song

The Show Must Go ON! Miss Ethel Waters Leads First-Ever Screen Sing-Along

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1–2 minutes

🎬 MEMORIES FROM MEMORY LANE — “ON WITH THE SHOW!” STRIKES A NEW NOTE 🎶
From Our Entertainment Desk — May 29, 1929

Ladies and gentlemen, the talkies have gone and done it again! Moving pictures with sound became a reality on August 6th, 1926. Just three short years later, Warner Bros. has given the public something new to hum about—literally.

This week, cinema-goers were treated to On with the Show!—a Technicolor extravaganza. It boasted the peerless pipes of Miss Ethel Waters. She delivered the lilting tune Am I Blue with such warmth that even the ushers were swooning. But here’s the rub: for the first time in motion picture history, audiences were invited to sing along!

That’s right, folks—words flashed upon the screen as Miss Waters crooned, urging patrons to join in from their seats. And join they did! Voices rang out from the front row to the peanut gallery. Some were as sweet as a songbird. Others were a touch off-key. All were in the spirit of merriment.

Picture it—gentlemen in their finest straw boaters. Ladies fanning themselves in the glow of the projector. Everyone is swept up in the chorus together. Why, one might call it the first karaoke moment in show business history. We’ve yet to invent such a word!

If this is the future of the pictures, we say—bring on the music! After all, the best part of a song is not just hearing it… it’s singing it together.

The King is Gone — and So is the Evidence Locker…

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3–4 minutes


A True Law Enforcement Tale from August 16, 1977

Photo by Paul Volkmer on Pexels.com

On August 16, 1977, the world stopped spinning — at least in Memphis, Tennessee. That was the day Elvis Presley, the King of Rock and Roll, was found unresponsive in the bathroom of Graceland. The global headlines mourned music’s greatest icon. Meanwhile, things were spinning out of control behind the scenes in the world of law enforcement. And not just in Memphis.

Most people don’t know that Elvis’s death caused a minor frenzy. It affected not just fans, but also federal and local law enforcement. This had everything to do with his name, his guns, and his bizarre honorary narcotics badge.

Let’s rewind.

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In 1970, Elvis famously met with President Richard Nixon and requested a federal narcotics badge. He did not intend to arrest drug dealers, well, maybe a few. He believed it would grant him special privileges at airports. It would allow him to carry firearms across state lines without hassle. Nixon, eager to impress a celebrity during a slump in his popularity, gave him the badge. Elvis then began collecting honorary police badges from departments across the U.S., often in exchange for autographs, memorabilia, or a simple smile.

By the time of his death, Elvis had amassed over 100 badges. Some were real, others purely decorative, and a few were questionably obtained. The King had a well-known obsession with guns. He owned dozens of pistols and rifles. He even had a few military-grade toys. When the news of his death broke, more than one law enforcement agency quietly wondered. They asked themselves, ‘What did we give that man?’ And can we please get it back?

According to insiders at the time, several local departments began calling Graceland discreetly. They were hoping to retrieve various “loaned” badges and sidearms. One small-town sheriff reportedly said, 

“We didn’t think he’d actually keep the darn thing. It was supposed to be a photo op!”

Even the DEA got involved. They did not act out of malice. Elvis’s collection included a few federal items. These should have never technically left Washington. A flurry of quiet internal memos from late August 1977 hints at an almost comical scramble. They describe recovering government property from the estate of a man. This man had once offered to go undercover as a federal agent “to stop the hippie drug culture.”

This man had once offered to go undercover as a federal agent “to stop the hippie drug culture.”

Meanwhile, fans held candlelight vigils and bought up every Elvis album in sight. Law enforcement agents were busy inventorying his arsenal of firearms and badges. His collection would put most mid-size police departments to shame.

A deputy who had once met Elvis described the moment. They realized the full extent of the collection: 

“I walked into that room. I saw enough shiny shields to start a police academy.”

I half expected them to start talking.

Most of the badges were eventually returned. Some were documented as honorary. Yet, a few were mysteriously “lost to history.” They are reportedly still missing to this day. One turned up on eBay years later. This sparked a brief online turf war between Elvis fans and collectors of obscure police paraphernalia.

August 16, 1977, then, marks not just the day the King left the building. It was also the day law enforcement agencies across the country had a new challenge. They found themselves unexpectedly cleaning up behind him. They tried, with straight faces, to explain to their bosses. Why did Elvis Presley have more police gear than some SWAT teams?

The Day Music Lost Three Legends

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By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | 2025 Truth Endures©

1–2 minutes

The Day the Music Died: February 3, 1959

On a cold February night in 1959, the heartbeat of American rock and roll fell silent in an Iowa cornfield.

Photo by ArtHouse Studio on Pexels.com

Buddy Holly was just 22 years old. He had chartered a small Beechcraft Bonanza plane. His goal was to avoid the grueling winter tour bus ride. This bus ride plagued the “Winter Dance Party” tour across the Midwest. Along with him were Ritchie Valens, just 17, and J.P. “The Big Bopper” Richardson, 28. All three had become major figures in the rapidly evolving American music scene.

The tour itself was chaos. It was poorly routed and underfunded. Bitter temperatures pushed both buses and artists to the limit. Holly was tired. She was freezing and sick. She made a decision: skip the bus and fly ahead to the next stop in Moorhead, Minnesota.

The plane took off around 12:55 a.m. from Clear Lake, Iowa. Minutes later, it crashed into a frozen cornfield, killing everyone onboard. The pilot, Roger Peterson, was just 21.

The news shocked the country. Three of rock and roll’s brightest stars were gone in an instant. Don McLean would later memorialize the event in his 1971 hit, “American Pie,” calling it “the day the music died.”

But in the silence that followed, the music didn’t die. It grew louder. The tragedy marked a turning point—the moment rock and roll lost its innocence and began to grow up. It was the high cost of youthful rebellion, forever frozen in that snow-covered field.

One member of Holley’s band was supposed to ride on the plane. He gave his seat to Ritchie Valens. Instead, he rode on the band’s bus to the next location. That member was Waylon Jennings. He would deal with that decision for many years before making peace with himself. Jennings would become a legend in his own right. He became a country music singer, having hit after hit. He was known as an outlaw in the industry.

Dre Love’s Legacy: Bridging American and Italian Music

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By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | 2025 Truth Endures©

3–4 minutes

André Thomas Halyards, known artistically as Dre Love, was a central and pioneering figure in Italian hip hop. He has passed away in Florence at the age of 55.

Dre Love was born in the Queens borough of New York City. He became a Florentine by adoption in the 1990s. Dre Love was a versatile artist: DJ, rapper, beatmaker, songwriter, and tireless collaborator. He had a gritty voice and unmistakable style. He brought the groove and soul of African American funk into the sounds of Italian hip hop. This helped to write some of its most authentic and vital chapters.

Dre Love arrived in Italy in the early 1990s. He made his home in Florence. This city would shape both his artistic and personal journey. There, he joined Radical Stuff, one of Italy’s very first hip hop groups. He became a living bridge between American street culture and the emerging urban scenes taking shape across the country. He was also a member of the collective Messaggeri della Dopa. He helped to redefine Italian rap with a style that blended social consciousness. His approach also incorporated sophisticated musicality and spirituality.

His Collaboration with Neffa

Dre Love’s name is often linked with Neffa, with whom he collaborated on the Campanian rapper’s first two albums. He worked with a wide array of Italian and international artists. These include Irene Grandi, Alex Britti, Almamegretta, DJ Gruff, DJ Enzo, Gopher D, Reggae National Tickets. His collaborations even touched on the soul-funk sound of Jamiroquai.

Dre Love was never just a guest artist. He was a true collaborator in the deepest sense. He was an artist who opened doors. He created connections between musical worlds that seemed far apart. A messenger who made every beat, every bar, a statement of purpose. His music was a captivating blend of rap, funk, soul, and electronic experimentation. It was deeply rooted in a visceral respect for African American culture. His work always pushed toward innovation.

With his band, Dre Love delivered live performances. The band featured talented Italian musicians like Diego Leporatti (drums), Gianni Pantaleo (keyboards), and Niccolò Malcontenti (bass). It also included Tiziano Carfora (percussion), Andrea Rubino (guitar), Leandro Giordani (saxophone), and Emanuele Campigli (trumpet). Each performance was a true sonic journey through the past, current, and future of Black music.

Unlike the other famous “Dre” in hip hop history, Dr. Dre, Dre Love built his legend in a different way. He did not do it through the spotlight of the music industry. Instead, he made a direct impact with audiences, scenes, and people. He didn’t seek confrontation, but dialogue. Not profit, but connection. Where Dr. Dre of Compton made significant changes in hip hop with The Chronic, he further transformed the music industry with Beats. In contrast, Dre Love revolutionized hearts and stages, leaving an indelible mark on the history of Italian rap.

(By Paolo Martini)

A Tribute from Casino Royale

“Just a little while ago, a ‘great’ one made the big leap. This was a soul who gave so much. He contributed both humanly and in terms of sound and attitude to the Italian scene. Casino Royale was never a hip hop project. Still, we had the privilege of crossing paths with many figures. These figures made history in this country’s hip hop culture. Dre Love was one of those. He will always stay in our Olympus of demigods. We had the honor of meeting such people.

Every time we crossed paths, there were genuine hugs. They were full of mutual respect. We always promised that one day, we’d play that game together. It’s the game that becomes a mission for those who feel the responsibility. They also experience the joy of doing things a certain way.

ROCK ON!!! That was his goodbye.
‘The sky is the limit’—fly light, Dre Love. See you on the other side.”

(From a post published by Casino Royale on Facebook)

Originally posted at adnkronos

Childhood Memories and Roberta Flack’s Influence

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GROFF MEDIA 2024© TRUTH ENDURES IMDBPRO

Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff II©s

2–3 minutes

The First Time I Ever Saw Your Face, It Was Killing Me Softly

I was between six and eight years old. That was the first time I heard The First Time I Saw Your Face. I also heard Killing Me Softly with His Song for the first time then. My oldest sister, Julie, adored those songs. She was taking piano lessons at that time. She often attempted to play them. Her fingers hesitantly found their way across the keys.

I still remember the old upright piano my parents got for her from a family friend. It was massive and heavy as a full-grown ox. My brothers struggled to carry it to the front wall of our living room. That’s where it stayed for years. Some of the keys stuck, while others refused to make a sound. But a piano tuner visited us. Afterward, the old instrument came to life. It was ready to echo through the house with Julie’s music.

Those long summer days when school was out were filled with Roberta Flack’s voice drifting through our home. Julie played her albums endlessly, the lyrics weaving into my young mind. I remember watching Play Misty for Me. It was my first real brush with suspense. I was more worried about Roberta Flack than I was about Clint Eastwood’s character. My parents had to reassure me that it was just a movie and that no one was in danger.

The First Time I Saw Your Face became inseparable from that film in my memory. In the same way, Killing Me Softly with His Song later found its way into About a Boy. I saw that one at the old Caddo Theater on Main Street in Binger, Oklahoma. My parents never let Julie go to the movies alone, so I was always sent as her reluctant chaperon. At the time, I was too small to protect her from anything. Still, I suppose my presence was enough to keep her out of trouble. At least that’s what my parents hoped.

All these years later, those songs still surface in my mind, uninvited but always welcome. They sneak in when I try to fall asleep while studying and when I need to concentrate. They echo my childhood memories. They replay in the corners of my mind. They are tethered to the days when Julie sat at that old upright piano. She tried to master the melodies.

And for that, I owe it all to Roberta Flack. Shall she rest in peace.