pioneered the dark, brooding, romantic rock sound that defined goth music. The band released now-classic albums like Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me and Disintegration, while becoming part of the 1980s and '90s music tapestry with songs like "A Forest," "Just Like Heaven," "Close To Me," "Boys Don't Cry," and "Friday I'm In Love." In 2024, The Cure pulled off the impossible: release a new album that's as good as one of its classics. Songs of a Lost World received widespread critical acclaim and was on many publications' "Best of 2024" year-end lists. Now, fans can revisit the album with the upcoming remix album, "Mixes of a Lost World." The collection, arriving on June 13, features remixed versions of Songs of a Lost World courtesy of electronic artists such asFour Tet, Orbital, Trentemøller, Paul Oakenfold, and more. Deftones frontman Chino Moreno (who dabbles in goth/dark electronica with this Crosses project) will also have a remix on the album. Electronic duo Daybreakers have transformed "Warsong" from a 4:17 track to a six-minute synth and bass extravaganza. This new version "has a real sense of drama," Smith told Billboard. "The breakdowns are simple, but far-out, and the vibe is cool, but urgent. It is one of my favorites on the [remix] album." Smith also told Billboard that The Cure has "a colorful history with all kinds of dance music, and I was curious as to how the whole album would sound entirely reinterpreted by others." "To be chosen to do a remix is a great honor," Daybreakers told the publication. "Being included on the remix album alongside such a great variety of talented artists and producers is a huge privilege." "Additionally," they add, "with all of The Cure's recording royalties being donated to the WarChild UK charity, it really is for a wonderful cause."Goth Icon Shares New 'Dramatic' Version of Hit Song first appeared on Parade on Jun 11, 2025 This story was originally reported by Parade on Jun 11, 2025, where it first appeared.
