Jesse Singer articles

As Freddie Mercury’s health declined in 1991, he avoided dramatic farewells or emotional declarations. Friends and bandmates later recalled that he preferred calm, normal conversations and resisted turning his final days into a spectacle. But even without a formal goodbye, what he said—and didn’t say—left a lasting impact.

In the 1970s, radio was full of songs people loved to complain about—some because they were overplayed, others because they were bold, obvious, theatrical, or even a little embarrassing. People groaned, mocked them, and secretly knew every word. Ask those same listeners today, and most would probably admit that this kind of fearless personality is exactly what modern music is missing.

When Basic Instinct premiered in 1992, Sharon Stone went from working actress to global phenomenon almost overnight. The film didn’t just elevate her career—it brought fame and fortune. But it also reshaped how the public, the press, and Hollywood viewed her in ways that would follow her for decades, and into parts of her life she never imagined (or wanted).

Some bands get better with time, while others come out with their first album and knock it out of the park right from the get-go. The songs land, people pay attention, and while what comes after might still be good—sometimes very good—it never quite hits the same way again.

The Rat Pack operated as a closed circle built around Frank Sinatra’s influence. Sinatra was widely known for holding grudges and withdrawing professional and social support when relationships ended badly. Something women who orbited the group often found out the hard way—particularly in Las Vegas and studio systems where Sinatra’s approval carried weight.

2025 was one of those years that felt like a steady stream of bad news—icon after icon, voice after voice, presence after presence. Some were legends who’d been around forever. Others were gone far too soon. Either way, the cultural void they left behind was impossible to ignore.

Some couples just can’t resist the pull—no matter how messy things get. Hollywood is full of stars who marched down the aisle twice (or even more) with the same person, convinced the sequel would outshine the original. Spoiler alert: it never did.

Boston’s 1976 debut wasn’t just huge—it was more than huge. Bad pun aside, the album really was a monster hit. But monster hits attract monsters of a different kind—label executives, deadlines, and expectations that don’t leave much room for perfectionism.

Fleetwood Mac didn’t start as a pop band. It started with Peter Green—a blues guitarist who terrified Eric Clapton. He built the band, led it, and shaped everything it was meant to be. Then he disappeared. What followed wasn’t reinvention—it was a quiet collapse into schizophrenia that erased one of rock’s most gifted minds.