As a child, I was always terrified of Grace Jones. She was this demented collection of legs, cheekbones and thousand-yard stares, and she came with a fearsome reputation for being, basically, madder than a barrel of monkeys.
For more than 30 years, Grace Jones has been pushing the boundaries of music and performance. Now The Vinyl Factory is hosting her first art exhibition in London – a striking collaboration with light artist Chris Levine
One Fatwa, an assassination attempt and a, ahem, string of photogenic girlfriends: Salman Rushdie is no stranger to attention.
Ben Bradshaw has always struck Pandora as a bit of a smooth mover. No surprise, then, to hear news of the Culture Secretary at last weekend's Latitude Festival in Suffolk ("the thinking man's Glastonbury," according to our man in wellies) doing what could be described as a "Bez" at the corner of the main stage – shaking his hips and shedding layers of clothes to the rhythmic pounding of Grace Jones' performance. Can it be true?
She's belted Russell Harty, beaten James Bond and brought the house down with her fashion sense. Now the inimitable Grace Jones is back at Meltdown. Andy Gill takes cover