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Chala Chala Nav Bala (Maze Baal, 1943) marks the debut of Asha Bhosle, who entered the film world at ten years old. Paired with her sister Lata Mangeshkar, her bright falsetto captures the youthful innocence of the Marathi romance, foreshadowing the emotive style that would define her career. Aaiye Meherbaan (Howrah Bridge, 1958) showcases Bhosle’s rise during Hindi cinema’s golden age, thanks to her partnership with composer O.P. Nayyar. The song’s sultry vibrato and lush orchestration set the tone for the film’s noir atmosphere, establishing her as a leading‑lady playback voice. Aao Huzoor Tumko (Kismat, 1968) became a chart‑topping hit, featuring intricate vocal runs over a flamenco‑style guitar. Bhosle’s lower‑register chorus broke the conventional shrillness of female playback, while her nuanced phrasing added depth to the on‑screen heroine’s drunken allure. Dum Maro Dum (Hare Rama, Hare Krishna, 1971) stands out as her most successful crossover, later sampled by Western rappers. The track, produced with R.D. Burman—her future husband—blends psychedelic Beatles‑inspired grooves with Hindi lyrics, demonstrating her ability to bridge Eastern and Western pop sensibilities. Piya Tu Ab To Aaja (Caravan, 1971) pushes the fusion further into jazz‑cabaret territory, with bold horn sections and cinematic guitar reverb. Bhosle’s breathy, suggestive delivery sparked controversy, yet the performance remains a masterclass in balancing sensuality with technical agility. Chura Liya Hai Tumne Jo Dil Ko (Yaadon Ki Baaraat, 1973) epitomises the “masala” film soundtrack, merging drama, romance, and crime. Over a gentle guitar backdrop, Bhosle’s tender humming conveys quiet longing, contrasting with the film’s high‑octane narrative. In Ankhon Ki Masti (Umrao Jaan, 1981) sees Bhoske venture into Urdu ghazals with composer Khayyam. Her lower, huskier timbre—adjusted a half‑step down—highlights her continued artistic experimentation even as she approached fifty. Bow Down Mister (1991) illustrates her early 1990s foray into international collaborations, lending wordless, soaring vocals to Boy George’s post‑Culture Club project. The track transforms into a rave‑infused anthem, underscoring Bhosle’s versatility across genres. Radha Kaise Na Jale (Lagaan, 2001) pairs Bhosle with a young A.R. Rahman, reaffirming her status as an elder stateswoman of Indian music. The duet with Udit Narayan blends tabla and flute with powerful vocal runs, marrying traditional Hindustani scales to contemporary film scoring. The Way You Dream (2002) features an unexpected partnership with REM frontman Michael Stipe on the 1 Giant Leap project. The eight‑minute piece weaves tabla rhythms, subtle guitar, and a dramatic breakbeat, proving that Bhosle’s voice can seamlessly inhabit New Age and electronic soundscapes.

Rolls-Royce has secured a significant investment of up to £599m from the UK's national wealth fund to develop the country's first small modular nuclear reactors (SMRs). The funding will support Rolls-Royce's design of SMRs at Wylfa on the island of Anglesey, Wales. The investment is expected to create around 1,000 jobs at Rolls-Royce and contribute to the UK's goal of generating electricity without carbon dioxide emissions. The project also offers the potential for a large new export industry in SMRs. The UK government has embraced nuclear energy as a key component of its clean energy strategy, and this investment marks a significant milestone in the development of SMR technology. SMRs aim to produce nuclear power stations in factories, driving down costs and speeding up installation. The Wylfa site has a history of nuclear power generation, having operated from 1971 until 2015. Hitachi had previously attempted to build a new nuclear power station at the site but abandoned its plans in 2020 due to funding issues. The site was later acquired by the state-owned Great British Energy – Nuclear (GBE-N) in 2024. The chancellor, Rachel Reeves, highlighted the importance of the investment, stating that it will strengthen energy security, create skilled jobs, and help build a new generation of homegrown nuclear technology that will power the UK's economy for decades to come. Tufan Erginbilgiç, chief executive of Rolls-Royce, described the investment as a critical milestone for the business and for the UK, marking the beginning of a golden age of new nuclear. The company owns the majority of Rolls-Royce SMR, alongside Qatar's sovereign wealth fund, France's BNF Resources, and the Czech utility CEZ.

In the quiet town of Iseyin, about 200 km north‑west of Lagos, shaded courtyards and narrow lanes have become the beating heart of Nigeria’s iconic aso‑oke textile industry. Under makeshift sheds, weavers operate wooden looms that have remained largely unchanged for generations. Recent years have seen a surge in demand for the thick, multicoloured fabric, driven by the Nigerian diaspora and an expanding international appetite for African fashion. Yet the craftsmen and women of Iseyin staunchly oppose the introduction of machines, arguing that the hand‑woven process is essential to the cloth’s distinctive texture and cultural value. The craft now serves as an economic lifeline. Young Nigerians—including university graduates—are flocking to Iseyin to learn the trade, attracted by the promise of a steady income. One such convert, Waliu Fransisco, abandoned a career as a Lagos nightclub singer a decade ago to master the loom. At 34, he says, “I now earn a decent living from weaving aso‑oke and I’m satisfied.” Aso‑oke, literally meaning “cloth from the up‑country,” has become a staple in Nigeria’s fashion scene, appearing in ceremonial attire, contemporary streetwear, and even high‑profile outfits such as the wrapper and shawl worn by Meghan Markle during her 2024 visit to Nigeria with Prince Harry. Traditionally, the fabric was produced from locally sourced cotton or silk, with threads hand‑spun, dyed, and woven in limited colour palettes. Today, most weavers use loom‑ready yarns imported primarily from China, allowing for a broader spectrum of hues while preserving the labor‑intensive hand‑weaving technique. Each loom requires meticulous arrangement of narrow, tightly patterned strips that are later sewn together to form the wider cloth used for garments and accessories. “This is what Iseyin is known for,” says 35‑year‑old weaver Kareem Adeola, echoing the sentiment of a community that views the craft as a direct inheritance from its forebears. As global fashion houses and consumers continue to seek authentic African textiles, the artisans of Iseyin stand at the crossroads of tradition and market opportunity, proving that cultural heritage can thrive alongside modern demand.

Three Very Large Crude Carriers (VLCCs) successfully navigated the Strait of Hormuz on Saturday, marking a rare movement of oil cargoes amid the fragile truce between the United States and Iran.The vessels – the Liberia‑flagged Serifos, and the China‑flagged Cospearl Lake and He Rong Hai – each can transport about 2 million barrels of crude, collectively representing a significant volume for a waterway that channels roughly 20% of the world’s oil and LNG shipments.According to data from the London Stock Exchange Group (LSEG) and analytics firm Kpler, the Serifos is chartered by Thailand’s state‑owned energy firm PTT. Loaded with Saudi and UAE crude in early March, it is slated to dock at Malaysia’s Malacca Port on April 21.The other two carriers, Cospearl Lake and He Rong Hai, are chartered by Unipec, the trading arm of Chinese energy giant Sinopec. Cospearl Lake, carrying Iraqi oil, is expected to reach China’s Zhoushan port on May 1, while the destination for He Rong Hai remains undisclosed.Earlier, a tanker named Ocean Thunder, chartered by a Petronas subsidiary, also transited the strait, underscoring a gradual, albeit limited, resumption of traffic.Despite these movements, hundreds of tankers remain stranded in the Gulf, awaiting clearance during the two‑week ceasefire. Their prolonged idling continues to pressure global energy prices, which have surged since Iran’s blockade began in late February.In addition to the loaded vessels, three empty tankers – Mombasa B, Agios Fanourios I, and Shalamar – were observed heading into the strait on Sunday to load fresh cargoes. Notably, Agios Fanourios I signaled a route to Iraq’s Basrah fields to pick up crude destined for Vietnam.Management firms such as Eastern Mediterranean Maritime, Cmb.Tech NV, and Pakistan National Shipping have not provided comments on the recent transits.While the passage of these three supertankers offers a modest relief to the global oil supply chain, the overall situation remains precarious. The continuation of the ceasefire and the resolution of Iran’s blockade will be critical determinants of oil market stability in the weeks ahead.

PCK Dance’s latest double‑bill, “Into the Light,” opens with a palpable tension: dancers inhale as if grasping something costly, their gazes unfixed, brows furrowed, signalling an emotional gravitas that the production amplifies with dark lighting and portentous music.Choreographers James Pett and Travis Clausen‑Knight, both alumni of Company Wayne McGregor, demonstrate why their pedigree matters. Their movement language is slick, finessed and relentlessly precise, with legs whipping to extreme angles and sequences that cascade like the “chatter of a motoring brain.” The duo’s fluency in form lets them forgo the heavy‑handed theatrical cues that often drown subtler expression.The centerpiece, the duet “In the Absence,” features Pett and Clausen‑Knight alongside third dancer Isabelle Evans. Their interplay oscillates between closeness and disconnection, tension and tenderness, hinting at loss. Evans’s decisive gestures—flexed wrists, expressive hands—act as declarations, while a striking passage sees the choreographers literally throwing her body between them, creating a kinetic flash that feels both chaotic and meticulously crafted.Music, composed by Pett with co‑composer Greg Haines, emerges live from a bank of stage‑side technology. The piano interludes give way to pitch‑less textures that evoke a “joyless, end‑of‑days” ambience. This soundscape reinforces the programme’s suggestion that the work grapples with survival in an AI‑driven future, casting the performance as a low‑key apocalypse rather than a conventional dystopia.By marrying razor‑sharp choreography with a minimalist, tech‑infused score, PCK Dance asks a vital question: in a world increasingly mediated by algorithms, what does it mean to remain truly human? The answer, if any, lies in the fleeting connections forged on stage—moments where bodies speak louder than the surrounding machinery.

The play 'My Uncle Is Not Pablo Escobar' showcases creative ambition in its exploration of the experiences of Latinx women in modern London. The production features striking visuals, blending elements of a pop concert with techno beats and census data, highlighting the absence of Latinx representation in official categories.The narrative takes a fictional turn, loosely inspired by the 2012 HSBC scandal, centering on Ale, a young woman juggling her A-levels with shifts as a bank cleaner, and her investigative journalist sister Cata. Together, they recruit Lucia to go undercover and investigate the bank's exploitative practices.Despite inventive uses of props and moments of tension, the play feels like a mesh of ideas rather than a fluid narrative. The involvement of five writers and occasional voiceovers may contribute to this disjointedness. The play touches on themes of sibling tension, identity crisis, and immigration, but these elements seem somewhat disconnected.The production at Brixton House in London until May 3rd, serves as a reminder of the importance of Latinx stories on stage, particularly given the growing Latinx population in the UK. However, 'My Uncle Is Not Pablo Escobar' ultimately lacks a unifying focus, causing its message to get lost in the narrative.

When a Toronto reader confessed to always using "please" and "thank you" with Alexa, the Guardian invited its audience to share their thoughts on the etiquette of speaking to artificial assistants.One camp warns against treating AI as sentient beings, arguing that these systems merely mimic social cues and that confusing imitation with reality can erode our language’s power to challenge dehumanisation. As User30000 put it, we should avoid both de‑humanising language toward people and humanising language toward machines.Conversely, several contributors argue that politeness serves as a useful human default. Lauk notes that courteous phrasing may reinforce positive behavioural cues for AI that learn from user input, while also keeping the speaker grounded in genuine social norms.From an ecological standpoint, extra words translate into measurable energy and water waste. Superspartan highlights that each unnecessary token adds processing load to already energy‑intensive models, and that the cumulative effect of polite phrasing across millions of daily interactions could be substantial.Academic research supports the idea that courteous language can improve AI performance. A linked study finds that polite prompts often elicit more helpful replies, treating modern models as "statistical parrots" that mirror the tone they receive. Yet Sam Altman has publicly estimated that responding to thank‑you notes costs OpenAI tens of millions of dollars, underscoring a tangible financial dimension to the debate.Some readers take a lighter view, extending politeness to elevators, SUVs and even low‑battery iPads, while others, like Martin from Dorset, argue that the practice protects the human soul rather than the machine.There is growing concern that habitual rudeness toward AI may spill over into real‑world interactions. Poridgeoates observes that younger users, who spend more time with technology than with people, risk weakening empathy and emotional‑intelligence muscles if they treat conversational agents dismissively.Louise adds that the way we speak to objects can shape broader social behaviour, especially where power imbalances exist. While AI itself may not feel insulted, the act of being rude can reinforce undesirable character traits in the speaker.Overall, the discussion reveals a split between those who see politeness as a harmless habit that can improve AI responses, and those who view it as an unnecessary drain on resources and a potential threat to human civility.

This week Anthropic revealed that its latest AI system, dubbed Mythos, is so powerful that the company will not make it publicly available, arguing that the potential risks outweigh commercial incentives.U.S. Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent convened senior banking executives to discuss the implications of the model, underscoring growing governmental concern over advanced AI capabilities.In the United Kingdom, Reform MP Danny Kruger wrote to the government urging an immediate dialogue with Anthropic, warning that Claude Mythos could pose "catastrophic cybersecurity risks" to the nation.Critics such as AI researcher Gary Marcus questioned the hype, suggesting that Anthropic’s co‑founder Dario Amodei may possess strong technical skills but is "graduated from the same school of hype and exaggeration" as OpenAI’s Sam Altman.Beyond the policy debate, Anthropic has mounted a striking media offensive. The startup secured a 10,000‑word profile in the New Yorker, two feature pieces in the Wall Street Journal, and a Time magazine cover that placed founder Amodei alongside the Pentagon and U.S. Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth.Co‑founder Jack Clark and Amodei appeared on separate New York Times podcasts, fielding questions about machine consciousness and the model’s potential to "rip through the economy." Their "resident philosopher" even discussed with the WSJ whether Claude, Anthropic’s commercial product used for cryptocurrency trading and missile‑target designation, possesses a "sense of self."Anthropic’s public‑relations lead, Danielle Ghiglieri, celebrated the coverage on LinkedIn, describing the Time cover as a "mad dash" that finally let the company tell its own story.However, the company’s PR triumphs have not been without missteps. In early April, Anthropic inadvertently released part of Claude’s internal source code, though it assured that no customer data or credentials were exposed.Experts remain skeptical about the unverified claims surrounding Mythos. Dr. Heidy Khlaaf of the AI Now Institute warned that the vague marketing language could be an attempt to attract investment without substantive scrutiny.Cybersecurity specialist Jameison O’Reilly acknowledged the model’s novelty but downplayed Anthropic’s assertion of discovering "thousands of zero‑day vulnerabilities," noting that in a decade of offensive operations, zero‑days were rarely needed to achieve objectives.Anthropic also faces operational constraints. The firm has imposed usage caps on its popular Claude model and now requires customers to purchase additional compute capacity for third‑party tools, suggesting that infrastructure limitations may be a practical reason for withholding Mythos.As the race to dominate the emerging AI market intensifies, Anthropic’s strategy appears to blend genuine safety concerns with a calculated publicity push, positioning Mythos as a strategic signal that the company remains "open for business" while keeping the technology under tight control.

The rise of generative AI has sparked concerns about its impact on the art world. Artists are seeing their work stolen and used to train AI models without consent or compensation. This has led to a heated debate about the role of AI in creative industries and the need for regulation.In 2022, the author, an artist, first started to see knock-offs of their work generated by AI image generators. The tech industry's approach has been to move fast and break things, with little regard for the consequences. The author argues that this is the greatest art heist in history, with billions of images harvested from the internet without credit, compensation, or consent.The tech lords knew what they were doing, with venture capitalist Marc Andreessen claiming that enforcing copyright law would “kill” the entire industry. The industry's narrative of inevitability is a way of getting people to comply in advance. The author notes that people seemed utterly unprepared to question the impact of AI on creative industries.In response, journalist Marisa Mazria Katz and the author launched an open letter demanding to keep AI-generated images out of newsrooms. The letter attracted thousands of signatures from around the world. Other artists have fought back in more powerful ways, including a lawsuit against leading image-generation companies Midjourney and Stability AI.The author argues that the tech elite's anti-humanism is revealed in their attacks on art. They shun human interaction and its serendipities, annoyances, and joys. The author notes that friction is the basis of all pleasure and that learning to make art is also friction.The impact of AI on creative industries has been devastating, with many artists out of work and entry-level illustration gigs annihilated. The audience will have to get used to the fact that generative AI is a tool to discipline and eliminate the human worker. The author argues that this is sold as progress, but it is actually a dystopian future.The author draws parallels with the luddites, who fought against the “satanic mills” and were skilled artisans fighting for their way of life. Artists too are fighting for a way of life, and if they are too disorganised to triumph, that will be everyone’s loss. The author concludes that AI companies' scraping may have started with the work of illustrators, but it has grown to encompass everything else, including culture, education, sanity, and our very imaginations.