Bowers & Wilkins is that marquee name that commands respect in the audiophile world. Their speakers? Unimpeachable. Their headphones? One of the high bars in sonic excellence. With the Pi8, the brand is going for another round with a pair of true wireless earbuds... and what do you know, I think they finally cracked it.
(We don't know what David Beckham has to do with the Pi8. Guess he's the ambassador for Bowers & Wilkins. We are just using this image to appease the SEO gods. Did it work? Let us know!)
(JK, don't.)
The Pi8 is the successor of the Pi7, which was greatly lauded at the time of its launch. So, how do you improve on that? Well, Bowers & Wilkins wasn't satisfied with how the Pi7 fitted so they rejig the structure, moving the mics and antennas about, making it smaller. Even the case that it comes in, it's slimmer and sleeker than its predecessor—the matte finish, the metal accents, the weight in your palm—it just whispers luxury.
Then there’s the sound. Dual hybrid drive units push out audio so rich, you can hear the air between notes. It can be a little bassy but overall the mids and highs kept it crisp, where I could hear the notes clearly and distinct. It’s the kind of sound profile that makes you want to dig through your music catalogue to hear what you’ve been missing.
The ANC (Active Noise Cancellation) is still impressive if not more. Not only does it hush out the world like that matronly librarian of yore, when its in transparency mode, it also lets the world in so naturally that you forget you’re wearing them.
Battery life? Five hours per charge and 16 more from the case. Not class-leading, but respectable. Wireless charging and fast-charging sweeten the deal. Bluetooth 5.2 keeps connections rock-solid, though multi-device pairing would have been a nice touch.
The Pi8 is pricey but you're paying for quality. And from what we are already hearing, it's not a bad price to pay for.
Get your Bowers & Wilkins Pi8 True Wireless Earbuds from TC Acoustic
Kids talk about “rizz”—you wanna know who’s got “rizz”, fo’ shizz? David Robert Joseph Beckham OBE, that’s who. I interviewed him one-on-one about 20 years ago and still cite his as the best meet’n’greeting I’ve ever experienced. Man’s got the perfect handshake—not too firm, not too soft, perfect number of
pumps (three), eye contact, says your name, makes you feel like the only person on Earth, just for that fleeting moment. Rizzzzz, baby.
In November, I attended a series of events and spirited discussions at Marina Bay Sands, celebrating the unveiling of the integrated resort’s sleek new brand identity and plush Paiza suites. Longtime MBS ambassador Becks was in the house, looking resplendent in an aptly sand-coloured Boss suit while taking part in a talk onstage at the Sands Theatre.
Influencers from around the region lined the front row, immaculately attired in monochrome designer garments, their photographic assistants capturing shots of these manicured gentlemen and sculpted ladies pouting and preening, with Becks positioned strategically in the background.
Influencing is all about the individual—well, apart from the need for a professional photographer partner (selfies simply won’t cut it for the top-tier KOL). But during his interview, Beckham again and again referenced the importance of teamwork in making the dream work.
“At Manchester United, Sir Alex Ferguson always used to bring good players in but he would never go and get the greatest player in the world, because it was about the team. It was about who’s going to fit in at Manchester United—that’s what it’s all about.”
Beckham said he’d made similar remarks during inspirational addresses to people who work at MBS. “I’ve always said (to them), it’s all about the team. Because, you know, sometimes I’ve gone into games and not had my best performance but I know my teammate is there to protect me and look after me and support me.”
In business, Beckham reckoned, it’s the same situation. “It’s not always going to be the perfect day, there’s going to be challenges,” he said. However, if you can rely on the team around you, you’ll still hit (or perhaps more accurately, score) your goals. To wit, the former English captain and six-time Premier League titleholder with Man U said he truly admires everything the team at MBS has achieved.
“It’s incredible what Marina Bay Sands has done,” he said. “I’m very proud to have been part of this for 11 years, and I hope it continues and continues because I love Singapore, I love being around this building… for many reasons, but one of the biggest reasons is the people that work here.”
Beyond the personnel, Becks said the other major attraction at MBS, for him, is the culinary offering. One restaurant in particular tickles his fancy. “I would have to say I’m a big foodie and I think the food here in Singapore in general is incredible but obviously in this building I love, I LOVE chef Tetsuya—so I always go to Waku Ghin, that’s one of my favourites, and I hope I get to visit there before I leave.”
Your columnist shares Goldenballs’ affection for Chef Tetsuya. Showing my age here—I’m exactly the same vintage as Beckham, in fact—but my multi-course degustation dining deflowering took place nearly 30 years ago, at the first restaurant Tetsuya opened, situated in a humble terrace house (what Singaporeans might call a shophouse) in the then-scrappy Sydney neighbourhood of Rozelle.
It was a meal I’ll never forget. For some reason, a mid-course palate-cleanser of tomato sorbet particularly sticks in my mind—like Proust’s madeleine, only cold and tangy. (Handy hint: When asked, “If you were a flavour of ice-cream, which one would it be?” My man, tomato sorbet is an excellent answer. Because you’re unique, refreshing, unexpected, and not to everyone’s tastes, right?)
Can’t disagree with Becks that Waku Ghin is one of the best restaurants in this city, though with dinner there easily costing a grand-plus for two pax, it’s not somewhere a mild-mannered reporter like yours truly can afford to patronise terribly regularly. I do, however, frequently stop by for a cocktail at the bar. The mixology there is meticulous—note, dear reader, that this is where Jigger & Pony main man Aki Eguchi first made his mark in Singapore and though Aki long ago moved on, the cocktails remain impeccably crafted.
They’re also very reasonably priced, on par or less than the drinks at most of Singapore’s inclusions on Asia’s 50 Best Bars (a list upon which Waku Ghin bizarrely does not feature). My favourite tipple, which has been on the menu since Aki’s day, is the Ghin Martini. I love it not only for the dad joke pun but for its purity—and the exotic, lip-smacking secret ingredient.
The cocktail is made with frozen Beefeater 24 gin and Mancino vermouth, stirred not shaken, and poured into a chilled martini glass. Nothing terribly extraordinary there. But what sets this deceptively simple drink apart is its garnish: instead of an olive, Waku Ghin uses a truffled dwarf peach. About the size of a large olive and roughly the same texture and appearance, the flavour of this little morsel is truly something else.
Yet it proves that it’s not necessarily the booze going into a cocktail that makes it a bit special. Garnish is normally an afterthought but with a hospitality pro like Tetsuya, it can be the crowning glory—if not very literally the cherry on top. “One thing that remains consistent across all my restaurants is the respect we have for high quality and fresh produce,” he told me.
Like his friend Mister Beckham, Tetsuya places inestimable value on the individuals he brings onto his team. “The most important attribute I look out for in new hires is the love for people and food,” he said. “Skills can be taught and knowledge can be imparted, but the innate love for people is the driving force for us to serve and improve.”
It’s team spirit that is key to a successful restaurant—or any business, really. “We want our guests to return time and again, knowing that we can deliver to their expectations,” Tetsuya said. “And achieving this consistency requires dedication, time, focus, and the combined efforts of the entire team.” Clearly, David Beckham recognises a kindred spirit—with similar goooooooals.
The release of Beckham, Netflix’s four-part documentary chronicling the rise of English football’s most famous son. Directed by Succession and Short Circuit actor Fisher Stevens and assembled by Beckham's own production company, it promises “never-before-seen” footage of the former England captain’s career and family life. No mean feat for a man who has taken us behind the Brylcreemed curtains from the very beginning.
Ours was a full-blown national obsession that transcended sport and social strata, whipped up by a consummate self-promoter with a face for billboards. In the eight transformative years that followed his wonder goal at Selhurst Park in 1996—the ones that took him from a house-share in Salford to a mega mansion in Madrid—David Beckham released three autobiographies: My Story, My World, and My Side.
They were best-sellers, supplemented by three access-some-areas documentaries—David Beckham: Football Superstar (1997), The Real David Beckham (2000) and The Real Beckhams (2002)—as well as countless interviews in magazines and newspapers and TV studios.
All but one of the aforementioned documentaries promised the kind of candour and intimacy that you very rarely receive—or arguably even deserve—from a star of his wattage. They occasionally deliver on it. Watching them all back is an exercise in squaring his supposedly shy, solitary, family-first persona with a relentless pursuit of global fame. The clothes are fun, too.
In Beckham, the latest "definitive" effort, we're watching a man bask in the glow of his own legacy, often mere millimetres away from his (admittedly, still great) face. It's the never-ending victory lap, available in perpetuity around the world. And to director Fisher Stevens' credit, the film is as deftly put together as its subject. But to watch the old documentaries back—shot in more detached, traditional formats—is to see David in the eye of a long storm, as the giddy days of Beckham-mania give way to something eerier, more perilous and overwhelming.
It starts out innocently enough with the straight-to-VHS David Beckham: Football Superstar (with “free double-sided Becks poster!”) filmed a year before the World Cup in France. The 22-year-old seems to be taking his newfound fame in his stride, proudly showing off the racks of designer clothes that fill his modest home (alongside a life-size cardboard cut-out of… himself. He swears it’s not his).
But in other ways, Beckham seems unfit for it. He talks protectively about his alone time, and likes nothing more than going to his local Chinese restaurant for a solo meal. “I enjoy my own company," he tells the documentary-maker, bashfully. "I suppose I’ve got used to being alone for a long time”. You wonder when he last enjoyed a prawn cracker in peace.
Then things ramp up several notches. In the 2000 BBC documentary, The Real David Beckham, he talks about the people who rummage through bins outside Vidal Sassoon "trying to find my blonde locks"; about the fall-out from that self-inflicted red card at the 1998 World Cup, the death threats and the abuse and the bouts of depression. Sitting in a sports car outside Gary Neville's house, the documentary fades to black as Beckham laments his lack of trust with the outside world.
If Netflix's Beckham owes a debt to The Last Dance, then The Real Beckhams from 2002, aired again on the BBC, is a heavily subdued take on the early reality shows of that era. It catches the couple in a moment of flux: David has just been (somewhat reluctantly) carted off to join the Galácticos of Real Madrid, while wife Victoria is on the verge of launching a new single and touring the world.
But it's at this crossroad that you can see the pair finally begin to wrestle control of the PR machine, talking solemnly about their business politics, commercial interests and desire to take personal brands to "the next level". The disapproving spectre of Alex Ferguson is no more. Ironically, an otherwise dry conversation about setting up an office in Madrid produces one of the film's lighter, more revealing moments.
"We both worry about the overexposure thing," says Victoria, as her husband lounges on the sofa chomping Hobnobs. "There isn’t a lot that David hasn’t advertised recently. He’s got away with it because he’s played fantastic football. But we're very much aware of the sell-by-date."
David looks bruised. "I haven't advertised that much".
"Babe, you have," responds Victoria. "But you haven't advertised McVitie's, so stick them behind the terrapins."
But none of the documentaries, in my mind, can match the accidental pathos that arrived with David Beckham’s cameo in ITV's seminal piece of football reportage, Rio Ferdinand’s World Cup Wind-Ups. Aired in the summer of 2006 in the build-up to another doomed international tournament, it was a hidden camera rip-off of the MTV reality show Punk’d, aimed at the England squad, with Rio larking about in the Ashton Kutcher role (it followed Nancy Dell'Olio’s Footballers' Cribs a year earlier, which was cancelled after a spate of robberies). Some of the pranks were surprisingly dark—Wayne Rooney comforting a boy whose dog has just died, in particular—but Beckham’s episode is equal parts melancholy and menace.
The set-up was simple: a taxi driver and loudmouth security man have been tasked with whisking the Real Madrid winger from Manchester's Lowry Hotel to an important business meeting, and they decide to take a time-wasting, deal-delaying detour. Harmless stuff. But from the moment Beckham enters the cab and folds to the floor like a discarded sarong, the everyday reality of his A-list status sets in.
We recognise smiley Becks. We recognise steely Becks, posing over a free kick, a magazine rack or a major shopping district. But here he looks uncharacteristically shifty, scoping out a potential paparazzi ambush while resting awkwardly against the car door handle, as speed bumps jostle his expensively insured body around the carpet. Even when the coast is clear, he can’t help but stare out of the rear windshield like a hunted animal.
Then the drama ramps up. Beckham asks if the driver is going the right way, and before you know it the pair are refusing to let him go, building to a full-blown barney. With the car still rolling with some speed towards a red light in Manchester’s Moss Side, Beckham jumps out and legs it before Rio and his camera team can catch up. Obtuse as this may sound, it does leave you wondering: what is the real upside to all this? Why would someone so self-contained want to be quite so famous? It looks like hell.
As sell-by-dates go, Beckham has long outlasted the biscuits. A pre-destined move to America four years later launched him into the stratosphere, first as a player for Los Angeles Galaxy and then, lately, as the Messi-whispering co-owner of Inter Miami. There have been more TV specials; more books, merchandise and commercial deals. He has received justified criticism for some of those—not least from the LGBTQ+ community for his ambassadorial role at the Qatar World Cup—but he can fall back on his 83 million Instagram followers, or the 3.6 billion views he has received on TikTok.
The world of celebrity has changed irrevocably, but the artist formerly known as Golden Balls remains on top. Now comes the award-bothering Netflix treatment. What next? And, perhaps more interestingly, why? Only David Beckham knows.
