At one point, Mick Fleetwood had everything a rock star was supposed to want: sold-out tours, iconic albums, and a band whose name was permanently etched into music history. And yet, right in the middle of all that success, he did the unthinkable: he went bankrupt. Not quietly struggling, not “cash poor”—fully broke. It was a moment that pulled the curtain back on rock stardom and showed just how messy, reckless, and unsustainable the excess of that era had become.

Boomers sometimes wonder how millennials could miss entire eras of classic rock. Millennials wonder the same thing—just in reverse. These bands have sold out tours, racked up billions of streams, and soundtracked entire phases of millennial life. And no, they don’t sound like the Beatles. That’s kind of the point.

Tammy Wynette and George Jones are two of country music’s most iconic figures, and for a brief, stormy period they were one of its great love stories too. Their marriage produced unforgettable music that sounded like their real lives—full of passion, heartbreak, longing, and loss. But behind the harmonies and “Mr. and Mrs. Country Music” billing was a volatile relationship marked by love, addiction, reconciliation, separation, and creative magic.

Every few years, someone declares that cinema is dead. And every time, movies like these quietly prove them wrong. Arthouse films don’t exist to please algorithms or launch sequels—they exist to explore ideas, emotions, and images that don’t fit neatly into boxes. These are the movies that remind you film isn’t just content. It’s craft, risk, obsession, and sometimes beautiful confusion.

Anybody can toss on a “reggae classics” playlist, hear Three Little Birds once, and declare themselves spiritually Jamaican. But really knowing reggae—the songs that built the sound, pushed the culture forward, and got sampled, covered, and quoted into eternity is a whole different thing. This genre isn’t just beach vibes and good moods. It’s love, protest, faith, survival, celebration, sometimes all in the same track.

For years, Elton John was already one of the biggest stars on the planet before the public had any real idea who he was offstage. He wore outrageous costumes, wrote intensely emotional songs, and built a persona that felt flamboyant but carefully controlled. In an era that wasn’t exactly welcoming to queer artists, that distance wasn’t accidental—it was survival.