In 2015, Zane Lowe left his job as a DJ on the BBC’s venerable Radio 1 in the U.K. to become the principal voice of a new digital radio station at the music-streaming service launched that year by Apple. Among his duties: an hour-long show beamed live from Los Angeles every weekday starting at 9 a.m. Pacific time.
A decade later, Lowe is a fixture of pop music around the globe: a relentlessly upbeat tastemaker-turned-cheerleader whose touchy-feely interviews with the biggest names on the charts draw audiences in the millions on Apple Music and YouTube. Which means he probably could move his show to a more comfortable hour if he wanted to.
“What’s more comfortable than 9 a.m.?” asks Lowe, who still gets up Monday through Friday and schleps to Apple’s Culver City studios to spin records and chat up pop stars on the platform’s flagship Apple Music 1 station. “I can’t sleep past 6 anyway, man. I get up, do some boxing and I’m f— ready. Gimme a coffee, get me on the air, I’m stoked.”
Even — or especially — in an age of on-demand entertainment, Lowe, 51, is bullish on the promise of live radio. “Music sounds different to me in that room than it does anywhere else,” he says of his spot behind the console. “I love the idea of being able to alter the energy of whatever’s going on in people’s lives in different time zones with one song.”
Apple shares his enthusiasm. Last month the tech giant expanded its radio offerings — in addition to Apple Music 1, it already had Apple Music Hits and Apple Music Country — with three new stations: Apple Música Uno, a Latin-music channel; the dance-focused Apple Music Club; and Apple Music Chill, which the company calls “an escape, a refuge, a sanctuary in sound” and which features input from the ambient-music pioneer Brian Eno. Each runs 24 hours a day with programming hosted by a mix of veteran radio personalities and musicians such as Becky G and Stephan Moccio.
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“The reason we started radio was because we want to be a place where culture happens, where parties are starting, where artists come and get to have a safe space to talk about why they made certain music,” says Oliver Schusser, Apple’s vice president of music and sports. “And that’s more important today than it ever was.”
Cupertino-based Apple — whose music-streaming service counts 93 million subscribers, according to Business of Apps — wouldn’t specify how many people listen to its radio stations. “We’re not a numbers kind of company,” Schusser says — one advantage of being part of a corporation routinely described as the world’s most valuable.
Yet Tatiana Cirisano, a music industry analyst at Midia Research, says Apple Music’s investment in radio “isn’t just some experiment they can throw money at because they’re Apple.” At a moment when the growth of digital streaming has slowed, the stations are a way for Apple Music to distinguish itself from competitors like Spotify — the clear industry leader with 640 million users — and Amazon Music. (Unlike Apple, Spotify offers a free ad-supported plan.)
“If you think about the past decade of streaming, it’s been characterized by a complete lack of differentiation, where all these platforms had the same interface and the same catalog,” Cirisano says of the format that now accounts for 84% of recorded music revenues. “But that’s not enough to compete anymore because we’re running out of potential new subscribers.” To lure customers, Spotify has gone big on podcasts and audiobooks. Live radio, Cirisano says, “adds some scarcity to the marketplace. And live entertainment experiences” — think of the splashy deals Netflix has struck recently with the NFL and WWE — “are sort of the last scarce entertainment experience now that everything is available on demand.”
Natalie Eshaya, who oversees Apple Music Radio, says the new stations reflect the platform’s broader commitment to bringing “a human touch” to the streaming ecosystem. It’s a framing that seems intended to draw a contrast with Spotify, which in 2023 introduced a DJ-like feature controlled by artificial intelligence and which last month drew widespread criticism for incorporating AI into its popular year-end Wrapped promotion. At Apple, Eshaya says, “We choose the music and we curate the programming — that’s been the moral compass since Day 1.”
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Ebro Darden, right, talks with Jennifer Lopez on Apple Music 1 in New York in 2024.
(Tomas Herold / Getty Images for Apple Music)
In addition to Lowe, Apple Music Radio features broadcasting pros like Ebro Darden, who also hosts a morning show on New York’s Hot 97; Nadeska Alexis, who came up through MTV and Complex; and Evelyn Sicairos, formerly of Univision. (Before she joined Apple in 2015, Eshaya worked as a producer on Ryan Seacrest’s morning show on L.A.’s KIIS-FM.) But Lowe, who also holds the title of global creative director — and who recently stepped in for James Corden as host of a special holiday edition of “Carpool Karaoke” — is clearly Apple Music’s guiding personality.
Born and raised in New Zealand, he made music himself before going into radio and reckons it’s his artistic temperament that allows him to connect intimately on the air with stars such as Adele, Billie Eilish, Lady Gaga and Bad Bunny. “I speak the artist language,” Lowe says in his office in Culver City. “I think most artists would probably go, ‘Yeah, he gets it.’ ” Curled on a sofa wedged into the corner of the dimly lighted room, he’s dressed in his customary baggy jeans and sweater and wears a pair of stylish geometric glasses. “And I like working at a company that rewards that,” he adds.
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What Lowe views as his empathy with musicians — “The trust that artists have in him is kind of iconic,” Eshaya says — is seen by some as a level of deference in his interviews that can border on obsequiousness. “I’m aware of the fact that some people feel I’m overly positive or I’m not critical enough,” he says. “But I just don’t think that’s my job. There are certain things that artists may feel are sensitive — could be personal, could be a tragedy in their life, could be something they’re not willing to talk about — and I don’t necessarily feel like I have a responsibility to get that information or that they have an obligation to give it to me.”
Does he think of himself as a journalist?
“No, I actually don’t,” Lowe says. “I have an opportunity to spend an hour with an amazing artist, and I really want it to be the most beautiful human experience I can have.” When Katy Perry went on Lowe’s show in September to promote her album “143” — a would-be comeback LP that earned some of last year’s harshest reviews — he told her the new music was “such a gift” and that she’d reclaimed her role as “the Katy Perry that everybody loves”; more to the point, he declined to ask Perry about her controversial decision to reunite with the producer Dr. Luke after she’d earlier parted ways with him in the wake of Kesha’s allegations that he’d sexually assaulted her. (Kesha and Luke reached a settlement in 2023.)
“I did the best I could in the environment that I was in to have that conversation. We both enjoyed each other’s company, and her fans seemed to like it,” Lowe says. “In that moment, given the timing of the music and where we were and how quickly it was all happening, it’s not something that we landed on.”
Schusser pushes back on the idea that Lowe avoids tough questions, citing a 2020 interview with Justin Bieber in which the pop star tearfully discussed his history of self-destructive behavior. “I’m pretty sure that Justin’s publicist would not have wanted the conversation to go the way it went,” Schusser says. Yet it’s common knowledge in the music industry that, after Lowe conducts a prerecorded interview (as opposed to one he does live), an artist and/or their reps are welcome to request cuts — not exactly protocol even within the often-chummy world of celebrity journalism.
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Then again, as Lowe himself points out, he doesn’t work for a news operation. “I’m in a streaming service where we’re trying to get more people to listen to music,” says the married father of two teenage sons. “My job is to help a business be healthy.” Darden, who’s known on Hot 97 as an aggressive interviewer, says that “on Apple, I try to create more space for the art and more grace for the artist” than in the more pressurized realm of terrestrial radio.
“People are listening to Hot in their cars, and they’ve got very limited time,” he says of his morning gig. “You stepped into the room, we got to get to it. Start the chainsaw, you know what I mean?”
To musicians planning an album rollout — many of whom already regard interviews with traditional journalists as an unnecessary risk in the era of social media — a friendly chat on Apple Music Radio might represent a safer way to reach an audience disinclined to worry about the finer points of how (and why) pop-star content is created.
“I can’t repair any relationships between A and B — I can only do what’s required when they want C,” Lowe says of the way musicians interact with legacy media and with him. “I can’t do someone else’s role just because they don’t get to do it, and I have access.”
And what’s the incentive to do something else? Schusser isn’t exaggerating by much when he says, “Every artist on the planet that has a new project — whether it’s an album, a song, a tour, a collaboration — they’re all coming to us.” Apple’s coziness with musicians, which it facilitates in part by paying a higher royalty rate per stream than Spotify, has always been crucial to its brand: In Apple Music’s early days, the service brokered deals for exclusive access to albums by Frank Ocean, Drake and Chance the Rapper; among the other stars with radio shows on the platform today are Summer Walker, Rauw Alejandro, Jamie xx, Hardy and Elton John, who’s hosted “Rocket Hour” since 2015.
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“Most companies that work in streaming are technology companies — they don’t really care about music,” Schusser says. “If it’s books or podcasts or something else, it’s just bits and bytes. We’re a music company, and we have no intention to add other things into our music experience.” (One thing Apple is planning in the next few years, according to the exec: upgrading its studios in cities including L.A., Nashville, Berlin and Paris so that the company can produce small ticketed events.)
“Music doesn’t get event-ized enough” in the streaming economy, Lowe says. “It gets released mostly at the same time, then it fights for itself, and it’s really hard because there’s a lot to fight against. This is easily the cheesiest thing I can tell you, but music is incredibly special. Putting an hour or two hours of radio together to create a mood — it sends a message that it’s worth showing up for.”
The Tiger Is the Tank. Or rather, the type of German tank that gives the film its international title—just in case anyone might confuse this war story with an adventure movie involving wild animals. The tank itself is the film’s container, much as The Boat was in the legendary 1981 film it openly seeks to emulate in more than one respect, or as the more recent tank was in the Israeli film Lebanon (2009). Yes, much of Dennis Gansel’s movie unfolds inside a tank called Tiger, but what it is ultimately trying to tell goes well beyond its cramped metal walls.
This large-scale Prime Video war production has been described by many as the platform’s answer to Netflix’s success with All Quiet on the Western Front, the highly decorated German film released in 2022. In practice, it is a very different proposition. Despite the fanfare surrounding its release—Amazon even gave it a theatrical run a few months ago, something it rarely does—the film made a far more modest impact. Watching it, the reasons become clear. This is a darker, stranger movie, one that flirts as much with horror as with monotony, and that positions itself less as a traditional war film than as an ethical and philosophical meditation on warfare.
The first section—an intense and technically impressive combat sequence—takes place during what would later be known as the Battle of the Dnieper, which unfolded over several months in 1943 on the Eastern Front, as Soviet forces pushed back the Nazi advance. Der Tiger is the type of tank carrying a compact platoon—played by David Schütter, Laurence Rupp, Leonard Kunz, Sebastian Urzendowsky, and Yoran Leicher—that miraculously survives the aerial destruction of a bridge over the river.
Soon afterward—or so it seems—the group is assigned a mission that, at least in its initial setup, recalls Saving Private Ryan. Lieutenant Gerkens (Schütter) is ordered to rescue Colonel Von Harnenburg, stranded behind enemy lines. From there, the film becomes a journey through an infernal landscape of ruined cities, corpses, forests, and fog—a setting that, thanks to the way it is shot, feels more fantastical than realistic.
That choice is no accident. As the journey begins to echo Apocalypse Now, it becomes clear that the film is less interested in conventional suspense—mines on the road, the threat of ambush—than in the strangeness of its situations and environments. When the tank plunges into the water and briefly operates like a submarine, one may reasonably wonder whether such technology actually existed in the 1940s, or whether the film has deliberately drifted into a more extravagant, symbolic territory.
This is the kind of film whose ending is likely to inspire more frustration than affection. Though heavily foreshadowed, it is the sort of conclusion that tends to irritate audiences: cryptic, somewhat open-ended, and more suggestive than explicit. That makes sense, given that the film is less concerned with depicting the daily mechanics of war than with grappling with its aftermath—ethical, moral, psychological, and physical.
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In its own way, The Tank functions as a kind of mea culpa. The platoon becomes a microcosm of a nation that “followed orders” and committed—or allowed to be committed—horrific acts in its name. The flashbacks scattered throughout the film make this point unmistakably clear. The problem is that, while these ideas may sound compelling when summarized in a few sentences (or in a review), the film never manages to turn them into something fully alive—narratively, visually, or dramatically.
Only in brief moments—largely thanks to Gerkens’s perpetually worried, anguished expression—do those ideas achieve genuine cinematic weight. They are not enough, however, to sustain a two-hour runtime that increasingly feels repetitive and inert. Unlike the films by Steven Spielberg, Wolfgang Petersen, Francis Ford Coppola, and others it so clearly references, The Tank remains closer to a concept than to a drama, more an intriguing reflection than a truly effective film.
Will Smith and his company Treyball Studios Management Inc. are being sued by an electric violinist who is claiming wrongful termination, retaliation and sexual harassment — allegations denied by the actor-rapper-producer in a statement from his attorney.
Brian King Joseph alleges in a lawsuit filed earlier this week that Smith hired him to perform on the 2025 Based on a True Story tour, then fired him before the tour began in earnest in Europe and the U.K.
Joseph, who finished third in Season 13 of “America’s Got Talent,” went onto Instagram in the days before filing his lawsuit and posted a Dec. 27 video saying that he had been hired for “a major, major tour with somebody who is huge in the industry” but “some things happened” that he couldn’t discuss because it was a legal matter.
Electric violinist Brian King Joseph, seen performing at an awards show last October, is suing for wrongful termination, retaliation and sexual harassment.
(Tommaso Boddi / Getty Images for Media Access Awards)
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But, he said, “Getting fired or getting blamed or shamed or threatened or anything like that, simply for reporting sexual misconduct or safety threats at work, is not OK. And I know that there’s a lot of other people out there who have been afraid to speak up, and I understand. If that’s you, I see you. … More updates to come soon.”
In the lawsuit, filed Tuesday in Los Angeles County Superior Court and reviewed by The Times, Joseph alleges that he and Smith struck up a professional relationship in November 2024, after which Joseph performed at two of Smith’s shows in San Diego and was invited to perform on several tracks for Smith’s “Based on a True Story” album, which was released March 28.
After the performances in San Diego, Joseph posted video of a show on Instagram with the caption, “What an honor to share the stage with such legends and a dream team of musicians. From playing in the streets to sharing my music on stages like this, this journey has been nothing short of magic — and this is just the beginning. Grateful beyond words for every single person who made this possible.”
While working on the album, the lawsuit alleges, “Smith and [Joseph] began spending additional time alone, with Smith even telling [Joseph] that ‘You and I have such a special connection, that I don’t have with anyone else,’ and other similar expressions indicating his closeness to [Joseph].”
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Joseph soon joined Smith and crew for a performance in Las Vegas, the lawsuit says — on March 20 at the House of Blues at Mandalay Bay — with Smith’s team booking rooms for everyone involved. Joseph left his bag, which contained his room key, in a van that took performers to rehearsal, and then the bag went missing for a couple of hours after he requested someone get it for him, the suit says.
When Joseph returned to his room late that night, according to the complaint, he found evidence that someone had entered his room without his permission.
“The evidence included a handwritten note addressed to Plaintiff by name, which read ‘Brian, I’ll be back no later [sic] 5:30, just us (drawn heart), Stone F.,’” the document says. “Among the remaining belongings were wipes, a beer bottle, a red backpack, a bottle of HIV medication with another individual’s name, an earring, and hospital discharge paperwork belonging to a person unbeknownst to Plaintiff.”
Joseph worried that “an unknown individual would soon return to his room to engage in sexual acts” with him, the complaint says.
It adds that Joseph, “concerned for his safety and the safety of his fellow performers and crew,” alerted hotel security and representatives for Treyball and Smith, took pictures, requested a new room and reported the incident to police using a non-emergency line. Hotel security found no signs of forced entry, and Joseph flew home the next day.
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Several days later, rather than being called on to join the next part of the tour, a Treyball representative told him the tour was “going in a different direction,” the lawsuit says, and that his services were no longer needed. The representative “redirected the blame for the termination onto [Joseph], replying, ‘I don’t know, you tell me, because everyone is telling me that what happened to you is a lie, nothing happened, and you made the whole thing up. So, tell me, why did you lie and make this up?’ [Joseph], shocked at the accusation, had nothing further to say,” as he believed the reports and evidence from Las Vegas spoke for themselves.
Joseph alleges in the lawsuit that as a result of events in Las Vegas and in the days immediately afterward, he suffered severe emotional distress, economic loss and harm to his reputation. He also alleges that the stress of losing the job caused his health to deteriorate and that he suffered PTSD and other mental illness after the termination.
“The facts strongly suggest that Defendant Willard Carroll Smith II was deliberately grooming and priming Mr. Joseph for further sexual exploitation,” the lawsuit alleges. “The sequence of events, Smith’s prior statements to Plaintiff, and the circumstances of the hotel intrusion all point to a pattern of predatory behavior rather than an isolated incident.”
The Times was unable to reach publicists or a lawyer for Will Smith because of the holiday. However, Smith attorney Allen B. Grodsky told Fox News on Thursday that “Mr. Joseph’s allegations concerning my client are false, baseless and reckless. They are categorically denied, and we will use all legal means available to address these claims and to ensure that the truth is brought to light.”
Joseph’s attorney, Jonathan J. Delshad, recently filed sexual assault civil suits against Tyler Perry on behalf of actors who say they were not hired for future work by the billionaire movie and TV producer after they rejected his alleged advances.
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Joseph is seeking compensatory and punitive damages and payment of attorney fees in an amount to be determined at trial.
The Based on a True Story tour played 26 dates in Europe and the U.K. last summer. Nine of the acts were headlining gigs, while the rest were festivals.
By John E. Finley-Weaver in San DiegoJohn E. Finley-Weaver (SDJW photo)
My wife convinced me to watch a movie about ping pong. And, having acquiesced to her proposal, I dove face-first into a kettle of willful ignorance, knowing only that Some Guy Timothée Chalamet of Dune 1 and Dune 2 and A Complete Unknown (another of her suggestions) was the lead, and that what we were soon to watch might move me. Or, at the very least, that it might entertain me.
The movie did not disappoint.
In fact, Marty Supreme is the absolute best film about table tennis that I have ever seen. And I’ve seen all of one of them so far, although I am aware of and have seen a few clips of Robert Ben Garant’s Balls of Fury.
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But, holy mackerel, Marty Supreme is not just a movie about some lanky goniff whose inner craving for focused dominance in one specific realm compels him to pursue a shiny, sportsball “X” trophy, culminating in a crowd-pleasing, applause roar of triumph . . . a n d . . . cut to the end credits, supplemented by a catchy, happy song . . . . “Honey, let’s get to the restroom, fast!”
Uh-uh. Nay. Marty Supreme is a lived-in world (like the Star Wars universe, but way different and way better) populated by tactile characters, each of whom has their own, inferred history and glob of yearnings. And they have warts. Lots of warts. Warts and all.
Marty Mauser, the Jewish protagonist of Marty Supreme, is a plucky ping pong imp and shoe salesman, in addition to being a nimble and loquacious malarkey artist. He is also a shockingly-gawdawful, verbal bastard person to his mother, played by Fran Drescher, who left her specific, discount Phyllis Diller voice in the dustbin of screen history where it belongs, much to the contentment of my sensitive ears.
Marty Mauser is even more a womanizer and a thief. And he is a delight. And, because boring, nice boys don’t have movies made about them, he does something for his ema that is chutzpahdik, illegal, vandalicious, unhistorical, and tear-inducingly sweet.
And again, dear Reader, I went into this movie knowing most of nothing about it. If you are like me, fear not: I shan’t disclose the plot.
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Marty Mauser’s partners in life and “crime” are the facially-delicious Rachel, played by Odessa A’zion and best bud Wally, performed by Tyler Okonma, each complementarily savvy to Marty’s needs and wants.
The remainder of the film’s actors is a gathering of casting directorial genius: Kevin O’Leary, the that guy from some reality television show that I will never watch; Gwyneth Paltrow; director Abel Ferrara; Sandra Bernhard, my lukewarm, high school “bad girl” crush; Géza Röhrig, whose character is seven year’s fresh from a Nazi death camp and hauntingly beautiful; Koto Kawaguchi, the movie-world champion and legally-deaf Tommy-esque pinball wizard of ping pong and real-world champion of the game; Pico Iyer, Indo-Limey travel writer, meditator, and inveterate outsider; George Gerwin, a very retired basketball player; Ted Williams and his golden voice; Penn Jillette, agrarian and blasty; Isaac Mizrahi, obviously “out” in 1952; and David freaking Mamet.
Gush.
And great googly woogly. They all do their jobs so gosh darn well that I don’t notice them as actors acting.
And then, as I have done since I was a child, for science fiction books, for television, and for movies, I recast, in my mind’s eye, all of the characters and their associated journeys as different people. I made an all-Negro cast of the film. And it worked. No radical changes to the script were necessary. I did the same for a spunky, mid-West farm girl as the lead. That worked. I tried again, using a Colombian lesbian. That worked too.
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I praise the cinematic vision of Director Josh Safdie. I praise the wide accessibility of the script he co-wrote with Ronald Bronstein: Thank you. The expected plot points, the tropes of moviedom, the “inevitable” happenings of standard movies never really happened. Marty Supreme zaggled and Zelig’d when I expected it to zig.
A lesser film would not have surprised me in most of its story structure, its scenes, or its character paths. A lesser film would have had me in my seat, either smugly prognosticating the next events, or non-thinkingly rapt for entire scenes. This film, this masterpiece of storytelling and visual and aural execution outsmarted me. It outsmarted my movie mind, and for that, I am grateful.
Marty Supreme is a very Brooklyn Jewy movie, but it sings from the standard Humanity of us all, to each of us. And that is movie making at its finest.
* Cinema buff John E. Finley-Weaver is a freelance writer based in San Diego.
