My radio show Amazing Songs & Other Delights #97 – The Of Sea & Cake edition is broadcasted Monday 1 and 8 June, 3-4pm (London time) on Yé Yé Radio: yeyeradio.com to (or on the app).
Tracklist: 01: The Sea and Cake – Four Corners 02: Dhani Harrison (Live at George Fest) – Savoy Truffle 03: Air – La Femme d’Argent 04: Queens Of The Stone Age – Monsters In The Parasol 05: The Beach Boys – Catch A Wave (Stereo/Remastered 2001) 06: Deerhoof – Milk Man 07: Cake – Distance 08: Stereolab – Lo Boob Oscillator 09: Brian Eno – By This River (2004 Digital Remaster) 10: Lupe Fiasco – Cake 11: Can – Vitamin C 12: Everything But The Girl – Temperamental 13: The Sea and Cake – Parasol
When Sadness Becomes Mortal – On the Death of Marjane Satrapi is a post on The Listening Room HQ – my men’s practice and The Polymath sister site – prompted by The death of artist Marjane Satrapi, said by those close to her to have followed a year of profound sadness after losing her husband, raises questions about grief, loss, the brain, and the hidden impact of sorrow on men’s lives. You can read it on The Listening Room HQ site: https://www.thelisteningroomhq.com/2026/06/when-sadness-becomes-mortal-on-death-of.html
Wave-Gotik-Treffen 2026 phptolog 1 is the first of four photologs covering the festival.
photos: Mondo Bizarre Magazine/Gustavo Hochman; edited by Milena Katzman for Mondo Bizarre Magazine.
We have attended Wave-Gotik-Treffen, in Leipzig, since 2019 – minus the pandemic years – and 2026 is no exception.
As usual, Wave-Gotik-Treffen was captured through the lens of Gustavo Hochman this year supported by image editor Milena Katzman.
Wave-Gotik-Treffen is the world’s largest gothic festival. It also includes Punk, Rivethead, Romanticism, Steampunk, Victoriana and other alternative and subcultures.
Gustavo Hochman, our photographer, was the only one allowed in a fashion show in a medieval castle. We have one photo from the session here. More to come.
We also photographed Covenant and She Past Away, the two main bands present at Wave-Gotik-Treffen 2026. Covenant are represented here.
You can find links to all previous photo logs on Mondo’s site: here.
words: Paulo Carmona (edited by Raquel Pinheiro) photos: Daniela Tedim
Ladies & Gentlemen — welcome to the celebration of sound.
I cannot remember attending a concert at the Porto Coliseum, and there have surely been well over fifty by now,with such outstanding sound. And this is precisely where I want to begin. Credit must be given to the entire team of musicians and technicians who allow us to experience music in its purest and most beautiful state.
Father John Misty appeared on stage in all his musical splendour, surrounded by musicians capable of performing at the very highest level of what I consider quality music.
What happened there was magic. It was moving, overwhelming, and capable of making the hairs stand up on the head of even a centenarian with no hair left to stand. Everything in that music was perceptible, everything was tangible, everything was everything.
A consummate performer, possessing the natural poise of his essence as a cult artist, he wandered across the stage like a siren whose song captivates the audience with a visceral diplomat’s passport.
With a set built around 21 songs from his already long career, which from the very first second sent the audience, who almost completely filled the Coliseum, into raptures, there was no shortage of favourites such as Mr Tillman, Chateau, Buddy’s Rendezvous, Mental Health, the joyfulness of Novel contrasting with the nostalgic introspection of Magic Mountain and the agonised, warlike energy of Payoff in flashes of rhythmic poetry. She Cleans Up, of course, and finally the magnificent Mahashmashana.
That scarlet red backdrop, the deep blue tones and the lighting did the rest, and everything was simply… just perfect!
Presenting songs from his latest album, Sahel (2023), Bombino returned with the hypnotic blend of desert blues and rock that has made him one of the most distinctive guitarists of his generation.
Often described as a pioneer of Tuareggae, a fusion of traditional Berber rhythms and rock and roll, Bombino sings and writes primarily in Tamasheq. Watching him perform, however, labels quickly become secondary to the experience itself.
The concert began acoustically. Bombino, accompanied by drummer Corey Wilhelm and a bassist whose name sadly escaped me, eased the audience into the evening with gentle rhythms and fluid melodies. Dressed in traditional Tuareg garments, the trio immediately established an atmosphere that felt both intimate and expansive.
The first songs unfolded with graceful ease. The bass remained smooth and steady beneath Bombino’s singing, while the guitar moved between delicate flourishes and syncopated desert-blues patterns. There were occasional vocal exclamations, almost calls carried on the wind, and moments where the music shifted unexpectedly between melancholy and propulsion.
One particular acoustic number began like a lament, only to transform into something far more rhythmic. What fascinated me was the contrast between the apparent mournfulness of the voice and the increasing momentum generated by the guitar and percussion. It created a tension that felt both ancient and modern.
As the instrumental passages expanded, Bombino and the bassist repeatedly moved face to face, exchanging phrases with a distinctly rock-and-roll energy. The chemistry between them was one of the evening’s recurring pleasures, while Corey Wilhelm’s drumming provided a powerful foundation throughout.
Then came the transition that many in the audience had been waiting for.
The acoustic guitar was set aside and Bombino plugged in.
Instantly we entered the territory for which he is best known: electric desert blues infused with the spirit of Hendrix.
Bombino has often spoken about learning guitar by watching videos of Jimi Hendrix and Dire Straits, and while the influence is present, what emerges is unmistakably his own voice. The economy of movement is remarkable. There are no unnecessary gestures, no theatrical flourishes. The hands move sparingly, yet the sound that emerges is immense.
Addressing the audience in French, Bombino thanked everyone for their support and spoke about the years since his previous visit. The response from the crowd was warm and immediate.
From there the concert steadily gathered momentum. Traditional melodies intertwined with psychedelic textures. Guitar and bass once again found themselves in conversation, sometimes duelling, sometimes dancing around one another. The bassist was extraordinary. More than once I found myself writing the same note in my notebook: “that bass, that bass, that bass.”
One particularly exhilarating piece felt almost like a desert cavalcade. The bass groove was irresistibly danceable, the drums drove relentlessly forward, and Bombino’s guitar soared above it all with long, electrifying solos that somehow felt both effortless and deeply rooted.
As the evening progressed, the audience became increasingly animated. The bassist joked in English that he knew everyone wanted to dance and apologised for the chairs. It was a fair observation. Before long people were standing, moving and swaying wherever space allowed.
I eventually joined those dancing along the upper steps at the side of the auditorium. Down by the stage, one audience member repeatedly appeared, danced enthusiastically and then disappeared again, becoming a small performance within the performance.
The later part of the set moved through a variety of moods. There were moments of traditional singing, extended instrumental passages, slower and almost jazzy sections, and long stretches where the audience clapped along with the rhythm section while Bombino explored melodic pathways on guitar.
One of the final highlights featured a wonderfully grooving drum solo followed by an equally captivating bass feature. Bombino stepped back, danced, and allowed his bandmates to take centre stage before all three musicians returned to a hypnotic, almost primeval groove that felt as though it had emerged directly from the desert itself.
For the encore, Bombino returned alone. Guitar in hand, he began with a solitary groove and a series of twanging phrases before the bassist and drummer gradually rejoined him. It was a fitting ending: a reminder that, whether acoustic or electric, intimate or expansive, Bombino’s music ultimately rests on the power of rhythm, groove and connection.
Desert blues may be the term most often attached to his music, but on this evening it often felt just as much like a rock concert. Not because it abandoned its roots, but because it embraced them with such confidence that they could converse effortlessly with Hendrix, psychedelia, groove and pure rock-and-roll energy.
And judging by the number of people dancing by the end, the audience understood that perfectly.
Libby Heaney’s performance was part of Eat My Multiversepart of the Art + Tech x Cosmos programme of Escola das Artes of Universidade Católica Portuguesa, Porto’s campus.
It mixed a live performance combining quantum computing, virtual environments, sound, voice, movement, embodied ritual, and surprises.
Two things instantly drew me to Libby Heaney’s Eat My Multiverse performance: the word multiverse, and a photograph of Libby on Nibble My Multiverse, MU Hybrid Art House, Eindhoven (2026), taken by Hanekke Wetzer.
I work in multiverses. Whether through The Polymath, of which The Polymath is an expression, through The Listening Room HQ, my music, my poetry… It’s no wonder the word stood out as if it had been written in fluorescent pink.
We are in a secluded performance space. Some of us sit on chairs, others on cushions, others still on the floor, all facing a large screen like a canvas.
Someone claps their hands, like a cinema clapperboard. The lights dim.
Libby enters and positions herself in front of the centre of the screen, wearing a nude-toned suit.
Chapter 1 — Multiverse (put in bold)
“Feeding on a special… and stardust, my tissues kick under gravity,” she speaks.
A person moves through the performance space, walking around Libby with a digital torch. Its presence shifting attention across body and screen. Libby moves gently, almost dancing, her red hair catching the light. Her gestures are soft but precise, as if responding to both sound and image.
The screen behind her shows shifting visuals, loosely connected to her words. Movement and image begin to merge, slightly out of sync, slightly blurred.
Libby walks towards the right side of the space, moving closer to the audience.
Something is said about the speed of light.
A constant beating emerges, heart-like, insistent.
“Wake, chest, sleep, repeat…”
She continues moving along the right side, bending, contorting, her breathing becoming audible. Her voice softens into fatigue.
She returns towards the centre, now among the front rows of seated audience members. She keeps speaking throughout.
Head down. One leg lifted. Heavy breathing. A voice that begins to sound physically tired.
She pauses to drink water. Asks us how we are doing.
“How is my multiverse now?”
Libby asks if anyone would like to share their multiverse. “My multiverse likes participation.”
Someone eventually speaks, describing a spiral, hunger, and a sense of disorientation.
“My multiverse is disappointed.” She responds simply, almost candidly since she is not a stand-up comedian; she is not used to this, she says. Adding “We never know how an audience will respond. We have to try new things.”
Chapter 2 — Quantum
Libby opens a transparent box and takes out a viscous, slime-like material.
She begins to play with it, throw it to us, to distribute it among the audience. A small amount lands on my backpack. I gather it into a small sphere; it now sits inside Notebook 25 of my Morning Pages.
A metronomic sound underpins the space, repetitive, grounding, almost mechanical.
“2008 to 2013… cold clustering corridors…”
Now, Libby lies on her back on the floor, speaking and gesturing. The heartbeat returns.
She crawls, then stands. Screens flicker. Sounds fracture into squeals.
Chapter 3 — Digestion
We are asked to stand.
“If you would like to come up and place on my body however you want, come.”
For me, this moment feels more unfamiliar.
I remain seated.
A “light bearer” moves through the space, passing a torch across her body.
“I invite you to join me… let us touch our portals…”
Bodies, space, and attention begin to fold together in a shifting configuration. A heartbeat grows louder.
Libby is on the floor again. “Thank you.”, she says. And for now, for us, her multiverse ends.
We leave the black box, each back to their lives, their multiverses. Mine takes me to an ocean swim.