He’s the maestro of pop rock currently on tour with legendary band Queen.

And on Tuesday’s episode of The Project, singer Adam Lambert revealed why the super group decided to recreate their 1985 Live Aid set for Fire Fight Australia 2020.

‘We were sitting around and it came up as an idea and it was a no-brainer,’ he told host Carrie Bickmore.

The 38-year-old former American Idol star then went on the explain why the band decided to keep their performance – and setlist – under wraps.

‘We kept it a surprise… [because] we didn’t want to set the expectations too high,’ the Whataya Want From Me singer said.

Their six-song set was made up of Bohemian Rhapsody, Radio Ga Ga, Hammer To Fall, Crazy Little Thing Called Love, We Will Rock You and We Are The Champions.

It was first performed by Freddie Mercury, Brian May, Roger Taylor and John Deacon nearly 35 years ago at London‘s Wembley Stadium.

To this day, it is still regarded as one of the greatest live performances of all time.

On Sunday, Fire Fight Australia attendees were fortunate enough to witness Queen once again belt out the famed setlist when Brian May, Roger Taylor and Adam took to the stage to recreate 22-minute set.

‘We’re very happy to be able to do our bit to help Australia to fight back against the terrible fires,’ guitarist Brian said of the event.

Before adding: ‘This is Australia’s pain but it’s humanity’s problem. My heart has broken seeing the plight of the animals. I hope the concert will help them too. We all need this tragedy to never happen again.

On the night, Queen performed alongside John Farnham, Olivia Newton-John, Tina Arena, Delta Goodrem, Guy Sebastian and Daryl Braithwaite.

Fire Fight Australia raised a whopping $9.5million for bushfire relief, with 75,000 people attending the event.

Adam Lambert Stuns at Celine Dion’s Son’s Lavish Monaco Wedding — But It’s What Happened Next That No One Expected

In a night already filled with glamour, royalty, and A-list celebrities, Adam Lambert managed to deliver a performance that will be remembered for generations. Invited to perform at the ultra-exclusive wedding of Celine Dion’s son in Monaco, Lambert took to the stage beneath crystal chandeliers and marble arches, as the world’s most powerful figures looked on.

Opening with a breathtaking medley of Queen’s greatest ballads, including “Somebody to Love” and “Who Wants to Live Forever,” Lambert effortlessly channeled the spirit of Freddie Mercury while adding his own signature power and elegance. But it was his final song — a brand new ballad written specifically for the bride and groom — that truly captured the heart of the evening. The emotional lyrics, soaring vocals, and orchestral arrangement left many in tears, including Celine herself.

As the applause filled the grand ballroom, few could imagine the evening was about to take an even more astonishing turn. Just moments after Lambert’s final note faded, the lights dimmed once again — and a surprise guest was ushered onto the stage. In a completely unannounced appearance, Sir Elton John emerged to offer his personal tribute to the newlyweds. Gasps spread across the room as cameras flashed and whispers filled the air.

Elton, a longtime friend of Celine Dion and admirer of Adam Lambert, performed a stripped-down version of “Your Song,” dedicating it to the couple in front of a stunned audience. The spontaneous duet that followed — Lambert and Elton harmonizing live for the first time — was nothing short of historic. For many, it felt like witnessing the passing of the torch between two generations of vocal icons.

Guests called the evening “magical,” “beyond Hollywood,” and “a once-in-a-lifetime moment that no amount of money could ever recreate.” As one attendee put it: “It wasn’t just a wedding. It was history.”

On a chilly December night in 1975, Cliff Richard graced the stage of Supersonic to deliver a performance of “Miss You Nights” that has since become legendary. With his smooth voice and heartfelt delivery, Cliff transformed the song into a timeless ballad of longing and love.

From the very first note, the audience was drawn into a world of emotional depth — a stark contrast to the upbeat rockers he was also known for. The gentle piano and string arrangement created the perfect backdrop for Cliff’s tender vocals, which seemed to carry both vulnerability and strength.

The performance captured a moment of raw sincerity that resonated deeply with viewers, many of whom still remember it as one of Cliff’s finest. His expressive eyes and delicate phrasing brought the lyrics to life, making every word feel personal.

Decades later, this rendition of “Miss You Nights” remains a favorite among fans, proving that sometimes, the quietest songs leave the loudest echoes in the heart.

The crowd was already electric as Carrie Underwood took the stage at her sold-out Nashville show. Everyone expected a powerful setlist of hits—but nothing could’ve prepared them for what was about to happen.

As the familiar intro to “All-American Girl” rang out—a fan favorite since her early days—Carrie smiled wide. The song, a joyful anthem about dreams, family, and growing up with big hopes, always held a special place in her heart. It was one of the first songs she wrote after American Idol, inspired by her own story… and the woman who helped shape it.

She started singing, vibrant and strong, the crowd singing along to every word. But halfway through the second verse, something changed. The lights shifted. Her band slowed slightly. Carrie turned instinctively toward stage right—and froze.

Her mother, Carole Underwood, was walking out from the wings, microphone in hand.

The crowd erupted. Carrie’s mouth dropped open in shock. “Are you serious?” she laughed through the mic, eyes already welling. Carole gave her daughter a wink and, with surprising confidence, stepped up beside her and began to sing the next line—perfectly in sync.

They continued the song together—Carrie, radiant and teary-eyed, and her mom, glowing with pride. It was playful, nostalgic, and deeply emotional. Every lyric hit different: this wasn’t just a song anymore. It was their story. The little girl who sang into a hairbrush in Oklahoma, and the mom who always told her, “One day, you’re going to show the world.”

But then came the twist no one saw coming.

As the song neared its final chorus, the band paused. The lights dimmed. Carrie looked confused—until a home video began to play on the giant screen behind them. It was old footage: a young Carrie, maybe 10 years old, singing the same song in their living room. Carole was in the background, clapping and cheering her on.

Carrie covered her mouth and turned away, overwhelmed.

She wasn’t just crying—she was sobbing.

What fans didn’t know was that this surprise duet was Carole’s idea. In secret coordination with Carrie’s tour team, she’d flown out, rehearsed behind her back, and even uncovered old video footage from dusty VHS tapes at home. And the reason?

She had recently been diagnosed with early-stage Alzheimer’s. She wanted to do something unforgettable, before the memories started to fade.

The final chorus hit harder than anyone expected. Their voices—one polished and famous, the other familiar and maternal—soared together in perfect harmony. It wasn’t flawless, but it was real. And in that moment, the meaning of “All-American Girl” evolved from a pop-country hit into a living tribute to generations of dreams, sacrifices, and love.

When the song ended, Carrie fell into her mom’s arms and whispered into the mic, through tears:

“You were the first person who ever believed in me. This song was always ours… I just never thought we’d get to sing it together.”

The arena was on its feet, not just cheering—but crying. Because in a world that often feels fast and fleeting, that moment reminded everyone of something timeless: the power of a mother’s belief, and the daughter who became a star because of it.

The stage lights dimmed as Keith Urban eased into the opening chords of his final song. The energy inside the packed Nashville venue was electric—every fan clinging to each word, each strum. The night had already been unforgettable, with Keith pouring his heart into every performance, hit after hit. But then came the moment no one saw coming.

Just as he wrapped the chorus of “Blue Ain’t Your Color,” a sudden, unexpected stillness fell over the crowd. The giant screen behind him flickered to life. At first, it seemed like just another visual for the show—until a home video began to play.

The footage was intimate and unfiltered: Keith flipping pancakes in the kitchen, playing in the yard with his daughters, nestled on the couch beside Nicole Kidman. Then came a message in a child’s handwriting that brought the entire arena to a standstill: “Happy Father’s Day, Daddy.”

Keith froze. His smile faltered as emotion took over—and then, in a moment that left the crowd breathless, Nicole Kidman stepped onto the stage, their daughters Sunday Rose and Faith Margaret right behind her, each holding a bouquet of white lilies and a microphone.

The arena exploded—cheers, tears, total disbelief.

Nicole wrapped Keith in a long, emotional hug. Sixteen-year-old Sunday spoke first: “Happy Father’s Day, Dad. You mean the world to us.” Then Faith, 13, added with a trembling but determined voice, “We wanted to be here tonight… not just to support you as an artist, but to thank you as our hero.”

Keith’s legs nearly gave out. He buried his face in one hand, and when he looked up, he was crying openly. “I wasn’t ready for this,” he said quietly into the mic. “I thought I was the one surprising you tonight… but this is the greatest gift I’ve ever been given.”

What came next turned the night into something legendary. Nicole handed Keith his guitar, and the whole family—yes, all four of them—performed a stripped-down, acoustic version of “Making Memories of Us.” Sunday added harmonies, Faith played a soft piano melody from a hidden setup behind the curtain, and Nicole sat quietly beside Keith, her hand steady on his shoulder as he poured everything he had into the song—raw, unfiltered, overflowing with love.

The crowd stood the entire time. No one wanted to sit. No one wanted to blink.

By the end of the song, Keith stood and wrapped his arms around his daughters and Nicole. The four of them held each other tightly, as a golden spotlight bathed them in a quiet, intimate glow. The final note rang out into the air and hung there, timeless. Then came silence. Then came thunderous applause.

The Reactions

Twitter, Instagram, TikTok—every platform exploded within minutes.

One fan wrote:

“I’ve been to over 50 concerts in my life, but I’ve NEVER cried like I did tonight. Keith Urban just redefined what it means to be a father and a performer. #FathersDaySurprise”

Another posted a short video of the family performance, captioned:

“I was there. I witnessed it. The most beautiful, unexpected, real moment I’ve ever seen on stage. Nicole and the girls showing up??  #KeithUrban #FamilyGoals”

A music critic tweeted:

“What started as a great show became a legendary one. Keith Urban wasn’t just singing songs tonight—he was living them. And we got to watch the most emotional encore in country music history.”

Some fans even claimed they saw other celebrities in the audience wiping away tears—including Tim McGraw and Kelsea Ballerini.

The Unseen Surprise

What fans didn’t know at the time was that Nicole had been planning this surprise for over two months. In a backstage interview released the next day, she shared:

“Keith gives everything to his fans, and everything to us. We wanted to give him a moment where he felt just how deeply loved he is—not just as a musician, but as our father and husband.”

The two girls, usually shy and out of the spotlight, had taken voice and piano lessons privately for weeks just for that one performance. And it paid off. The authenticity, the family bond, and the unfiltered love on that stage struck a chord with everyone watching.

A Night Etched in Country Music History

By the next morning, the clip of the performance had over 20 million views online. Headlines called it “The Most Heartfelt Moment in Keith Urban’s Career” and “The Surprise That Stole Father’s Day.”

More than just a concert, that night became a tribute—not only to Keith Urban’s legacy as a performer but as a father, a husband, and a man who wears his heart on his sleeve.

And for the thousands who witnessed it live, it became more than music. It became a memory etched in soul.

No one saw it coming. At the heart of one of Britain’s most time-honored ceremonies, Trooping the Colour on June 14, 2025, a musical miracle unfolded before 40,000 spectators gathered at Horse Guards Parade — and millions more watching from home. As the regiments marched and tradition stood firm, a hush fell over the crowd. Then, from beneath the golden summer sky, two voices rose: Andrea Bocelli and Susan Boyle, delivering an unannounced, spine-tingling duet of Amazing Grace that turned the pomp and pageantry into something eternal.

Bocelli’s golden tenor — soaring, pure, timeless — met Susan Boyle’s haunting, fragile grace in perfect harmony. The notes hung in the air like a prayer whispered into heaven. Every word felt sacred. It was no longer just a performance — it was a benediction. Standing high on the royal balcony, Princess Catherine placed a hand on her heart. King Charles wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. Prince William stood still, visibly moved. For a moment, it wasn’t about protocol, titles, or spectacle. It was about shared humanity.

The crowd stood frozen. Many clutched handkerchiefs, overcome by emotion. Soldiers bowed their heads. Even the guards — so often stoic — looked toward the stage, expressions softening. The music, so achingly beautiful, seemed to carry the weight of collective memory and longing. As the final note faded, it wasn’t silence that followed — it was reverence. For seconds that felt like minutes, no one clapped. No one cheered. They simply felt.

Then, as if on cue, the square erupted. Applause thundered like cannon fire. Fans flooded social media with the hashtag #GraceRoyalDuet, declaring it the greatest royal performance in living memory. One tweet captured the moment best: “I didn’t cry — I wept. That wasn’t just music. That was the sound of heaven opening.”

It wasn’t just a duet. It was a union of two artists shaped by struggle, singing not to impress, but to uplift. Boyle — once mocked, now beloved — brought a raw vulnerability that pierced through every note. Bocelli — blind yet visionary — sang as if guiding the world through darkness toward light. Together, they turned a royal celebration into a moment of spiritual transcendence.

What began as tradition became transformation. What should’ve been just another parade became a once-in-a-lifetime experience. In a world divided by headlines and heartbreak, Amazing Grace became more than a hymn — it became a call for unity.

So, was it the greatest royal performance ever?

Some will remember the Diamond Jubilee concerts. Others will speak of Princess Diana’s favorite ballads or Queen Elizabeth’s surprise James Bond skit. But on June 14, 2025, two voices changed everything. They reminded us that grace — in its purest, most breathtaking form — doesn’t need fireworks or fanfare.

It only needs a song.

The gala, held in honor of the late Queen Elizabeth II’s charitable legacy, brought together the greats of classical, pop, and royal tradition in a way the UK—and the world—had never seen.

André Rieu, the beloved Dutch violinist and conductor, led the Royal Philharmonic with effortless grace. Strings swelled. Candles flickered. And then…

Sir Elton John appeared.

Wearing a deep midnight velvet suit and seated at a second piano across from Princess Kate, he began to sing “Your Song”—but this time, it wasn’t just his song. With the Princess accompanying him in a delicate harmony of notes, it became everyone’s.

His voice cracked ever so slightly at the chorus. King Charles wiped away a tear.
The hall, filled with diplomats, dignitaries, and artists, sat frozen in reverent silence.

Social media instantly lit up.
“Never thought I’d cry over ‘Your Song’ at a royal gala,” one viewer posted.
“Kate on piano? Elton emotional? This is the most British and most magical thing I’ve ever seen.”

But it wasn’t just magic. It was meaning. A symbol of healing, unity, and cultural pride, right when the world seemed to need it most.

As the final chord faded and the crowd rose in a thunderous standing ovation, no one moved too quickly. Even royalty seemed reluctant to leave the moment.

This gala didn’t just entertain—it etched itself into history.

Royalty at the piano.
A legend behind the mic.
And a country remembering who it is—through the power of one song, and one unforgettable night.

Watch the performance everyone’s calling “a love letter to Britain” — and feel the magic for yourself.

It was three years ago this month that Sir Tom Jones returned to the green, green, grass of home to support Stereophonics at the Principality Stadium.

It was always going to be an emotional occasion for the man who today celebrates his 85th birthday.

The true King of Wales, The Voice, the greatest Welshman, call him what you will, the thousands who packed into the stadium to watch Sir Tom, no doubt expected an emotional performance – and they weren’t disappointed.

Before the emotion was ramped up to 11 there was a cheeky welcome from the singing star, with a little trademark humour.

“What about this weather. I got a bit of a suntan today… in Cardiff. Fantastic!,” he exclaimed incredulously.

However, it was during a touching and poignant version of his 1966 worldwide number one – ‘Green Green Grass Of Home’, that Sir Tom appeared to have tears in his eyes as he belted out a song that has meant so much to him for so long, delivered with all his usual gusto and a voice still every bit as rich in tone and power.

The lyrics, of course, were incredibly poignant on the day the Welsh star returned home.

The song is about a man who returns to his childhood home for what seems to be his first visit there since leaving in his youth. When he steps down from the train, his parents are there to greet him, and his beloved, Mary, comes running to join them. They meet him with “arms reaching, smiling sweetly”. With Mary, the man strolls at ease among the monuments of his childhood, including “the old oak tree that I used to play on”, feeling that “it’s good to touch the green, green grass of home”.

The song however has a more sober ending.

Abruptly, the man switches from song to speech, as he awakens and sees “four grey walls” surrounding him and realises that he is in prison. As he resumes singing, we learn that the man is waking on the day of his scheduled execution. He sees a guard and “a sad old padre” who will walk with him to his execution at daybreak, and then he will return home “in the shade of that old oak tree, as they lay me ‘neath the green, green grass of home”.

Tom Jones fan, Wayne Courtney, who was at the concert that night said it was an emotional moment for both the crowd and Sir Tom.

“Sir Tom was home and emotions were high for us and for him, he was clearly moved to be back home especially when he sang the Green Green Grass Of Home,” he said.

“There were people singing along with tears running down their cheeks. You just knew it was one of those very special moments in music which people will talk about for years to come.”

In a heartwarming and unforgettable moment, Adam Lambert and Beverley Knight delivered a stunning performance of “The Christmas Song” at the Together At Christmas Carol Concert held at Westminster Abbey. Invited personally by HRH The Princess of Wales, the duo brought an emotional and festive atmosphere to the historic venue, captivating the audience with their powerful voices and perfect harmony. The live performance not only celebrated the spirit of Christmas but also highlighted the generosity and kindness that this season brings.

The 2023 Carol Service at Westminster Abbey focused on the theme of #ShapingUs, a campaign aimed at raising awareness for those who support the youngest members of society during their crucial early years. The event was a heartfelt tribute to the individuals and organizations dedicated to helping babies, young children, and families across the UK. The service offered an opportunity to express gratitude to the many unsung heroes working in communities to ensure that every child has the best possible start in life.

For Adam Lambert and Beverley Knight, performing at such a prestigious event was a special moment. Both artists, known for their powerful vocal abilities, shared a palpable connection with the audience, bringing warmth and joy to the occasion. The emotional rendition of “The Christmas Song” evoked the true essence of the season, leaving attendees at Westminster Abbey moved and full of festive cheer.

The event not only celebrated the holiday season but also served as a reminder of the importance of supporting children and families in need. The Together At Christmas Carol Concert was a beautiful occasion that combined music, charity, and the spirit of giving, making it a night to remember for all involved.

It was a scene that could have come straight from the pages of American history — and yet, it unfolded in real time, with a rawness that left the nation trembling. Beneath the solemn gaze of Abraham Lincoln’s statue, two voices of resistance, Joan Baez and Bruce Springsteen, came together for an unforgettable moment that pierced through political noise and reached straight into the heart of America.

The event, titled “Voices for America,” was no ordinary concert. It was a call — a cry — for unity, justice, and moral courage in a country grappling with division. And as dusk fell over Washington, D.C., thousands gathered at the Lincoln Memorial, holding candles, handmade signs, and hope that their voices still mattered.

As Bruce Springsteen strummed the haunting opening chords of “The Ghost of Tom Joad,” the crowd fell into a reverent hush. His voice — gravelly, urgent, unmistakable — began to fill the air:

“Men walkin’ ‘long the railroad tracks / Goin’ someplace, there’s no goin’ back…”

And then, out of the shadows, Joan Baez emerged. Dressed in black, with silver hair glinting under the lights and fire in her eyes, she approached Bruce slowly. The music paused. The audience seemed to collectively hold its breath.

Without a word, Baez wrapped her arms around Springsteen in a fierce, almost maternal hug. Microphones caught her soft but shaking voice as she whispered:

“I have to be here. America is becoming a terrible country — but your voice still gives us hope. The Boss has a rebel queen by his side tonight.”

The crowd erupted. Cheers turned into tears. For many, it felt like a torch being passed — or perhaps rekindled — from one generation of protest to another.

Joan Baez has never been a stranger to resistance. From marching with Martin Luther King Jr. to defying war and injustice through her music, she has stood on the frontlines of conscience for over six decades. And Bruce — with his gravel-voiced poetry of working-class struggle — has long been the voice of America’s silent majority: weary but proud, bruised but never broken.

That night, they were one.

They launched back into “The Ghost of Tom Joad” — now a duet, now an anthem — with Bruce on guitar and Joan harmonizing with a voice that still held the quiet strength of every movement she ever stood for. Together, they resurrected the ghost of resistance.

And then came a silence more powerful than any sound.

Joan Baez stepped forward again. She looked out at the sea of faces — young and old, Black and white, immigrant and native-born — and said:

“I’ve sung this song in churches and jails. I’ve sung it for Dr. King and Cesar Chavez. But tonight, I sing it because I’m scared — and because I still believe in the power of love and nonviolence.”

She began to sing: “We shall overcome… we shall overcome… someday…”

Bruce picked up his harmonica, the crowd joined in, and for a few minutes, the entire nation seemed to stand still.

Cameras flashed. Children climbed onto their parents’ shoulders. An elderly man in a Vietnam vet jacket saluted with tears streaming down his cheeks.

People weren’t just singing. They were remembering. And reclaiming.

The performance felt like a prayer and a protest all at once — not against one man, one policy, or one election, but against the creeping numbness that had settled into the soul of a troubled country.

Backstage, Joan and Bruce didn’t say much. They didn’t need to.

He handed her his guitar pick. She handed him a peace sign pendant she’d worn since 1968.

“Keep going,” she told him.

“I will,” he replied, simply.

That night, the headlines would scream:

“Joan Baez and Bruce Springsteen Reignite the Spirit of Protest at Lincoln Memorial.”
“‘The Boss Has a Rebel Queen’: Baez’s Hug Steals the Show at ‘Voices for America’ Concert.”

But for the people who stood there — who cried and sang and believed — it wasn’t about headlines. It was about healing. It was about remembering that truth still matters, that compassion is not weakness, and that music can still be a weapon for good.

For one night, Joan Baez and Bruce Springsteen reminded us who we are — and who we still have a chance to become.

 Setlist Highlights from “Voices for America”:

1. “The Ghost of Tom Joad” – Bruce Springsteen ft. Joan Baez

2. “We Shall Overcome” – Led by Joan Baez, with audience participation

3. “This Land Is Your Land” – All artists on stage, including surprise guests

4. “Born in the U.S.A.” (acoustic) – Bruce Springsteen, closing the night with a defiant twist

 Social Media Erupts:

“I cried. Joan Baez hugging Springsteen… that’s America to me.” — @truthoverfear
“She called herself ‘The Rebel Queen’ and we BELIEVE her. Long live the Queen.” — @libertyrocks
“This is what democracy sounds like.” — @activistmom

As candles flickered out and the crowd slowly dispersed into the D.C. night, one thing was certain:

The fight for the soul of America is far from over — but as long as voices like Joan’s and Bruce’s sing out, there is still light.

And as the rebel queen whispered to The Boss, there is still hope.

Joan Baez on America Under Trump: ‘It Feels Like Torn Fabric’

The folk singer and social activist on the reasons protesting has gotten “dangerous,” why it’s essential to still show up, and what she felt seeing A Complete Unknown for the first time

Pull into the tree-cloaked driveway of Joan Baez’s home south of San Francisco and roam around her house and the first thing you’ll notice are oversize portraits she’s painted of Volodymyr Zelensky, Martin Luther King Jr., Anthony Fauci, Gandhi, and the late congressman John Lewis. For years, Baez would display two at a time in her front yard, but now they lean forlornly on a porch.

“Just after Trump got elected [last fall], somebody tattled to somebody in the city, who says, ‘Does she have permits?’” Baez says. “It was clearly a snitchy kind of thing.” While one of her friends cut the paintings down, Baez went into the tree house in her front yard and blasted recordings by soprano opera singer Renée Fleming. “It was my way of civil disobedience,” she says with a mischievous grin. “Just to do something.”

For decades in the public eye, Baez has been doing something in the name of music, social justice, and civil rights. She’s been lionized, condemned (even sometimes by the left), mocked, dismissed, revered, and occasionally rediscovered. That part of her life seemed to start winding down six years ago, when Baez wrapped up a farewell tour that, she insists, is genuinely final.

At that point, Baez, now 84, entered what should have been her chill-out years, devoted to painting and writing poetry, dancing daily around her property to the Gipsy Kings, and spending time in the rambling, funky-but-chic house where she’s lived for 55 years. The place currently has 13 chickens that roam its grounds, provide her with fresh eggs and, now and then, wander into her kitchen to peck away at some cat food. “Now, I also get to paint my nails,” Baez says, wriggling her hand to reveal aqua-blue fingernails.

But as seen by the hubbub over her paintings of activists and public figures, Baez keeps getting pulled back into the spotlight. Start with the Bob Dylan biopic, A Complete Unknown, which thrust her fraught, long-ago relationship with Dylan (played by Timothée Chalamet) back into the spotlight. Monica Barbaro’s largely spot-on performance introduced Baez, her music, and her folk-Madonna image to a generation born decades later. And then there is, once more, Trump. When Rolling Stone last visited Baez here, he had just been elected president for the first time. Now that he’s returned to the White House, more disruptive and alarming than before, Baez has again found herself at rallies and released a new protest song, “One in a Million,” with fellow veteran troubadour Janis Ian. Baez is also helping devise a name for a new organization she’s joining that would provide support for families of immigrants whose breadwinners have been scooped up and imprisoned by ICE agents, and she posts words of wisdom on her social media accounts, including Facebook. (Observing a newborn songbird in her driveway, she writes, “Her beauty itself will offer us hope in the darkness and deliver us from all that is evil.”)

But as Baez admits, both today at her home and in a follow-up interview, she is also entering a new and challenging world. Brewing up a fresh pot of coffee, Baez, in a black turtleneck with her hair in a silver bob, settles in at her kitchen table. “This is an interesting time,” she says, “because I’ve never been here before.”

When we last talked here, it was right after Donald Trump’s 2016 election. Who would have thought we’d be here again?
Surprised the shit out of me. Nobody could have dreamed this up. Nobody could have predicted that it would turn into what it’s turned into, because that’s for other countries, the “shithole countries.” This is turning into a shithole country because of them. It’s all the evil things that shithole countries do. On the other hand, we’ve all sort of known that the Heritage Foundation has been plugging away and making plans, and we just weren’t prepared.

Where were you on election night when you heard the results?
Oh, here. I didn’t hear the results. I saw my neighbor’s face. I knew it was a disaster. But the truth is it’s been in the works for 50 years. It’s not even about Trump. He just turned out to be this wizard of a disgusting human being who gives people the right to do what he does.

 

Is there anything in particular this administration has done that has really shocked you? 
In the first 100 days, sending people like that [snaps fingers] to prisons known for torture. All the work I did in Chile, Argentina, Brazil, and the Eastern Bloc, and it’s the same mechanism, with all the ruthlessness and the steps to the dictatorship.

I’m worried about the speed at which they’re doing it and where they’re going, and the horrible cruelty that takes place every day. I really appreciated Bruce Springsteen repeating “It’s happening now” [during his concerts in the U.K.]. Because you tend to say, “Oh, it’s going to be a rough four years.” No, it’s now.

How often do you watch the news?
When I was retired from touring, I thought, “I’ll watch once in a while.” But it wasn’t like this. So, I dole it out. I read Substack and watch Stephen Colbert, Jon Stewart, and John Oliver. And then I’ll turn on a movie like Twilight. Just terrible. But it’s wonderful to watch. It’s got nothing to do with fucking anything.

Do you take any—
Drugs?  [Laughs.]

“Courage Is a Funny thing … It’s Being Willing to Do Stuff, Even if You’re Scared.”

Well, that, but also consolation in some of the pushback Trump has received from the courts.
You have to take some heart in that. My beautiful granddaughter Jasmine is a singer-songwriter but decided she wanted to be a lawyer. She’ll be going to law school in August, and I’m thinking, “What a time!” She wants to be a constitutional lawyer. We’re not going to have a fucking Constitution very likely. So, all I can do with my son and my granddaughter is walk through this day by day and encourage her to do what she’s doing.

I was just listening to your performance at Woodstock, where you told the crowd about the federal agents showing up at your and your ex-husband and activist David Harris’ home to arrest him for resisting the draft. You even had a party to send him off. In terms of that kind of arrest, does anything happening now remind you of that moment?
You know, it’s so different now that I can’t even make that connection. People say, “Is this like the Sixties?” I say the Sixties was a garden party. For some people, it wasn’t. Some people really got hurt. But this now is a machine.

In your second memoir, you wrote about the impact of hearing Martin Luther King speak. Is there anybody these days who’s inspired you in the same way?
The Rev. William Barber came to dinner the other night; he’s a pal. He has the spirit of God within him, and he’s determined to spread it. We’re looking into this avalanche, and you [have to] stand up like when he went in the Capitol rotunda the other day and got himself arrested. He was praying in there, and he just said, “I had to do it.”

What about Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez?  
She’s good. Smart. And I think she probably put herself on the line, but on the line now.… I used to encourage people, “Come with us. We get arrested, whatever.” But it’s just so dangerous. Taking a risk now could be standing on the corner in a T-shirt that says “I’m an illegal immigrant.” I’ve never experienced this kind of fear. I wasn’t afraid when I went to jail back then. I’ve been to places where I should have been scared: Vietnam, the South, Ku Klux Klan.

 

Why weren’t you scared then?
Denial and the need to push on, which was stronger than worrying. I was afraid sometimes, but courage is a funny thing. It’s not because somebody’s born courageous — it’s because you’re willing to do stuff, even if you’re scared. To give you an idea of how dark I can get now, my darkest joke is: The good news about climate change is that if it gets us first, Trump won’t have time to build his death camps. And you laugh, except he will. He’s moving so fast, my joke isn’t even funny.

One of the concerns now is that any protests could lead Trump to send in the military, resulting in a declaration of martial law.
He’s dying to have something. Nothing could make it easier for them, because we can’t compete. Anybody who seriously thinks they can make social change with violence is really innocent. No, you get squashed. [Editor’s note: This interview was conducted prior to the ongoing L.A. protests.]

Have you had moments when you’ve thought everything you and others fought for in the Sixties has been dismantled?
I don’t spend a lot of time worrying about the fact that things are sliding backward. Things don’t ever stay where you want them to be. Havel’s government, Mandela: Those are wonderful, amazing people, and they do this wonderful, amazing stuff, and it lasts sometimes for a good amount of time, and then somebody fucks it up.

We have to remember what’s sewn into the fabric of America. I keep picturing the Blacks and whites at the lunch counter in Mississippi. Those were enormous acts of courage, and they changed things, and that’s the commitment we need now. So in the midst of this, it feels like torn fabric.

Maybe there will be a pendulum swing in the other direction like there was with Reagan after Carter, or Trump after Obama.
[Soberly] This is different. I don’t know how you make up for what’s already been done.

You’ve sung at a few anti-Trump, pro-democracy rallies. What was it like performing again?
I have a lower register that I refused to accept because I couldn’t be my famous soprano anymore. So, I quit singing. But somewhere in there is the voice. I’ve dipped into the lower range and have found the songs that work for it.

Which songs can you still sing?
I can make different things work, like “Imagine” and all the Civil Rights songs. “We Shall Overcome” is a beautiful song, but it takes us so far back. There has to be something fresher than that.

 

We really aren’t hearing many new protest songs these days.
I wouldn’t want to be a part of a movement without the music, but you’re right. What we need is an anthem, but it’s impossible to write an anthem. “One in a Million” comes closest, but you can’t drag that out of nothing. It has to come from somewhere else. “Imagine” is still so beautiful. The Dylan stuff is still internationally known, and it doesn’t have the same sort of thing for me that “We Shall Overcome” does. Way back then, I had the brains to know we were not going to overcome everything and have world peace. Now, it’s even more so.

In your poetry collection When You See My Mother, Ask Her to Dance, you wrote, in a piece about Dylan, “Who’s writing that kind of stuff today, Mister Creator?”
I asked Josh Ritter to write a song, and he wrote one called “I Carry the Flame,” which comes closest to a marching, Pete Seeger sort of folk song. I sang it a little at the May 1 demonstration [in Mountain View, California]. But we need more of those, and Janis’ “One in a Million.”

Have you listened to Jesse Welles, the politically outspoken troubadour from the South?
The young guy. Just amazing. That’s going somewhere. Gotta harness that little kid. How old is he?

“We have to remember what’s sewn into the fabric of America.”

He’s 30. What impressed you about his songs?
It’s real. It’s just coming out. He’s channeling that sort of stuff. It just comes through you. That’s what I saw, anyway.

Do you keep up with modern female singer-songwriters?
I listen to whatever my granddaughter sends me. I got to liking Lana Del Rey quite a bit. Chappell Roan I liked. When my son Gabe and Jasmine and I are together, we play Lana and Hozier on a loop on the long trip up and down the coast. I’m friends with Lana. Don’t forget to mention my crush on Hozier. Take me to church with that bad boy.

How did you come to know Lana?
Out of the blue, she asked me if I would be interested in singing at her show at the Greek Theatre. And I thought, “Where the fuck is this coming from?” I had no idea. I was joking with her and said, “Your audiences are all 16 years old. They don’t know me.” She said, “Well, they should.” That’s a risk for a young songwriter, because if they say “Ta da — Joan Baez!” one third of their public is not going to know what she’s talking about. But they take that risk anyway. Taylor [Swift, who invited Baez onstage in 2015] did the same thing. Some of Lana’s-age folks called me “badass,” which I thought was fantastic. She’s an interesting woman. She’s slightly on another planet, but I appreciate that and her and her music.

What’s the story behind Lana’s mention of you in “Dance Till We Die”: “I’m coverin’ Joni and dancin’ with Joan”? 
She came up to hang out, and we had dinner and then went off to this  Senegalese club in San Francisco where I’ve danced for years. She didn’t dance. Her sister danced. She was very, very shy, actually, in some ways. I did the dancing for her. She gave me a beautiful necklace, a little gold thing with “Joanie” on it.

A couple of years ago, a mini controversy emerged over “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down,” the Robbie Robertson song that was one of your biggest hits. Since it was narrated by a white Southerner during the Civil War, some questioned whether it should be rewritten or canceled. What did you make of that?
I was thinking about that this morning when I played “One in a Million” for Karen O’Connor, my director friend. She said, “Let me listen to the words again.” I thought, “Jesus, I don’t even listen to the words to stuff.” It’s a feeling, and the feeling with “Dixie” was the same. I didn’t know what it was saying. I just thought it was wonderful. It’s like the stuff I do in foreign languages. Once I get the syllables down, I don’t even know what I’m saying, and it doesn’t make any difference.

 

“Dixie” wasn’t in demand, but if somebody wanted to hear it and I felt like singing it, I would have done it. I got to be politically correct in the right place [smiles]. I knew at some point somebody was going to make an issue of it. But who cares? Who gives a shit? Wonderful song.

Speaking of protest singers, when did you first hear about a  movie called A Complete Unknown?
I heard a lot of talk about it. I guess I thought, “I don’t know what this is going to be, whether it would be right or a bunch of nonsense.” As it moved along, I thought, “People are getting serious about this thing. It’s going to be a real movie.”

Did anyone from the film or the Dylan camp reach out, especially since you’re a character in it?
Are you kidding? I reached out to them, to the actors: “Would they like to talk to me?” So, Monica called, and then Ed Norton. They both had long conversations with me. Monica said, “If you like it, please tell me. But don’t tell me if you didn’t like it.” I said, “Listen, if we don’t like it, we’ll throw popcorn at the screen, but I think we’ll probably like it.”

So, you didn’t hear from Dylan directly?
Come on. You’ve worked for Rolling Stone long enough to know the answer to that. [Goes into Dylan imitation] “Hey, Joanie, guess what, we’re doin’ this.” Silly question.

When did you see it? 
Well, I didn’t go on Christmas Day [when the movie opened]. But sometime during that week, with my group of all women that started with my mom. [The movie people] asked if I wanted to see it privately. I didn’t.

What was the experience like, seeing it for the first time?
People in my camp, they’re outraged, and they’re fact-checking. And I said, “Don’t bother.” It’s a fun movie. Certainly got a feeling of the Village, but I never lived in the Village. The only time was that short period of time with Bob. And it wasn’t the Chelsea Hotel, it was the Earle. But details, details, see what I mean? Someone said, “Did you really do that to Bob?” [Flashes a middle finger.] I said, “No, I did this.” [Flashes both middle fingers.] But I was pleased they were getting the feeling right. The music was brilliant. I thought Chalamet did a good job. He was a bit too squeaky clean. I could have clued him in on that one.

 

Meaning that in his depiction, Bob didn’t look dirty enough?
That is correct. But then, that was part of the charm, I’m sure. The unwashed phenomenon.

What did they get right about Bob?
Oh, a lot. A lot of the movement, facial movement, talking, even some of the singing. The attitude. I mean, a bad attitude.

“Enjoying Yourself Has Become an Act of Resistance … We’re Supposed to Be Cowering.”

How about the depiction of you?
Some of the shots from behind of Monica and Dylan look startlingly like me. People said her speaking voice was really [close to mine]. She worked like mad to get it right. She even had this down [kneads her fingers together]. Dumb things like my nervous tic. I saw her at a press thing and called her and said, “Is that something you do, or is that something you picked up for me?” And she said she had picked it up from watching me.

Chalamet seemed to get Dylan’s own jittery hand gestures.
[Nods, then bends a thumb far back.] Bob has a thumb that goes like that. Not everybody’s going to have that. Somebody told me that the thumb bent back like that means you’re a murderer [laughs].

The movie also seemed to make a triangle out of you, Bob, and Suze Rotolo, but historically speaking most of us assumed it all didn’t overlap that way.
Well, it wasn’t happening in my face. I thought I was after Suze Rotolo, but I don’t even know. I didn’t ask. Don’t ask, don’t tell. I think that, from what I’ve heard, they really didn’t do her justice at all. But I’m glad Bobby Neuwirth was in it. And funny old [Albert] Grossman. [Actor Dan Fogler] looked like Grossman.

More than 60 years later, what still fascinates people about you and Bob?
If you look me up and Google me, there’s maybe one thing on me, and then it’s directly to “Joan Baez and Bob Dylan.” I had a great gift the other day. A 23-year-old girl who is an assistant at one of the clinics where I went was just finding out about me. She said, “You’re famous!” I said, “Meh … Google me.” Then she says [indicating a photo of Dylan], “Who’s this guy?” And I said, “Thank you.” Then I decided to explain who it was. If you’re in a room with Bob, anywhere with Bob, you’re diminished automatically. But there are worse people to be glued at the hip to.

In a recent interview, you talked about writing Dylan a personal letter that expressed your feelings. Then you sent it to him — but intentionally didn’t include a return address nor any way to contact you.
That was about 10 years ago when I wrote that. I was painting him down in my little studio, when he was really, really young. Had to be 21 or something. And I put on a record of his music, and I started to cry. And I cried forever and painted, and it washed it all away. Then it was done. There’s no more resentment. I was lucky enough to have him in my life and have those songs and have the voice to sing them. Gratitude was taking the place of frustration and hurt and bullshit.

What did you write?
I just told him exactly what I told you. Very simple.

When I interviewed you in 2017, you said your name was at one point a “jinx,” especially in the early Eighties when you were without a record contract.
Nobody was interested in recording me. If we had made a demo of me and put on it “young woman songwriter,” we would have probably had more of a chance of being heard and taken seriously. In that sense, I was really hurting from being a legend, but not current.

Do you think the movie, which depicts you as pretty badass, will change that perception of you? 
I hope so. I haven’t paid a whole lot of attention to it, but I know it sparked a visibility on a certain level that hadn’t been around.

It’s been six years now since the last show of your farewell tour. Any regrets?
Absolutely not. I didn’t know what to expect, because everybody says, “Once you quit, they go back out and go on.” Elton [John] said to me, “I just can’t wait to be with my kids.” And he’s back on the road.… I can’t remember the first show I saw after I’d quit touring myself. But I thought, “Well, this would be an interesting test.” And I didn’t miss it, not a bit. It was time. I mean, 10 nights at the Olympia — time to quit. Don’t want to go back and do 20 [laughs].

Two years ago, you were the subject of a documentary, I Am a Noise, in which you revealed you and your sister Mimi had dealt with sexual-abuse issues from your father. What made you go public?
A combination of things. I was 79 when we started the movie, so how about an honest legacy and not make me try to look prettier than I am, or whatever it was? This is a life well-lived. It’s interesting how many people have responded, and it’s in the same way Trump allows people to be pigs. This [revelation] will allow people to maybe look in their past where they’d have not been willing to look. One woman came up to me and said her mother was seventysomething and had been in tears. She said, “My mother talked about stuff she never talked to me about,” meaning that kind of [abuse]. Karen [O’Connor, the film’s co-director] would say, “Everybody’s got something.” And if you can identify your own or give them permission … that was one of the nice results that came from it.

What did you personally get out of having that out there publicly?
In some ways, I was relieved because I’d spent so much of my life with people thinking, “Oh, she’s so calm, so peaceful.” And no! It was helpful for me to show that I have some idea of the battles I went through and how utterly imperfect I am in every way.

People do see you as unruffled.
I do some serious ruffling on my own.

The film also explored your relationship with another woman, Kim Chappell, in the Sixties.
No one paid any attention to that [in the movie]. It’s old hat. We certainly weren’t going to say anything [in the Sixties]. We thought we were getting away with all this. Now, Jasmine has this friend of hers who just came out as bi, so everybody’s having parties. Back when Kim and I were together, you didn’t talk about it, but I think that it’s almost the opposite. You get to be part of clubs or LGBTQ and women’s rights. Now, it’s like points.

 

As the Trump administration moves forward, what do you see as your role in terms of activism?
I think my life will be defined now again by the state of this country in the world. I have encouraged people to not try and sit this one out. They have to go do something. How about showing up with a friend on a street corner wearing an “I’m an illegal immigrant” T-shirt? Don’t wait for 30,000 people to show up.

But I’ll tell you my dilemma. In the old days, when I briefly went to jail, they’d give you your meds, they have you make telephone calls. It wasn’t a heavy-duty prison, but a lockup. Now, if I’m in that position of civil disobedience, I have a problem encouraging people if I’m not going to go to jail with them. Like most people my age, I would be useless without the medication I take on a regular basis.

What advice do you typically find people ask you for?
It’s universal: “What can I do?” My answer is, find something that calls you that’s not going to be big-scale. The next time you hear yourself say, “I’m overwhelmed,” follow it with “and.” “I’m overwhelmed, and I need to do something.” Even “I’m scared to death, and I’m going to have a margarita.”

There’ll be little victories, and hang on to them and keep doing them, and we’ll see what develops. I really am an advocate of just keep doing it and don’t expect it to change the world. Just show your face now. Stand up. Show up.

Enjoying yourself has become an act of resistance. Action is the antidote to despair. We’re supposed to be cowering. I went to my granddaughter’s graduation in Miami, and I ended up dancing with drag queens. I thought, “OK, this is how we do it.” You get nuts. Drink a lot. I went to a strip club. That was my statement for the week. Dance with a big, lascivious drag queen and post it. It’s good trouble dancing with drag queens, because they want to abolish drag scenes. I’m sure [Trump would] like to abolish me, but I hope I will have earned that if it reaches that point.