J. Clarke articles

There are plenty of stories in country music about careers that burned out too fast, egos that imploded, and legends who never knew when to stop. Garth Brooks somehow managed to write the opposite kind of ending—one where walking away became the boldest move of all. At the height of his fame, with stadiums still selling out and records still flying off shelves, Brooks made a decision that baffled the industry and quietly rewrote what success could look like.

The 90s didn’t just do sitcoms, they practically engineered the comfort-food blueprint. The jokes were built for rewatching, the characters felt like people you’d actually miss, and the episodes didn’t demand a spreadsheet to understand what was happening. Even if you didn’t grow up in the decade, these shows still hit because they’re simple in the best way: funny setups, sharp timing, and just enough heart to make the laughs stick. Here are 20 90s sitcoms that still feel like they’re playing in a different league.

Some songs feel like diary entries accidentally left on the radio. “In The Air Tonight” is one of those rare tracks that sounds less like a hit single and more like a private meltdown set to echoing synths and a famously delayed drum fill. By the time Phil Collins released it in 1981, he wasn’t trying to reinvent pop music—he was trying to survive the wreckage of his personal life. What came out instead was a haunting anthem that turned private heartbreak into public mythology and permanently fused Collins’ name to four minutes of restrained fury.

Country music has never been short on heartbreak, sin, or scandal—but for decades, it preferred those topics safely filtered through male voices. Then Loretta Lynn showed up and started singing about women’s lives the way women actually lived them. When she released “The Pill,” the genre wasn’t just uncomfortable—it panicked. The backlash was fierce, the bans were real, and the conversation she sparked never stopped echoing.

Michael Jackson spent his whole life being watched, but nothing got people whispering quite like his changing appearance. As his skin clearly got lighter over time, the world did what it always does: it filled in the blanks with rumors. There were medical explanations, sure—but facts don’t spread as fast as a spicy theory. And once the gossip machine got going, it basically never stopped.

Most music fans are totally normal. They stream the albums, buy a shirt, maybe argue online that their favorite record is “underrated” like it’s a full-time job. Fine. Harmless. But every once in a while, you get a fan base that doesn’t just support an artist—they build a whole lifestyle around them, treat criticism like a personal attack, and show up with an energy that makes everyone else quietly inch toward the nearest exit.

Some shows don’t just get watched—they get adopted. The characters become roommates, the lore becomes scripture, and the comment sections become a contact sport. These are the TV series with fan bases so dedicated it’s honestly a little impressive…and a little exhausting.

Mary Esther Wells was born in Detroit in 1943, and her childhood was anything but easy. She battled spinal meningitis as a toddler, survived tuberculosis as a teen, and endured long hospital stays that nearly silenced her before she ever sang a note. Music wasn’t just an interest—it was an escape hatch, a way out of pain and into possibility.

Not every hero starts their journey with a tragic backstory, a billion-dollar suit, or a mysterious glowing object falling from the sky. Some are people who absolutely should not be trusted with the fate of reality—but somehow end up holding it anyway. These movies thrive on the idea that heroism isn’t about perfection, power, or even competence. It’s about stepping up when everyone expects you to sit down.