Author: admin

The married CEO who was filmed at a Coldplay concert in the US with his arms around his company’s HR head in a video that went viral has now resigned, the company Astronomer said on Saturday.

In a post on Linkedin, the software startup said: “Andy Byron has tendered his resignation, and the Board of Directors has accepted.”

It added: “As stated previously, Astronomer is committed to the values and culture that have guided us since our founding. Our leaders are expected to set the standard in both conduct and accountability, and recently, that standard was not met.”

The development comes after the firm said on Friday that Byron and the company’s HR head, Kristin Cabot, had been placed on leave, Axios reported.

They had been caught canoodling on the Jumbotron camera at the Coldplay concert in Foxborough, Massachusetts, which is south-west of Boston.

The incident took the internet by storm.

Byron has been the head of Astronomer since 2023. In 2024, Cabot joined the company as its head of HR. In an announcement about Cabot’s hiring, Byron said: “Kristin’s exceptional leadership and deep expertise in talent management, employee engagement and scaling people strategies will be critical as we continue our rapid trajectory.”

Astronomer’s message on Saturday indicated it was now trying to move on from the scrutiny over the video: “Before this week, we were known as a pioneer in the DataOps space, helping data teams power everything from modern analytics to production AI.

“While awareness of our company may have changed overnight, our product and our work for our customers have not. We’re continuing to do what we do best: helping our customers with their toughest data and AI problems.”

In 2015 I was making my European debut singing the role of Tatiana in Tchiakovsky’s Eugene Onegin in Berlin. I’d been offered the contract at relatively short notice and was assured by the casting director not to worry, my French-Canadian co-star was “a real charmer”. I took it with a grain of salt.

On the first day of rehearsals, Étienne (the charmer) arrived for a brief introduction before he rushed off to debut a very big role, playing Posa in Verdi’s Don Carlos.

The following day when I asked how the show had gone he turned to me and declared, without a trace of irony, “I sang like a god”. He was so earnest as he went on to tell me about the audience’s rapturous response to his brilliance I didn’t know what to say. This level of self-congratulation ran so contrary to my Australian sensibilities all I could do was try not to laugh.

I wrote to a friend that night about Étienne’s amusing amour-propre, which even from those first impressions I found curiously endearing, if slightly unhinged. I was intrigued by his whole vibe.

On a rare day off from rehearsals he agreed to show me around town. It was a glorious spring day and as we ambled through the city our conversation never found an organic conclusion. We walked and chatted for about seven hours; it was very Before Sunrise. By the end of the day something had shifted between us.

Étienne had this whole approach to seduction that seemed almost absurdly dramatic to me. More than once he tried to serenade me with a melodeon – which, if you’ve ever experienced such a thing, you’ll know is quite hard to take seriously. Much to his confusion it was the time we spent sitting on the floor of his barely furnished apartment, laughing and watching Flight of the Conchords together, that stole my heart.

We kept things as private as possible but as we continued rehearsals our connection deepened both on and off the stage. There was such a charge between us it sometimes felt as though we were playing out the storyline of the opera in real life, and vice versa.

As the curtains fell on our first performance, standing hand in hand, the electricity was palpable. It was obvious to me that this went well beyond onstage chemistry or a summer crush. I knew then something serious was happening. I had fallen in love.

As the show wrapped we were forced apart for three months. Étienne headed to a contract at Glyndebourne, while I spent a miserable winter in Australia. We spent so much time on the phone it was ridiculous.

In September I flew to meet him in Marseille. He was deep in rehearsals but defied his director and ignored countless phone calls demanding he return to set while he picked me up from the airport. A few weeks later he absconded from rehearsals in Strasbourg to fly to London for 14 hours to watch me make my house debut as Micaëla in Carmen at the Royal Opera House. And by Christmas he surprised me by cancelling three contracts for the new year and booking tickets to join me in Australia for a month.

In the early days, many of Étienne’s romantic gestures were met with my baffled amusement but the way he prioritised me, and our budding relationship once we were reunited was not something I took lightly. He swept me off my feet once and for all.

Six years ago we bought our first home in Paris where we are based with our eight-year-old son and our apricot miniature poodle, Lily. We continue to tour extensively and still spend hours on the phone. These days Étienne knows his occasional melodeon performances give me a giggle. And we both know it’s the laughs we share that keep our hearts singing.

Tell us the moment you knew

My vintage Pioneer turntable is playing the music of the Ballarat-based duo Zöj. The voice of the Iranian singer Gelareh Pour and her Persian kamancheh, a bowed string instrument, are feeding my lounge with the song The God of Rainbows. The weather is bleak but then so is the state of the world. I try not to let my mood follow. The music helps, offering a welcome contrast to the pain, violence and despair churned out by my social media algorithm.

I’ve been listening to Persian music a lot over the past month. Not only as a source of respite but as I strive to connect to my motherland – a place I’ve never been able to visit. My parents, who belong to the Bahá’í faith, left in 1979 during the Iranian Revolution. They have never returned.

Iran’s people are struggling through an intense period of civil unrest and suffering. Media continue to speculate about what the future holds for the country and, while the rockets have stopped for the time being, human rights organisations are reporting that the Islamic republic has turned on its own, arresting ordinary citizens, activists and members of religious minorities to “stamp out any trace of dissent and reassert its control”.

Nothing, it seems, can tend to our perpetually ailing hearts.

Except, perhaps, for art.

As I listen to these musicians who sing with fervour from the depths of their hearts, the Iranian people’s deepest desires are made abundantly clear. Persian singing is a unique art form and traditional music is greatly influenced by Sufism – a mystical branch of Islam that emphasises purification and spirituality. Persian music is often infused with ancient poetry and, even though I’m not fluent, I still understand the essence of what is being said – the desire for eshgh, or love, and a yearning for light.

I’ve not just been reconnecting through music. Rumi and Hafez, two Persian poets from the early 13th and 14th centuries, are known for their inspiring literary works, as are Saadi and Omar Khayyam, whose writings form the basis of many songs – including those of Zöj. Centuries after they were penned, these words fill me with spiritual insights, tranquility and nourishment.

At a time of escalating global turbulence, music and art unite us and provide a lens into our spiritual truth. They speak to our common suffering, advocate for resilience and connection, and promote hope. They transcend boundaries and bind us together, speaking to what it is we all truly desire, no matter where we see ourselves on the political spectrum.

As we search for the light and seek meaningful ways to contribute towards beauty wherever we live, we can find inspiration through the syllables and sounds emanating from the turntable.

Rumi writes:

Do not stray into the neighbourhood of despair.

For there are hopes: they are real, they exist –

Do not go in the direction of darkness –

I tell you: suns exist.

And therein lie the rainbows.