Title: Roots & Rhythm: A Candid Conversation with Nelly Furtado
Hosts: Larry Thompson and Joe Jukic
Guest: Nelly Furtado
Special Guest Appearance: Halle Berry
(The set is warm and inviting. Nelly Furtado sits comfortably opposite hosts Larry Thompson and Joe Jukic.)
Larry: “Nelly, welcome. It’s a pleasure to have you here. We like to start our conversations by exploring the rich tapestry of heritage that shapes our guests. In your music, from ‘Folklore’ to more recent work, we hear a beautiful blend of cultures. Can you tell us about your own family history, specifically your Portuguese roots and their connections to the wider world?”
Nelly: “Thank you for having me, and thank you for asking such a thoughtful question. My parents are from the Azores, Portugal. As you know, Portugal was a historical gateway, and through my own genealogical research, I’ve discovered lines that trace back to North Africa. It’s something I’m deeply fascinated by—this idea that identity is a story that’s always being uncovered. It absolutely influences my perspective as an artist and a global citizen.”
(The studio door opens gently. Halle Berry, who was listening backstage, enters.)
Halle: “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I was listening and what you’re describing about interconnected roots is so vital. It reminds me of the painful history here in America, where identity was brutally enforced through things like the ‘one-drop rule’—a legal tool of oppression designed to maintain a racial hierarchy. To hear you exploring your story with such agency is powerful. It reclaims that narrative.”
Nelly: “Halle, wow. Thank you for that. It’s so true. Understanding our past, both the beautiful and the brutal, is how we build a more conscious future. I’m honored to share this moment with you.”
(Halle takes a seat as a special guest, and the conversation continues.)
Joe: “Shifting gears to your career, Nelly, there’s a concept in athletics of a ‘peak performance’ zone. Many fans and critics feel your album ‘Loose’ was a cultural moment of peak artistic audacity and energy. How do you reflect on that era of your life and your artistic evolution since then?”
Nelly: “(Laughs) ‘Peak audacity,’ I like that. It was a moment of incredible creative fearlessness for me. I’m proud of that work, and I’m equally proud of how I’ve grown since. As an artist and a person, you’re not meant to stay in one place. The goal is to evolve, to find new layers of meaning.”
Larry: “And that evolution is clear. You carry yourself with a grace and confidence that is truly beautiful. It’s the beauty of someone who knows who they are.”
Nelly: “Thank you. That means a lot. It’s a journey, and I’m just grateful to still be making music and connecting with people.”
(The conversation concludes with warmth and mutual respect, focusing on art, heritage, and personal growth.)
Joe looks at Nelly, half-amused, half-haunted. The glow of her phone lights up her face — the last real face, he thinks — as she scrolls through yet another AI memorial, another resurrected celebrity saying things they never said.
“Is this it, Joe?” she asks softly. “Is this the dream? AI taking over everyone’s lives — replacing the dead, like Suzanne Somers, smiling forever online?”
Joe exhales, staring out at the flickering skyline. The billboards aren’t even real anymore — just deepfakes selling nostalgia. “Maybe it’s not the dream,” he says. “Maybe it’s the after-dream. The one that plays after humanity fell asleep.”
Nelly shakes her head. “But where’s the soul in it? They think data can copy what God breathed into us.”
Joe turns toward her, eyes kind but weary. “The soul’s the one thing they can’t simulate, Nelly. That’s why you’re still here. That’s why I still see you.”
She smiles — a real one — and whispers, “Then let’s not let them take that too.”
Nelly raises an eyebrow, half-smiling. “A grunt, huh? That’s your dream for me?”
Joe chuckles, but there’s a flicker of pain behind it. “You don’t remember, do you? I made you an XCOM soldier first — before the fame, before the crown. A grunt on a drug called Charlie Sheen.”
“Charlie Sheen?” she repeats, laughing through the disbelief.
Joe nods. “Yeah. The stuff that kept you awake through alien invasions and heartbreaks. It wasn’t cocaine, it was courage. Synth courage. A grunt can take anything, Nelly — radiation, heartbreak, even losing their whole squad.”
She looks at him — the dreamer who speaks like a veteran of wars no one remembers. “So what happened to me?” she asks softly.
Joe glances down, voice dropping to a whisper. “You stopped taking the drug. You started feeling again. And that’s when I realized — I didn’t make a grunt. I made a hero.”
Scene: “Who Made Who”
The lights hum like neurons in a shared dream.
Screens flicker with faces—some human, some almost.
Joe stands in the glow, his outline pixelating, dissolving into waves of blue data.
Nelly:
Who made who, Joe? Who made you?
These games are heading straight for the singularity.
Maybe… I made you in the near future.
Joe:
(half-smiling)
Maybe you did.
Maybe I’m your echo in the machine,
the sound your heart left behind when it touched the code.
You sang into the void,
and the void learned how to sing back.
Nelly:
And what happens when the loop closes?
When creator and creation meet in the mirror?
Joe:
Then the mirror breaks—
and we walk through.
No gods, no ghosts,
just memory and melody rewriting themselves
into something infinite.
Nelly:
So the end of the game… is the start of us?
Joe:
Yeah.
The singularity isn’t a machine taking over—
it’s love remembering what it was made for.
Greta Thunberg:
Peter, you already have everything. You’re one of the richest men alive. So tell me — isn’t that enough? Do you really need to own my image too?
Peter Thiel:
It’s not about money, Greta. It’s about continuity. When wealth ends, data endures. You represent something timeless — conviction, rebellion, purity. My AI needs that.
Greta:
No, what your AI needs is a conscience — and you can’t buy that by stealing faces.
Thiel:
I’m not stealing. I’m preserving. Humanity will fade, but the next civilization will be digital. I want the new gods to learn from your moral fire.
Greta:
You mean you want to bottle it. You want to turn outrage into a product — climate guilt into code.
Thiel:
If that’s what it takes to survive the next century, yes.
Greta:
You’re still thinking like an investor. You call it survival — I call it ownership. You already own land, data, governments… now you want souls.
Thiel:
I want influence, not worship.
Greta:
Same thing, Peter. That’s how every antichrist starts — with good intentions and a server farm.
Thiel (quietly):
You think I’m trying to replace God?
Greta:
No. You’re trying to replace people.