Billy Squier was one of the biggest rock stars in the world until his 1984 'Rock Me Tonight' video, where he danced around in pastel sheets and a pink tank top. Concert ticket sales collapsed immediately. He later accused the director of altering his concept. One video, career over.
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At 27:47 · chapter starts 22:03
The conversation turns to the money people who corrode music: the label executives who told Lynyrd Skynyrd that Freebird was too long, the A&R men who barge into studios with zero musical knowledge and demand edits. Tommy reveals that Mötley Crüe had a strict policy at Elektra Records — no label reps in the studio, ever. They allowed one in once and immediately ejected him when he started suggesting changes. Joe quotes Zach Bryan's song about music industry vampires building empires from other people's creativity. The segment reaches its peak with the Billy Squier deep-dive: Squier was a massive rock star, a genuine sex symbol, but his 1984 'Rock Me Tonight' video showed him dancing in pastel satin sheets and a pink tank top. Concert sales collapsed immediately. A 2011 book called it one of the worst videos ever made. Squier later accused the director of altering his original concept. One video. Career over.
Mötley Crüe had a strict policy at Elektra Records: nobody from the label was allowed in the studio. They let one executive in once. He immediately started suggesting edits. They kicked him out. You'll get it when it's done.
Billy Squier's 1984 'Rock Me Tonight' music video, where he danced in pastel sheets and a pink tank top, immediately caused concert ticket sales to decline, effectively ending his mainstream career.
Reggae didn't emerge from thin air — it was built layer by layer from mento in the 1940s, ska in the late 1950s, and rocksteady in the mid-1960s. Each stage absorbed new influences, from transistor radios picking up Miami R&B to the distinctive 2-and-4 rhythmic accent that defines the genre.
Before hip-hop existed, Jamaican DJs were already doing it. Electricity spreading across Jamaica enabled mobile 'sound systems,' and DJs developed toasting — speaking and singing over recorded music — a tradition that DJ Kool Herc brought from Kingston to the Bronx at age 12.
Joe Higgs is reggae's great unsung hero. This Kingston musician took teenage Bob Marley, Peter Tosh, and Bunny Wailer under his wing and taught them how to sing, write songs, and make music — at a time when most artists would have focused on their own careers. Without him, the Wailers probably just would have sucked.
Reggae archivist Roger Steffens' analogy says it all: Bob Marley was reggae's Martin Luther King Jr., making the music universally palatable; Peter Tosh was its Malcolm X, inserting fierce militant political energy. Together, they gave the Wailers a depth no single voice could achieve alone.
King Tubby built his own hardware from cast-off recording gear to strip vocals and create dubbed-out instrumental reggae — essentially inventing electronic music in Kingston before Kraftwerk did it in Germany. The dubplate he created became the raw material for DJs to toast over, seeding hip-hop.
Two days before the 1976 Smile Jamaica anti-violence concert, gunmen shot Bob Marley in the chest and shoulder, shot Rita Marley, and wounded two others. He showed up and played anyway. The concert had already drawn accusations that Marley was a tool of the PNP government — a charge that frustrated him deeply.
Peter Tosh's killer was a man Tosh had taken in after prison, giving him shelter and food. The man repaid that generosity by holding Tosh hostage, torturing him for money, and shooting him in the head. It is one of the most brutal betrayals in music history.
The Windrush Generation brought Caribbean music to London after World War II, and reggae's 2-and-4 rhythm lodged itself deep in British culture — giving birth to ska bands like The Specials, pop acts like UB40, and even punk. Johnny Rotten was a reggae fan, and Public Image Limited has the dub influence to prove it.
Reggaetón didn't come from nowhere. It emerged from underground Spanish-language reggae-rap scenes in Panama and Puerto Rico, drawing directly on Jamaican reggae's rhythms and attitude. The line from Kingston to Bad Bunny's Super Bowl performance is a straight one.
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