As he releases a tell-all book, the Punk magazine founder and self-described ‘fuck-up’ holds forth on 1970s excess, the American roots of punk and why the Beatles are ‘stupid’

Legs McNeil vividly remembers the reaction he got from the original CBGB bands in 1975 when they heard the name of the magazine he co-founded: Punk, the first publication ever dedicated to the form. “Absolutely no one wanted to be called a punk back then,” he said. “Not even the Ramones. Johnny Ramone demanded that we cross out every reference to punk in an article about them.”

Flash forward a few years and, “suddenly everybody wanted to be called a punk!” McNeil said. “The Ramones started running around telling everyone, ‘you know, we were the first punk band!’”

The annual rundown of Guardian writers picking their most played tracks of the season goes from club-ready pop to sunny tech house

• Check out a Spotify playlist of the choices

Kim Petras’ greatest song to date is also the best outsider country song in recent memory: if Ethel Cain and Lana Del Rey could ever put the beef behind them and duet, the dusty gutter romance of Jeep is exactly how you’d want it to sound. The song creates a flyover state love story in a strangely effective union of hyperpop and Americana, creating a windswept fantasy of “doing some middle America shit” with your man: Four Loko-fueled hookups, gas station canoodling and screaming along to rage music beneath the stars. The truly audacious thing is the bridge, a whispered and impressionistic slur that feels like Petras is eight drinks deep, doing donuts in her car until everything blurs. It’s total make-believe, but Petras is so good at making you feel her longing that it gets me choked up. When she recently came out at a Charli xcx show to perform Jeep unannounced, it already felt like an anthem. Owen Myers

She was a sex-positive star in the 80s and 90s who became an ‘accidental activist’ and her life is explored in a HBO documentary produced by Sarah Jessica Parker

Robin Byrd has no doubt about where the archive of her life should end up. “I think it should be in the Smithsonian,” she said. “I like to think big.”

But is such thinking “big” or just plain daft? After all, we’re talking about Robin Byrd, the self-described “orgy queen” who’s best known for promoting the work of strippers and porn stars on the no-budget, public access TV show she ran in the 80s and 90s that looked like it was shot by someone on mushrooms who was suffering from an advanced case of glaucoma.

A new documentary focuses on the hugely successful musician whose life was punctuated by tragedy

Late in the afternoon on 29 October 1971, one of the world’s greatest guitarists, Duane Allman, was riding his motorcycle when he swerved to avoid colliding with a flatbed truck that suddenly stopped short in an intersection. He wound up slamming into the back of the truck with such force, it threw him under his bike which skidded and dragged him for 50 ruinous feet. Suffering a collapsed chest, a ruptured coronary artery and a damaged liver, Allman was pronounced dead three hours later. He was 24.

Four decades after that tragic event, when journalist Alan Light was hanging out with Gregg Allman to ghostwrite the musician’s memoir, titled My Cross to Bear, he couldn’t help but notice how present Duane remained in his life. “In Gregg’s house, he was surrounded by photos of Duane, notes from Duane and music from Duane,” Light said. “It was obvious that he was still very much a part of Gregg’s day-to-day existence. The sadness and loss never left him.”

As the musician and producer reaches 82, a new documentary reveals his life working with everyone from James Taylor to Carole King to Paul McCartney

Peter Asher didn’t want to do this interview. He had the same reaction several years ago when directors Dayna Goldfine and Dan Geller approached him about making a documentary about his life and career. “I don’t think so,” he recalled telling them in our interview, which wound up taking place only after several entreaties from the film’s publicist that he do this one sit-down. “My life has been startlingly devoid of the standard rock’n’roll drug-and-sex dramas,” Asher said. “So I thought a documentary about me isn’t something people will want to see. It sounds boring.”

On the contrary, Asher’s story stands among the most dramatic and consequential in music history, spurred by achievements that shifted the course of pop more than once. Through Asher’s pivotal role in the lives of stars like James Taylor and Carole King, he played a key role in instigating the soft revolution that allowed singer-songwriters to dominate the charts in the 70s. He’s also partly responsible for the so-called “LA sound”, epitomized by the pristine albums he produced for stars like Taylor and Linda Ronstadt. At the same time, he raised the profile of the studio musicians he employed so dramatically, affecting how average listeners understood and appreciated the instruments they heard on the albums they loved. Small wonder the documentary on his life is titled Everywhere Man.

In an honest new memoir, the musician opens up about being closeted in country, sexual assault, and finding love in his 60s

On 14 June 1995, the Nashville singer Ty Herndon was riding high with a No 1 single on the country charts and an album hurtling towards gold status when he was arrested on charges that could have killed his career in an instant. At 10am, he pulled into a gas station in Texas, right across the street from a park well-known for gay cruising and hookups. Amped by a hit of meth amphetamine, Herndon strolled into a glade where he soon met a guy he later described as “movie-star handsome”. The stranger began stroking his own crotch, then reached for Herndon’s. But when the singer unzipped his fly, the man, an undercover cop, said, “This ain’t your day, cowboy,” leading to the star’s arrest on charges from drug possession to indecent exposure.

While news of the incident traveled fast – aided in no small part by the police alerting the media – Herndon’s record company swung into parallel action. They cooked up a massive PR strategy that painted the singer as victim of drug use while feeding the media a series of lies to explain away the sex. “The drugs could be forgiven,” Herndon says during a Zoom interview the other day from his Nashville home. “Being gay definitely could not.”

The singular director has made a second film about the King of Rock’n’roll and this time audiences will get to see a side of him they’ve never seen before

In the spring of 1972, a film crew trailed Elvis Presley everywhere he went to capture a pivotal moment in his career – his first tour in nearly a decade. Ironically, one of the most crucial things that happened during that project occurred way off camera. “We really wanted to get an interview with Elvis on film,” said Jerry Schilling, a confidant and employee of the King who at that time was working for the company behind the movie. “But he was tired when we were going to do it and for whatever reason we never wound up getting anything on camera.”

They did, however, get Presley to talk casually on tape for about 40 minutes, during which he said things he never put on record before. That was enough to raise concerns for his notoriously censorious manager, Colonel Tom Parker, who insured that little of that talk saw the light of day during his lifetime.

In harrowing documentary My Underground Mother, a woman finds out what really happened to her mother in the war

When journalist Marisa Fox was a young girl, her mother would regale her with stories of her own youth, all of which roiled with drama and consequence. When she was a 13-year-old girl living in Poland in the late 1930s, on the brink of the Nazi occupation, her mother told her she was pulled away from her mother and put on a boat to Palestine where she spent the rest of the second world war. As a teenager in that country, she said she became part of a radical Jewish underground group for whom she acted as a spy and a saboteur, smuggling bombs and guns which they used against the British army who ran the country at the time and who they very much wanted to force out. “I was a hero,” her mother would often boast, “never a victim.”

Stories like those both dazzled and horrified the young Fox, but by the time she was nine she began to realize that certain parts of the tale didn’t add up. “I would say to her: ‘Wait a minute, if you were born in 1935 and [the second world war] started in 1939, you would have been four, not 13,’” Fox said. “Whenever I would say that, she would say: ‘No more questions.’”

From a folk murder ballad to an impassioned call for peace, Guardian writers pick their favourite lesser-heard tracks of the year

• The pick of 2025’s film, music, art, TV, stage and games, chosen by Guardian critics and writers

There is a sense of deep knowing and calm to Not Offended, the lone song released this year by the Danish-Montenegrin musician (also an earlier graduate of the Copenhagen music school currently producing every interesting alternative pop star). To warmly droning organ that hangs like the last streak of sunlight above a darkening horizon, Milovic assures someone that they haven’t offended her – but her steady Teutonic tenderness, reminiscent of Molly Nilsson or Sophia Kennedy, suggests that their actions weren’t provocative so much as evasive. Strings flutter tentatively as she addresses this person who can’t look life in the eye right now. “I see you clearly,” Milovic sings, as the drums kick in and the strings become full-blooded: a reminder of the ease that letting go can offer. Laura Snapes

As the classic album hits 50, Nick Mason talks about the often difficult process of making it and how it has since fit into their larger catalogue

By almost every measure, from commercial reward to creative reach, Pink Floyd scaled its peak on Dark Side of the Moon. But, when I asked drummer Nick Mason how he would rank the album in their catalogue, he slotted it below the set that came next, Wish You Were Here. Speaking of Dark Side, he said, “the idea of it is almost more attractive than the individual songs on it. I feel slightly the same about Sgt. Pepper. It’s an amazing album that taught us a hell of a lot, but the individual parts are not quite as exciting, or as good, as some of the other Beatles’ albums.”

By contrast, he says of Wish You Were Here, “there’s something in the general atmosphere it generates – the space of it, the air around it, that’s really special,” he said. “It’s one of the reasons I view it so affectionately.”

The musician, who wrote My Way and Puppy Love among others, talks career longevity, shrewd business and which star bullied him in his youth

In 1956, when Paul Anka was 15 years old, he idolized Chuck Berry. So, when the star came to play his home town of Ottawa, Canada, the ambitious kid made sure to sneak backstage with his guitar to play him a song he’d just written. “I started singing Diana to Chuck Berry when, suddenly, he stops me and says, ‘That’s the worst song I’ve ever heard in my life, go back to school.’”

Rather than slink away from such a pronouncement, however, Anka used it as a spur. “Revenge is a motivator like you won’t believe,” the 84-year-old star said with an eruptive laugh the other day. “I said to myself, ‘I’m going to show him.’ That attitude has prevailed for me through my entire life.”