The glacier was singing.

Northern Irish duo Bicep were on a trip to Greenland, and when the pair’s Andy Ferguson visited the country’s famous Russell Glacier, he says he found it to be “like an orchestra of noise. The squeals and crashes that the ice makes were truly otherworldly.”

While many of us will never get the chance to hear these sounds in person, this glacier and other voices of the Arctic, human and otherwise, are incorporated into the lauded electronic duo’s new collaborative project Takkuuk.

Taking its name from the Inuktitut word meaning to look closely, Takkuuk is an audiovisual installation from Bicep (Ferguson and Matt McBriar) visual artist Zak Norman and filmmaker Charlie Miller that delves into the lives, communities and challenges facing artists Indigenous to the Arctic region. After debuting in London earlier this month, the installation will travel to Australia, Europe, Greenland, the Middle East and South American into 2026. Fusing electronic music ranging from uptempo to ambient with elements of the natural world, the ten-track Takkuuk soundtrack is out Friday (July 25) via Ninja Tune.

The project started in 2023 when Bicep was invited on an exploratory trip to Greenland by non-profit In Place of War, which works to use art to bring attention to places impacted by war and climate change. In the Arctic, Bicep spent the two week trip meeting with locals, having conversations and touring communities to better understand how their habitats and lives are being affected by climate change, as warming temperatures accelerate the melting of ice sheets across the Arctic. The film also looks at the displacement and marginalization of communities in these regions.

“The very obvious and initial impression of Greenland was of a landscape that was truly beautiful, but visibly under threat from climate change,” says Ferguson. While issues related to climate change can feel broad, faraway and existential, Takkuuk puts names, faces, stories and sounds to them.

“Climate change is a human crisis that affects all of us,” Ferguson continues. “Whilst we need to see headlines, at the same time we need to understand the impact on a more human level, and how climate change creates a chain reaction that has a real life impact on local communities and culture.”

While in Greenland, Bicep also met with local artists while attending Greenland’s Arctic Sounds festival, which features artists from the region. The initial idea was to collaborate on original music with artists they met at the festival and potentially do a collaborative gig at the following year’s event.

But when everyone got on a call to talk about the project, says McBriar, “it became clear that the artists being able to tell their individual stories was incredibly important.”

And so the idea expanded to become an audiovisual project, in which Indigenous artists from across the Arctic would be filmed telling their stories in their respective homes. Ultimately, this group came to include ten Indigenous musicians including Greenlandic rapper Tarrak, who also delivered his own animal sound field recordings to the project, Greenlandic indie rock band Nuija and Sweden’s Katarina Barruk, who sings in the Ume Sámi language that’s currently spoken by only a handful native speakers. Filmed in Greenland, Sweden, Norway and Canada, Takkuuk features everything from metal to traditional throat singing.

Along with the music and individual stories, the film also captivates via sweeping, Planet Earth-style views of the remote Arctic, showing viewers the glory of this ecosystem and the human lives, communities and traditions at stake in its changing climate. The idea is for the project to inspire action, with the film’s online hub containing information on everything from how to switch banking and pension institutions to more climate-minded entities, how to switch to better energy suppliers, traveling more sustainably and inspiring youth.

In an genre that can be mind-numbingly focused on hedonistic escapism, this project by the beloved duo demonstrates electronic music’s power to direct attention to issues that matter.

“Art can help give a voice and also a different perspective that makes visualizing the problems more impactful,” says Ferguson. “This can also help to share the stories of those on the frontline of climate change and reach more people who can ultimately help make change happen.”

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For more than 25 years, WWE Friday Night SmackDown has been a weekend essential for pro wrestling fans around the world. While the TV show highlights the best and brightest in the WWE, it’s very likely there’s going to be a tribute to Hulk Hogan, who passed away on Thursday, July 24.

Born Terry Bollea, Hulk Hogan put the WWE (formerly WWF) on the map throughout the ’80s and early ’90s, as its premiere superstar. The WWE wouldn’t be what it is today without the Hulkster.

Want to watch WWE Friday Night SmackDown online? The WWE TV event airs live on Fridays on USA Network with a start time of 8 p.m. ET/PT, and there are plenty of streaming options that’ll allow you to catch all the action.

The legendary Hulk Hogan ❤️💛 pic.twitter.com/3daG7IDznf

— WWE (@WWE) July 24, 2025

Keep reading to learn how to watch WWE Friday Night SmackDown.

How to Watch WWE Friday Night SmackDown Online

For those with cable, you can watch the showdown for free on Fridays on USA Network starting at 8 p.m. ET/PT. Just make sure to check your provider’s channel guide to find what channel USA Network is on.

Don’t have cable? You might be able to watch the championship through an HD antenna, such as one of these from Amazon. If you don’t want to spend hundreds of dollars on cable, there are some free and affordable streaming options, DirecTV, which you can join now and take advantage of their promo. Right now, you can sign up for a 5-day free trial and get the first month of service for $59.99 ($89.99 per month afterwards).

Looking for more streaming options? Fubo and Hulu + Live TV offer free trials, which means you can watch the Friday night fight for free. You can subscribe to Sling Blue to get for up to half off for the first month of service.

Watching from outside the country? Make sure to use ExpressVPN and PureVPN to catch every moment live.

In the meantime, listen to Hulk Hogan’s entrance song, “Real American” by Rick Derringer and Bernard Kenny, below:

Want more? For more product recommendations, check out our roundups of the best Xbox deals, studio headphones and Nintendo Switch accessories.

Beyoncé’s Lemonade standout “Freedom,” featuring Kendrick Lamar, fuels the soundtrack for the thrilling trailer — which arrived on Thursday (July 24) — to Paul Thomas Anderson’s upcoming One Battle After Another.

Bey’s roaring anthem provides the score behind the action-packed scenes of the Vineland-inspired film, which is slated to hit theaters on Sept. 26.

Leonardo DiCaprio and Teyana Taylor star in the roles of ex-revolutionary vigilantes who are on the run from a white supremacist police officer played by Sean Penn. Chase Infiniti stars as DiCaprio’s daughter as she looks to revive the French 75. Other leading members of the cast include Benicio del Toro and Regina Hall. Essentially, the F75 group is looking to get the band back together as a former nemesis resurfaces.

Both Bey and Kendrick’s roaring vocals are included in the thrilling trailer for the film that serves as Paul Thomas Anderson’s first since 2021’s Licorice Pizza.

Appearing at CinemaCon in April, DiCaprio described the flick as “an incredibly epic movie [that] has such scope and scale. A lot of writer-directors are incredibly rigid, but [Anderson’s] ability to work with actors is so unique.”

Johnny Greenwood is on board as the film’s composer. The movie was shot in California with 35mm VistaVision cameras during the first half of 2024.

Produced by Just Blaze, the inspirational “Freedom” landed on Beyoncé’s 2016 Lemonade album and is her first collaboration with Lamar. The gospel rock-tinged track was also nominated for a Grammy Award and peaked at No. 35 on the Billboard Hot 100.

Watch the One Battle After Another trailer below.

Pandora isn’t required to fork over extra royalties for streaming comedy routines by Robin Williams, Lewis Black and others, according to a new report in a closely-watched lawsuit over how comedians are paid by digital platforms.

The report, made public on Tuesday (July 22), says the comedians gave Pandora an “implied license” to the spoken-word material in their sets — the jokes themselves — by allowing the company to stream sound recordings of their comedy shows for years without protest.

“All plaintiffs undisputedly knew for years that their routines were streaming on Pandora,” writes Suzanne H. Segal, a former federal magistrate judge appointed to weigh in on the case. “Nevertheless, for nearly a decade … they never objected.”

“Plaintiffs did not just sit idly by for years while Pandora used their routines,” Segal adds later in the report. “Several actively encouraged it, knowing they stood to reap substantial monetary and promotional benefits.”

The new report is not a final decision, and lawyers for the comics are already challenging it. In court filings, they say Segal’s report should be rejected because she clearly misinterpreted case law and got key questions wrong.

An attorney for the comedians and a spokesperson for Pandora parent SiriusXM both declined to comment on the new report.

While not final, Wednesday’s report is a key development in a closely-watched legal dispute over how comedians are paid by streaming services. That’s a crucial question as social media, podcasts and Netflix have pushed comedy to boom in popularity over the past decade.

The stakes are big, but the issue is technical. When it comes to music, streamers like Pandora pay for both the sound recording (masters) and the underlying written music (publishing). But for comedy sets, they’ve historically only paid for the recordings, and not for the underlying spoken words that are captured on the tape.

Some comedians want that to change. In 2021, pushed by new rights groups like Word Collections and Spoken Giants, some comics started demanding that streaming services pay the equivalent of publishing royalties for their sets, prompting Spotify to pull down comedy records from Kevin Hart, Tiffany Haddish and hundreds of others.

Months later, a slew of comics filed lawsuits against Pandora, claiming the company was infringing copyrights by failing to pay those additional licensing fees. The cases, filed by Williams’ estate, Bill Engvall, Andrew Dice Clay, Nick Di Paolo, George Lopez and others, alleged that the streamer knew it needed to pay for spoken-word content and had simply chosen not to do so.

But in Tuesday’s report, Segal thoroughly rejects those claims. She cites repeated testimony from the comics themselves that they knew their routines were being streamed on Pandora, received payment for them under the existing record licenses, and never objected to that arrangement. In fact, she says they sometimes encouraged it.

“On November 18, 2020, Bill Engvall … shared a post from Pandora congratulating him on six hundred million Pandora streams to thank his fans for the support,” Segal writes. “On September 22, 2020, plaintiff Black’s official Facebook page promoted his album [by] stating it was ‘streaming exclusively on Pandora right now!’”

The report also says that several comics testified that they intended to “convey” all rights necessary for their record companies to sell their sets to streamers — meaning Pandora’s payments to those companies should have covered any additional spoken-word licenses.

According to the report, such conduct either granted Pandora the “implied” license to stream the sets or represents the kind of unreasonable delay that triggers “equitable estoppel” — a legal doctrine that bars someone from taking contradictory positions.

“Plaintiffs did more than remain silent for years, but instead expressly encouraged Pandora to stream their routines,” Segal writes regarding estoppel. “Pandora detrimentally relied on plaintiffs’ prolonged silence, believing that plaintiffs agreed to streaming the routines, only to face this litigation long after the streaming began.”

Segal is a “special master” — a neutral arbiter appointed by judges in some complex cases to handle certain elements of litigation. Her report is not a final ruling, and must be adopted by the judge himself before it carries any official weight. But such reports are influential, and judges often follow the recommendations.

Even before the report was made public, the comedians were already urging Judge Mark C. Scarsi to reject it. In a detailed opposition filing, attorney Richard Busch argues that Segal’s report had ignored key evidence, misapplied legal precedents and created an unworkable approach.

“Taken to its logical conclusion, the position adopted in the report would mean a statutory payment for one copyright from any source could create an implied license on a completely different and separate unlicensed copyright,” Busch writes.

Attorneys for Pandora will file their own brief in the weeks ahead, arguing that the report should be adopted by the judge. In his eventual final ruling, the judge could ultimately adopt portions of the report and reject others.

For Cape Verdean artist June Freedom, island time isn’t a state of being – it’s a way of living.

Born in Boston, Mass., Freedom (real name Pedro Fontes Veiga Jr.) moved to the motherland when he was three and grew up listening to traditional Cape Verdean music like the sentimental morna and the polyrhythmic batuku, which still makes up his musical diet because it “brings me back to a place of peace and solitude, especially when I want to decompress, relax and align myself for the day,” he tells Billboard.

His mother opened a restaurant when he was 12 where live bands performed every weekend. After he started performing with a live band, Freedom says the government would send him to different islands to represent Cape Verde in small musical competitions called todo mundo canta. “But when I moved to the US [at age 15], I wanted to figure out who I am as an artist,” he recalls.

He released a handful of kizomba songs by the time he was 16, performing them in small clubs in Rhode Island under the stage name JR. Later, he moved to New York and began busking in the subway stations with an older Brazilian man “who taught me some things on the guitar and how to project [my voice]. I took 10 years to really figure out my sound,” says Freedom, whose cousin noticed his Freedom guitar case. “‘Yo, fam, you be free when you pick up that shit. You June Freedom,’” he recalls his cousin saying. “June is short for ‘Junior.’ And I happen to be born in June. That wasn’t meant to happen, but it did.”

He’s since crafted and perfected his sonic concoction that he describes as Afro-fusion. Freedom bottles up breezy Lusophone melodies, buoyant African percussion and suave, laid-back lyricism sung in English, Portuguese, Spanish and Kriole — which is Cape Verdean Creole — that’s served best “by the ocean [while] drinking sangria, an Aperol spritz or a margarita with some line,” he explains. And for his latest album, that seaside ambience is an absolute must.

While his mother’s restaurant set up the earliest stages of his career, Freedom’s grandfather’s general store, called Casa Mira Mar, reminded him of where he wanted to take the music next. After concluding his European voyage for his previous album 7 Seas last year, Freedom found himself home again, and returning to his grandfather’s house during that trip opened the floodgates of “the nostalgia of what that felt like for me when I used to live with him. Everything just felt so free and earthy. That’s what the album represents for me,” he explains. On Casa Mira Mar, Freedom dips his toes in traditional and contemporary rhythms, heartfelt moods and foreign tongues that can touch any corner of the world while still bringing the journey back home to São Filipe on the Fogo Island in Cape Verde.

Billboard spoke with July’s African Rookie of the Month about collaborating with one of his concertgoers on Casa Mira Mar, representing Cape Verde in Portugal during his recent Afro Nation festival set, and the story he has to tell Usher about his “Yeah!” high school talent show performance the next time they link in the studio.

When did you know music was your calling?

My mom opened up a restaurant in 2000 and every weekend, there was a live band. I would always hear traditional Cape Verdean music. After a while, I started performing with a live band. At the age of 12, is when it became not just a passion. I was really adamant that that’s what I wanted to do for the rest of my life.

What is traditional Cape Verdean music?

There are a couple of genres. One is morna, another one’s coladeira. Funaná, txabeta, batuku. Our interpretation of kizomba. I can give you some examples of artists that you should listen to on your slow mornings. You should listen to Mayra Andrade, Cesária Évora, Tito Paris, Bana. Sara Tavares — she’s the Bob Marley of Cape Verde. These are some artists from Cape Verde that I grew up with in my household.  

Outside of Cape Verdean music, what other kinds of music did you listen to early on?

I moved to Boston and the culture was hip-hop, R&B, pop radio. That was a transition for me. I would always get referenced as Prince, like, “Oh, you kind of look like Prince.” I’m like, “Who the f—k is Prince?” I didn’t know who Prince was until I moved back to America. That’s when I started getting into rock ‘n’ roll, and studying what James Brown and Prince did.

At one point in my career, I was doing a lot of covers. I learned how to play guitar in the train stations in New York, busking with my older Brazilian friend who taught me how to project [my voice]. I took 10 years to really figure out my sound and play guitar and listen to other genres before I even did my own stuff.

Outside of Prince and James Brown, which other artists stood out to you during that time?

Jimi Hendrix, Green Day, Usher. The Confessions era was fresh when I came. R&B has heavily influenced my music now because of that era. Even at my talent show in high school, I remember doing “Yeah!” N—a threw me across the f—king room, I did a backflip off someone’s hand and I hit the talent sign. [Laughs.] I dead ass thought I was Usher Raymond, no cap. I should have told him that when I got in the studio with him. I was working on this camp when I was doing some writing s–t in L.A. for some time. We were vibing and shit, it was him and his son.

Like the fluidity and hybridity of your music, you constantly flit between singing in English, Portuguese, Spanish and Kriolu. In what order did you learn each language?

I learned Creole first at home with family. In school, they taught me a little Portuguese, but when I moved back to the U.S., I kind of lost the Portuguese. Obviously, Creole stuck with me because it was what I spoke at home. I went to high school and picked up English. And Spanish is really close to Portuguese, so that’s how we picked up the language.

Which language is the most natural for you to sing in?

English first, Creole second, then Portuguese and Spanish.

Casa Mira Mar translates to “house with an ocean view” in Spanish. Why did you want to name your album that?

My grandfather was one of the few merchants on the island to have basic goods for the people. He lived many places on the island, but where he had that store specifically was in the center of the city called Bila [Baxo] in São Filipe. The neighborhood that he had the store in was the central pit stop for all the taxis and vans. They would do all the shopping there before they go to the countryside of the town.

My grandfather’s store was called Casa Mira Mar. He had a really nice ocean view in front of him. You could see the ocean, you could even see another island across. For me, it’s the nostalgia of what that felt like for me when I used to live with him. Everything just felt so free and earthy. That’s what the album represents for me.

Tell me more about the making of Casa Mira Mar.

After my 10-city tour in Europe for 7 Seas, I went to Rotterdam to meet my producers [Eric José da Cruz and Ergin Dundar] and I said, “Yo, I’m depleted, I need some rest. Let’s do a couple of records and put it out as an EP.” That’s how it started. And then I went to Cape Verde, I went to my grandfather’s house. It was a place that balanced my whole spirit out. I was like, “If I’m going to do a tape, I’m going to come from this place and what this feels like.”

I went back to Rotterdam. I didn’t feel like the EP was concise, it didn’t feel like a full project, and that’s how we built the whole album. It went from six to 12 songs. It took almost two years because I took my time with how everything needed to flow, from the production, from the texture of the drums.

Where did you discover the featured artists on Casa Mira Mar? And why did you want to include all of them on this project?

A lot of these artists happened to be in Rotterdam. SABRI happened to be in Rotterdam. My producer knew who she was. He’s like, “Yo, she’s signed to EMPIRE.” [He] called her, [SABRI] came to the studio. Nana Fofie happens to live in Rotterdam, pulled up to the studio. Another friend ÉLLÀH on “Fé” happened to be in Lison, and she was going to the Netherlands a week later. I was like, “Yo, I’m in the studio.” [She] pulled up, waxed it. Things just happened because they happened to be in town.

Actually, Lua de Santana, the girl that’s on “Dorama,” she went to my show in Spain. She’s a sweet girl. [She] came up to me and said, “Yo, really nice set.” I was like, “Yo, thank you.” We vibed. My whole crew went to grab some ramen after, and she came. She didn’t tell me she was an artist. We followed each other [on Instagram]. Six months later, I’m seeing this snippet on her stories and I’m like, “Yo, this song is fire. Who is it? Can you recommend me the artist?” She’s like, “Yeah, it’s me.” I’m like, “Yo, what?!” [I] sent her a song and that’s how it came about. She was just a supporter that came to my show and ended up being on my album.  

Who would you love to collaborate with this year?

I love Tems. Tems is a big influence on the sound that I like. I love Amaarae as well, Ayra Starr. Those are some in the Afro space. From the Spanish market, Bad Bunny, because that’s my bro in arms. Other than that, a lot of Cape Verdean acts like Dino [d’Santiago]. I want to work with him again. Mayra Andrade, definitely, and some local folks. And Sabrina Claudio.

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What was your favorite moment from performing at Afro Nation Portugal earlier this month?

Bringing my people from back home, bringing indigenous folk to play some shit with me. That was vibes. I brought up this little instrument called the ferrinho. And we did a batuku and funaná breakdown to represent the nation.

Where’s your favorite place you’ve ever performed at, and why?

The 7 Seas Tour was the coziest thing. London was energetic, so much love. Paris was great. Berlin was crazy. Lisbon was also amazing because I brought all my guest acts from my country with me. But I’mma be real, Paris has such a warm energy. N—as was sweating bullets. It was an hour and 30 minutes of n—as sweating. I couldn’t go to sleep because I had so much adrenaline.

What’s been the biggest “pinch me” moment of your career so far?

The reactions I get every day from people coming up to me and telling me how my music impacts them or changes their mood. This super pregnant girl in Brooklyn came up to me and was like, “Your music is one of the only things that could pacify my kid in my stomach.”   

When you mentioned a pregnant woman came up to you, I thought she was going to say, “I’m pregnant because of your music.”

[Laughs] Very likely. That’s definitely happened before if not quite often. It does set the mood.

What’s next for June Freedom in 2025?

I’m already working on a couple different EPs, bundles with the DJs, and tapping into different genres and types of sounds. [I’m] going on the road again and performing songs from this new album.