Jesse Singer articles

Steve Perry didn’t just sing for Journey—he defined them. His soaring tenor helped turn arena rock into emotional spectacle, and his voice became one of the most recognizable in music. But decades later, another musician inside the band sparked a new debate: what if Journey’s most powerful voice didn’t belong to their frontman… but their drummer?

Bela Lugosi terrified the world as Dracula and reshaped movie horror forever. But when he died in 1956—broke, isolated, and long past his Hollywood peak—his funeral turnout stunned those who still admired him. The man who once hypnotized millions was laid to rest in front of only a small crowd.

Behind the fame, the riffs, and the stage lights, rock musicians have always carried real stories of heartbreak and loss. These songs came from genuine tragedy. From private grief to public catastrophe, here are the moments when sorrow turned into classic rock history.

Some celebrities get ink to mark milestones. Others get ink because it “felt right at the time.” And then there are the brave souls on this list—whose tattoo choices (and locations) are so unexpected you can’t help but admire the commitment. Let’s take a tour of Hollywood’s most creatively placed body art.

Some of cinema’s most memorable—and shortest—moments took months of work behind the scenes. Directors obsessed, actors pushed through exhaustion, and crews fought malfunctioning rigs—all for scenes that flash by in seconds.

Back before playlists, algorithms, or the word “vibe,” there were mixtapes—and Zoomers will never know, or truly appreciate, the chaos they missed.

Cool isn’t about leather jackets or smirks—it’s a vibe, a presence, a sense that the actor knows something you don’t (and sometimes it is about smirks and leather jackets too). Hollywood has always chased that quality, but as we all know—you can’t try to be cool, you just have to be it.

Back when your locker said more about you than your report card, your décor mattered. Every inch of metal was a shrine—to your crushes, your idols, and your questionable taste in perms. These are the faces that ruled the hallways, one glossy Tiger Beat photo at a time.

The night Marilyn Monroe died, her phone rang one last time. On the other end was Peter Lawford—the actor, Rat Pack insider, and brother-in-law to a Kennedy. He was calling to invite her to dinner. What he heard instead was a slurred goodbye mentioning “the President.” And then the line went silent.