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Music’s ever-shifting landscape rarely fails to surprise, and this week proves no exception. As Broadway musicians prepare for what could be a defining moment in theater history, the industry celebrates one of pop music’s most enduring voices.

Mariah Carey – whose signature whistle notes have become as synonymous with Christmas as candy canes and mistletoe – has just been named the 2026 MusiCares Person of the Year. At 56, she’ll become the youngest honoree since Sting grabbed the spotlight back in ’04. Not bad for the girl from Long Island who once dreamed of becoming a backup singer.

The timing feels particularly poignant. With 19 Billboard Hot 100 chart-toppers under her belt (just one shy of The Beatles’ record), Carey’s influence on modern pop music is practically impossible to measure. Harvey Mason jr., CEO of the Recording Academy and MusiCares, perhaps understated things when he noted that “her artistry and her voice have helped shape the sound of our times.”

But there’s more to this story than just musical achievement. Through initiatives like Camp Mariah – her partnership with the Fresh Air Fund – Carey has consistently channeled her success into creating opportunities for underserved youth. It’s this blend of artistic excellence and humanitarian spirit that makes the MusiCares recognition feel less like an award and more like an overdue acknowledgment.

Meanwhile, Broadway’s facing its own drama – and not the kind that sells tickets. Come Thursday morning, the theater district might find itself unusually quiet as musicians contemplate striking. The potential work stoppage threatens to affect 23 musicals, including crowd-pleasers like “Hamilton,” “Wicked,” and “The Lion King.”

The timing couldn’t be more crucial. With 1,600 members of American Federation of Musicians Local 802 fighting for fair wages and healthcare benefits, the very soul of live theater hangs in the balance. There’s whispers that actors and stage managers might join the cause – a development that could turn the Great White Way into the Great Quiet Way.

Yet amidst these uncertainties, the Latin music scene offers a refreshing counterpoint. The upcoming Latin Grammy Awards has announced a lineup that reads like a masterclass in musical evolution. Picture this: Carlos Santana, still wielding his guitar like a magician at 78, sharing the stage with contemporary powerhouses Rauw Alejandro and Christian Nodal. It’s a beautiful reminder that music knows no boundaries – of age, genre, or culture.

These parallel narratives – celebration and struggle, tradition and innovation – paint a fascinating portrait of an industry in constant motion. From Carey’s groundbreaking journey (who hasn’t belted out “All I Want for Christmas Is You” at least once?) to Broadway’s labor challenges, music continues to serve as both cultural touchstone and economic battleground.

As Theresa Wolters, MusiCares’ executive director, reminds us, it’s about creating systems of care that lift people up and ensure music professionals can thrive. In an industry that’s seen more than its share of changes, that mission feels more relevant than ever.

The beat, as they say, goes on – though perhaps with a few more unexpected rhythms than usual.

Scotland’s cherished music scene faces an unexpected threat from an unlikely source: housing reform. The latest proposed changes to planning permission laws have sent shockwaves through the entertainment industry, leaving venue owners and cultural advocates scrambling to protect the very soul of Scottish nightlife.

At first glance, the government’s initiative seems straightforward enough — simplify building conversion rules to tackle the housing shortage. But scratch beneath the surface, and a more troubling picture emerges. The proposal would allow residential development in upper floors of city buildings without full planning permission, potentially setting up a clash between new residents and established venues that’s all too familiar to anyone who’s witnessed similar scenarios play out in cities worldwide.

Geoff Ellis, the mastermind behind DF Concerts and the massively successful TRNSMT festival, doesn’t sugar-coat the situation. “Grassroots venues and pubs are where artists find their voices, and their Scottish fans,” he explains, his concern palpable. The timing couldn’t be worse — the UK’s music venue landscape is already reeling from a brutal few years, with 125 venues shuttering or stopping live music in 2023 alone. Another 25 followed suit last year, and 2025 isn’t looking any more promising.

Take Glasgow’s legendary King Tut’s Wah Wah Hut, for instance. This cultural cornerstone on St Vincent Street — where countless careers have been launched and memorable nights etched into music history — could soon find itself hemmed in by apartment buildings. The inevitable noise complaints would force venue owners to foot the bill for extensive soundproofing, assuming such modifications are even technically feasible.

“These changes add another unnecessary challenge,” states Mike Grieves, managing director of the iconic Sub Club and head of the Night Time Industries Association. His frustration is evident when discussing the financial implications for venues still nursing wounds from the pandemic years. “Most wouldn’t survive the financial burden of trying to completely soundproof their premises, even if that was possible.”

The proposed changes are wrapped up in the government’s vision for “20-minute neighbourhoods” — a lovely concept on paper, where everything you need sits within a short journey from home. But here’s the rub: what good is a perfectly planned neighbourhood if it’s stripped of the cultural pulse that makes city living worthwhile?

As next week’s consultation deadline looms, Scotland stands at a crossroads. The challenge isn’t just about preserving music venues — it’s about protecting the very essence of urban life. These aren’t just buildings with sound systems; they’re the incubators of tomorrow’s talent, the keepers of countless memories, and the beating heart of Scotland’s cultural identity.

Without careful consideration and proper safeguards, these well-intentioned planning changes might just turn the volume down on Scotland’s vibrant music scene. And once that music stops? Well, some things can’t be fixed with simple planning permission.

Time has a peculiar way of bending around loss. Just ask Billie Lourd, whose recent Instagram tribute to her mother Carrie Fisher — on what would’ve been the Star Wars icon’s 69th birthday — captures the strange mathematics of grief with startling clarity.

“It feels like she has been dead so long that she should be 100 at this point,” Lourd wrote, somehow managing to nail that bizarre temporal distortion that follows profound loss. The observation hits home — there’s something about premature death that makes the math feel wrong, like a equation that refuses to balance.

The post, raw and unfiltered in true Lourd fashion, dives deep into territory familiar to anyone who’s lost someone too soon. That peculiar jealousy that surfaces when encountering people older than your departed loved one? Yeah, she goes there. It’s the kind of admission that makes you wince in recognition, even as you admire the courage it takes to voice it.

Lourd’s description of grief as a “weird soup of feelings” feels spot-on — especially as she navigates parenthood without her mother’s guidance. Her kids, Kingston Fisher (5) and Jackson Joanne (2), will know their grandmother primarily through stories and screen appearances. It’s a reality that hit home recently when Kingston started asking questions about his grandmother’s death.

The way Lourd handled that conversation speaks volumes. “I told him that she didn’t take care of her body,” she shared, threading the needle between truth and age-appropriate explanation. It’s the kind of parenting moment that probably would’ve made Fisher proud — and maybe laugh that signature laugh of hers.

Speaking of Fisher — what a force of nature she was. Her departure in December 2016, followed days later by the loss of Lourd’s grandmother Debbie Reynolds, could’ve broken a lesser spirit. But here’s Lourd, nearly a decade later, showing us how to dance with grief’s ever-changing rhythms.

Perhaps most striking is her candid admission about being angry at someone who’s no longer here to receive it. “It’s weird being mad at a dead person because you don’t really have anywhere to put the emotion,” she observed. Anyone who’s ever felt frustrated with a departed loved one’s choices just nodded in agreement.

Yet through it all — the complicated emotions, the what-ifs, the might-have-beens — Lourd has found ways to celebrate the “brilliant magical human” her mother was. Sometimes it’s through sharing stories, sometimes through watching movies, and sometimes through something as simple as cracking open an ice-cold Coca-Cola, just like Mom used to do.

As 2025 unfolds, Lourd’s reflection on loss feels particularly resonant. In an era where social media often pressure-cooks grief into perfectly packaged platitudes, her messy, honest approach hits different. The “soup,” as she puts it, has made her stronger — more aware of life’s brevity, more grateful for its joys.

Her story reminds us that healing doesn’t mean forgetting. Sometimes it means holding space for all of it — the love, the anger, the disappointment, and yes, even the occasional laugh at memories of a mother who blazed across the Hollywood sky like a brilliant, unforgettable comet.

Rock ‘n’ roll has always thrived on its wild stories, but sometimes the most charming tales emerge from childhood imagination rather than backstage debauchery. Take, for instance, the delightfully bizarre case of Yungblud—the British rocker whose grandmother accidentally wrote him into what could’ve been the plot of a Wes Anderson film.

Picture this: a young Dominic Harrison (now better known as Yungblud) sitting in a foot bath, completely convinced that Rod Stewart—yes, that Rod Stewart—was his grandfather. It’s the kind of family myth that could only spring from the creative wells of a grandmother’s love, particularly one raising a daughter solo in working-class Britain.

The story might have remained just another quirky family legend if not for a fateful trip to ASDA (think Walmart’s British cousin, but with better tea selection). There, at age nine, young Dom encountered something that would shatter his rock-star lineage fantasy—a Rod Stewart CD staring back at him from the checkout counter display. What followed was pure unscripted comedy gold.

“Nan, when’s granddad coming home?” The question—delivered with all the innocent conviction of a child who’d spent years believing in this elaborate fiction—sent nearby shoppers into fits of barely contained laughter. One can only imagine his grandmother’s face in that moment, caught between maintaining the facade and dealing with her grandson’s quivering lip.

But here’s where the tale takes an unexpected twist worthy of 2025’s increasingly bizarre pop culture landscape. Stewart himself—perhaps taking a break from adding another platinum record to his collection—caught wind of the story and decided to lean into his role as Britain’s most unexpected honorary grandad. His Instagram message to Yungblud (“Alright my wee grandson!”) proves that even after decades in the business, rock legends haven’t lost their sense of humor.

The whole situation feels particularly fitting given Yungblud’s own trajectory in the music industry. Currently selling out venues across Europe with his “Idols” tour, he’s carved out his own niche with a sound that somehow manages to channel both punk rebellion and pop sensibility—rather like his “grandfather” did in his heyday, come to think of it.

Mind you, Yungblud hasn’t rushed to 23andMe to verify his grandmother’s creative genealogy. Perhaps some stories are better left in that sweet spot between fact and family folklore. Besides, in an era where AI-generated music threatens to flood the charts, there’s something refreshingly human about a tale that combines childhood innocence, grandmotherly mischief, and rock star magnanimity.

For now, Yungblud seems content to let the story stand as a testament to how family myths—even the completely fabricated ones—shape our early years. And who knows? Maybe somewhere in an alternate universe, there’s a reality show featuring Rod Stewart giving grandfatherly advice about hair products and vocal techniques to an enthusiastic Yungblud. Now that’s a streaming series waiting to happen.

Darlings, hold onto your popcorn — Hollywood’s most delicious odd couple has just served up the plot twist of 2025. M. Night Shyamalan, our beloved master of psychological mind-benders, has thrown his signature plot twist at us by… well, ditching the twists altogether. Instead, he’s waltzed straight into romance territory with none other than Nicholas Sparks, the king of tear-stained paperbacks himself.

(And no, this isn’t one of Night’s famous fake-outs.)

Their collaboration, “Remain,” feels like catching Meryl Streep at a monster truck rally — utterly unexpected yet somehow perfectly right. After Shyamalan’s recent psychological thriller hat trick (“Old,” “Knock at the Cabin,” and the soon-to-drop “Trap”), the director’s apparently decided to chase a different kind of chill down our spines: the goosebumps of true love.

The way these two creative forces came together? Honestly, it’s giving serious meet-cute energy. Rather than following the tired old book-to-screen pipeline, they’ve cooked up something deliciously different — Shyamalan penned the screenplay first, while Sparks crafted his novel version simultaneously. It’s like watching parallel universes unfold, sweeties, and Hollywood hasn’t seen anything quite like it.

Speaking of parallel universes colliding… Jake Gyllenhaal and Phoebe Dynevor’s casting feels like it was written in the stars (or at least in a particularly inspired casting director’s dream journal). The story behind Gyllenhaal’s involvement reads pure Sparks — a serendipitous phone call after five years of radio silence, followed by a fateful tea meeting in Manhattan. Sometimes life really does imitate art, doesn’t it?

Look, we’ve seen plenty of creative collaborations lately — half of Hollywood seems to be co-writing books with their besties these days. But this? This is different, honey. It’s not just two creators sharing a sandbox; it’s two masters of their craft taking the same emotional DNA and spinning it into completely different artistic creatures.

And before anyone starts clutching their pearls about supernatural elements in a romance (gasp!), let’s remember that “Ghost” had us all believing in spectral pottery classes back in 1990. As Sparks so elegantly put it — even Shakespeare wasn’t above throwing a ghost or two into his love stories. Besides, hasn’t love always been a bit supernatural anyway? (Shyamalan certainly thinks so, calling it “a mythology we all buy into.”)

The film’s wrapped and heading for theaters next winter, while Sparks’ novel version promises its own unique interpretation. “It’s gonna be nothing like my novel. It’s entirely different,” Sparks admits with refreshing honesty. Which means we’ll get two distinct flavors of the same emotional sundae — and darling, who doesn’t love options?

There’s something almost poetic about this partnership, considering Shyamalan nearly directed “The Notebook” way back when. (Can you imagine? That rain scene might’ve ended with Rachel McAdams being an alien all along.) Now, after years of near-misses, these two storytelling powerhouses have finally found their moment.

In an industry that too often feels like it’s running on recycled ideas and AI-generated scripts (don’t get me started), this bold experiment in dual storytelling feels like a breath of fresh air. Or maybe it’s more like a perfectly timed plot twist — one that might just rewrite the rules of how we tell our favorite stories.

Oh darlings, pour yourself a strong cuppa – you’ll need it for this deliciously scandalous tale of beloved bears gone bad. In what might be 2025’s most unexpected legal drama, Paddington Bear – yes, that adorably proper Peruvian with a penchant for marmalade – finds himself at the center of a decidedly un-family-friendly controversy.

StudioCanal and Paddington and Company are clutching their pearls (and their lawyers) over Spitting Image’s rather… shall we say… alternative interpretation of everyone’s favorite duffle-coat-wearing bear. The satirical puppet show has transformed our wholesome hero into something that would make even the most hardened Hollywood publicist reach for the smelling salts.

Picture this, sweeties: bloodshot eyes, disheveled fur, and – hold onto your hat, Mrs. Bird – alleged involvement with substances distinctly stronger than Orange Pekoe tea. The legal documents read like a rejected pitch for “Breaking Bad: Bear Edition.”

Barrister Tom St Quintin (serving more tea than the Ritz) dropped some absolutely scandalous allegations in court. According to these documents, Spitting Image’s version of Paddington has developed quite the portfolio of questionable activities – from dabbling in controlled substances to promoting, ahem, adult automation. Darling, this is less “please look after this bear” and more “please get this bear a good PR team.”

The timing? Simply devastating for StudioCanal. With their latest Paddington adventure fresh in theaters and a West End musical about to debut (November 1st, mark your calendars), this PR nightmare couldn’t be more perfectly terrible if it were scripted by Ryan Murphy himself.

Spitting Image, meanwhile, is treating the whole affair with all the gravity of a helium balloon. Co-writer Al Murray – bless his cheeky heart – told Radio Times they were “baffled” by the legal action. Because naturally, when someone sends you a cease-and-desist letter, the obvious response is to double down with a YouTube video featuring your controversial creation engaging in precisely the behavior that sparked the lawsuit. That’s what we in the business call “playing with fire while wearing a highly flammable puppet costume.”

Since his 1958 debut, Paddington has been Britain’s most beloved immigrant success story – a furry ambassador of good manners and marmalade diplomacy. He’s shared screen time with actual royalty, darling. The late Queen Elizabeth II herself took tea with our ursine friend during her Platinum Jubilee, a moment that now feels worlds away from Spitting Image’s… reimagining.

But here’s the delicious irony – in an era where even the most sacred cultural touchstones are fair game for satire, perhaps it was inevitable that Paddington would find himself caught in this particularly sticky situation. Though one suspects even Mr. Brown never imagined his adopted bear would need the services of London’s finest legal minds.

As this thoroughly modern scandal unfolds in London’s High Court, one can’t help but wonder if somewhere, in a cozy corner of Windsor Gardens, a certain bear is stress-eating his way through his emergency marmalade stash. The verdict? Still pending, sweeties. But whatever the outcome, this case has already secured its place in the annals of absolutely fabulous legal dramas.

Rush’s return to Detroit isn’t just another concert announcement — it’s stirring up memories and raising eyebrows across the rock world. The prog-rock titans are heading back to the Motor City for their first show in what feels like forever, landing at Little Caesars Arena on August 26, 2025.

Let that sink in for a moment. Rush. In Detroit. After all these years.

The band’s return marks their first Detroit-area performance since that sweaty June night at the Palace back in 2015. (Remember the Palace? Yeah, it’s just empty space now.) But there’s something different this time around — something both exciting and, well, a bit strange. The legendary Neil Peart won’t be behind the kit, having left us in 2020. Instead, German drummer Anika Nilles is stepping into those impossibly large shoes.

Nilles — fresh off her acclaimed work with Jeff Beck — brings her own fierce technical chops to the table. She’s not trying to be Peart (who could?), but her previous performances suggest she’s got the goods to handle Rush’s notoriously complex arrangements while adding her own flavor to the mix.

The cheekily named “Fifty Something” tour (c’mon, we see what you did there, guys) isn’t just hitting Detroit. Geddy Lee and Alex Lifeson are going all-in, with four-night residencies planned across North America. Los Angeles, Chicago, New York City, Toronto, and Fort Worth are all getting the full treatment — pretty ambitious for a band that could’ve easily rested on their laurels.

“There’s always been a great affinity between us and the fans there,” Lifeson once said about Detroit. “The Midwest is such a strong rock area, between places like Detroit and Cleveland. I think that’s the heart of the rock ‘n’ roll world.” Coming from a guy who’s played everywhere, that means something.

For those itching to grab tickets, here’s the deal: Pre-sales kick off at noon on October 27, running through midnight October 29. The general public gets their shot starting at noon on October 31 through Ticketmaster. Word to the wise? Don’t sleep on this one.

The decision to tour without Peart wasn’t made lightly — that much is clear. But with his family’s blessing and fans seemingly ready to embrace this new chapter, it feels less like replacing the irreplaceable and more like honoring a legacy while moving forward.

Detroit holds a special place in Rush’s story. Back in spring ’74, before they hit the big time, they played some festival in Lansing that helped launch their first major tour. Now, nearly 50 years later, they’re coming home to a city that’s supported them since day one.

The tour kicks off June 7 at L.A.’s Kia Forum, and by the time it hits Detroit in late August, we’ll know whether this bold experiment works. But something says this isn’t just gonna be some nostalgia trip — it’s Rush we’re talking about. When have they ever done anything the expected way?

In a world increasingly dominated by AI-generated art and auto-tuned performances, there’s something profoundly moving about watching a 20-year-old hunched over eighty-eight keys, coaxing pure magic from wood and wire. Last week, Calgary’s Kevin Chen proved that human artistry remains unmatched, claiming silver at the International Fryderyk Chopin Piano Competition in Warsaw — a triumph that feels particularly poignant as we enter 2025’s uncertain cultural landscape.

The competition’s storied halls have witnessed countless moments of brilliance since their construction nearly a century ago. Yet this year’s edition — spanning three grueling October weeks — offered something special. From an initial flood of 600 hopefuls, only 84 pianists earned their moment on stage. By the finals, that number had dwindled to just 11.

American Eric Lu, 27, captured gold and €60,000, while Chen’s silver-medal performance earned him €40,000. But let’s be honest — the real prize here isn’t measured in euros. Past winners like Martha Argerich and Maurizio Pollini can attest: a Chopin Competition medal is basically a first-class ticket to classical music stardom.

“It’s been quite long,” Chen admitted afterward, his exhaustion visible despite the triumph. The young virtuoso’s journey reads like a movie script: from plinking nursery rhymes at age two to becoming the Royal Conservatory’s youngest academic star at nine. Recent victories at Rubinstein and Geneva only hinted at what was coming.

(Speaking of coming — the competition’s final round threw some serious curveballs at these young artists. Imagine mastering Chopin’s sprawling Polonaise-Fantaisie and a full piano concerto, then getting just 45 minutes with the orchestra. Talk about pressure.)

“He’s just the most humble and sweet and pure human being,” shared Heather Edwards, a Royal Conservatory board member who witnessed the finals. “Every note is an offering of love, every single note.” In today’s cynical age, such earnestness feels revolutionary.

Chen’s silver continues a remarkable Canadian hot streak at the competition. Bruce Liu grabbed gold in 2021, Charles Richard-Hamelin silver in 2015 — not too shabby for a country better known for hockey than Chopin. Janet Lopinski, heading up the Canadian Chopin Society, puts it perfectly: “He’s a complete pianist… virtuosic, brilliant.” That rare combination of technical firepower and artistic sensitivity? That’s what separates the good from the extraordinary.

The jury, led by chair Garrick Ohlsson, didn’t reach their decision easily. Hours of deliberation stretched into early Tuesday morning — proof that even the experts sometimes struggle to quantify artistic excellence.

For Chen, now studying in Hanover, Germany, this silver medal represents something bigger than personal achievement. In an era where streaming algorithms curate our musical diets and AI threatens to reshape creative expression, his performance reminds us why live classical music still matters. Some things just can’t be replicated by ones and zeros — like the way a gifted pianist can make time stand still with a single perfect phrase.

Wonder what Chopin himself would make of all this? Probably best not to ask — though he’d surely be pleased to know his music still moves us to tears, even as we zoom toward 2025’s brave new world.

Mickey Mouse is gearing up to play Uncle Sam, and the production values are absolutely astronomical. Disney’s latest venture into patriotic entertainment sees the media giant plotting an eight-month celebration of America’s 250th birthday—because apparently regular birthday parties are just too mainstream for the House of Mouse.

Starting Veterans Day 2025 and running through Independence Day 2026, Disney’s throwing what might be the most elaborately produced birthday bash since… well, since the Bicentennial. The crown jewel? A 24-hour broadcast spectacular that sounds like someone threw the History Channel, the Super Bowl halftime show, and a Disney parade into a star-spangled blender.

ABC’s David Muir—looking appropriately dignified, no doubt—will helm this marathon of American storytelling. He’ll share the spotlight with an array of talking heads from ESPN, National Geographic, and other Disney-owned outlets. One can’t help but wonder what Benjamin Franklin would make of Mickey Mouse narrating the story of American democracy.

Bob Iger, Disney’s CEO and master of corporate diplomacy, has drawn some rather convenient parallels between American ideals and Disney’s corporate mission. “America’s story is one of imagination, ambition, and possibility—the same ideals that have guided Disney since the beginning.” Sure, Bob. Because nothing says “We the People” quite like a cartoon mouse in red shorts.

The theme parks aren’t missing their chance to cash in on—er, celebrate—the occasion. Both coasts will debut “Soarin’ Across America,” letting guests virtually hang-glide over national landmarks. It’s a clever remix of an existing attraction that somehow manages to turn patriotism into a theme park ride. Pure Disney magic, folks.

Yet beneath the corporate spectacle lies something genuinely substantial. Disney’s pledging $2.5 million to Blue Star Families and rolling out various initiatives supporting military families. From special screenings on bases to expanded employment programs, it’s a reminder that even the most commercial endeavors can harbor authentic good intentions.

The programming lineup reads like a fever dream of American television executives. “Good Morning America” will visit all 50 states (yes, even Delaware), while ESPN embarks on a quest to crown “America’s Team”—because nothing says democracy quite like turning patriotism into a competition. National Geographic chimes in with “America in Superlatives,” which presumably answers burning questions like which state truly has the best barbecue.

Naturally, the merchandising department hasn’t been sleeping on the job. Limited-edition patriotic mouse ears? Check. Military-inspired collections? You bet. Commemorative everything? Absolutely. Because nothing captures the spirit of 1776 quite like exclusive Disney collectibles.

The whole endeavor walks a peculiar line between genuine celebration and corporate opportunism. Yet there’s something oddly fitting about Disney orchestrating this national party. After all, who better to tell America’s story than the company that’s been selling the American Dream—with a side of pixie dust—for nearly a century?

Whether this extended birthday celebration will offer meaningful reflection on America’s complex history or simply wrap it in a comfort blanket of nostalgia remains to be seen. But when Mickey Mouse waves the flag come 2025, millions will surely stand at attention—and Disney’s accountants will be taking careful notes.

In a bizarre twist that perfectly encapsulates 2025’s increasingly surreal political landscape, Kenny Loggins’ “Danger Zone” has become the unlikely centerpiece of America’s latest cultural firestorm. The high-octane anthem — forever linked to Tom Cruise’s aviator swagger in “Top Gun” — now soundtracks something considerably less heroic: an AI-generated video of Donald Trump dropping excrement on protesters from the skies above New York City.

Let that sink in for a moment.

The 19-second clip, posted to Truth Social with all the subtlety of a teenage Reddit troll, features the former president sporting both aviator gear and a crown — because apparently, even digital fever dreams need their symbolic flourishes. The timing couldn’t be more pointed, coinciding with nationwide “No Kings” demonstrations that drew millions to the streets in what’s shaping up to be the largest protest movement of 2025.

Kenny Loggins, understandably, isn’t thrilled about his signature track being coopted for presidential potty humor. “I can’t imagine why anybody would want their music used or associated with something created with the sole purpose of dividing us,” the musician stated, managing to maintain more dignity than the situation arguably deserves. His measured response stands in stark contrast to the White House’s bizarrely on-the-nose retort: a “Top Gun” meme declaring “I feel the need for speed.”

Welcome to modern political discourse, folks.

The demonstrations themselves paint a striking picture of American resilience. Across roughly 2,600 locations, citizens gathered to voice their opposition — including some notable faces from entertainment. Chicago’s own John Cusack channeled his hometown’s rabble-rousing spirit, delivering a characteristically blunt message to the Trump administration. “Go to hell!” the “High Fidelity” star declared, before launching into a passionate reminder of Chicago’s role in labor rights history.

Even Bernie Sanders — typically a fountain of pointed political commentary — found himself momentarily lost for words when confronted with Trump’s digital display. His usually razor-sharp rhetoric devolved into a string of bewildered fragments, perfectly mirroring the nation’s collective “What just happened?” response.

The whole debacle adds Loggins to an ever-expanding roster of musicians who’ve watched their art become unwilling participants in Trump’s political theater. Most artists, trapped in licensing agreements more complex than a prog rock time signature, can do little more than voice their disapproval.

House Speaker Mike Johnson’s attempt to frame the video as “satire” feels particularly hollow — though perhaps that’s fitting for a political moment where reality has begun to read like rejected storylines from “Veep.” Jonathan Swift’s ghost is presumably somewhere having a strong drink.

The entire episode serves as a peculiar milestone in American political evolution. When a former president employs AI to create digital representations of aerial scatological warfare — set to unauthorized ’80s movie soundtracks, no less — we’ve ventured into territory that would give even the most creative political satirists pause. Perhaps that’s the real danger zone we should be worried about.