Amazon Music is launching monthly recaps.
After rolling out its own take on Spotify Wrapped last year, Amazon Music now lets you view 'insights,' which show the artists, songs, and podcasts you listened to the most during each month. Other music streaming platforms have started offering more frequent glimpses into user listening habits, too, with YouTube launching seasonal recaps and Apple Music delivering them on a monthly basis. Follow topics and authors from this story to see more like this in your personalized homepage feed and to receive email updates. Emma Roth Posts from this author will be added to your daily email digest and your homepage feed. See All by Emma Roth
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Fox News
14 minutes ago
- Fox News
Leg drop to legacy: Fox Nation charts the influence of 'larger-than-life' wrestling titan Hulk Hogan
He was larger-than-life — a hero in red and yellow who body-slammed his way into American pop culture. But now, Hulk Hogan has taken his final bow. News of the wrestling legend's passing shocked the world in late July, inspiring an outpouring of reactions and tributes, even one from the president of the United States. To honor the titan of the ring, Fox Nation has unveiled a brand-new special capturing the heart and history of Hulk Hogan's legacy. "He was a broad character with broad appeal, played by a big man who loved this country," "Fox & Friends" co-host Brian Kilmeade said. "His story is heroic and complicated and full of surprises, and we have a great cast of characters assembled here to tell that story." Kilmeade hosts the half-hour-long special that debuted on the streaming platform on Thursday. The story begins with Terry Bollea – Hogan's birth name – playing a bass guitar in his youth. His size and musculature caught attention beyond the music, however, and with a body built for the sport, he was drawn to wrestling early. "He grew up as a wrestling fan. He would sit in the second row… and watch Dusty Rhodes and Superstar Billy Graham. Those were his heroes," said Dave Meltzer, a wrestling journalist whose career dates back to the '70s. Meltzer is one of many personalities featured in "The Life of Hulk Hogan" special. He shared his own reflections on Hogan's life and career, his memories beginning decades ago. As the special explores, coming up in the 1970s worked to Hogan's advantage. The local nature of wrestling at the time made him a "big fish" in a small pond right away. Meltzer had never seen anyone like Hogan. Despite standing tall at 6'7" and weighing in at over 300 pounds, he was still "green" in the sport, but Meltzer knew right away he was destined to become a "big star." It wasn't long before he captured the attention of wrestling icon Vince McMahon, Sr., who was the promoter of the New York territory of the World Wide Wrestling Federation (WWWF), which would later become the World Wrestling Foundation (WWF) then World Wrestling Entertainment (WWE). McMahon needed a popular hook to promote the up-and-coming Hogan, so he borrowed from a popular TV series at the time. Thus, the idea of the big, blonde all-American hero "Hulk Hogan" was born, and, at the backdrop of the Cold War and Reagan's "Morning in America" messaging, the timing couldn't have been better. Hogan went on to the cinema, facing off against Sylvester Stallone's Rocky Balboa in "Rocky III." He became the face of McMahon's company as it went national, a pop culture icon and an "America First" patriot. The special documents Hogan's tie-in to President Donald Trump decades before he assumed office, the rise of "sports entertainment," and Hogan's role in Trump's 2024 campaign. "He was the biggest name in the WWF and then the WWE… of all time," Fox News contributor Joe Concha said while appearing in the installment. "You will never match Hulk Hogan, Hulkamania and that whole movement," he added. Hogan died in Florida on July 24 after suffering a heart attack. He was 71-years-old. To learn more about the life and legacy of Hulk Hogan, subscribe to Fox Nation.
Fox News
19 minutes ago
- Fox News
Ty Burrell on leaving Hollywood behind for Utah family life after 'Modern Family': 'I don't have any regrets'
Ty Burrell played the ultimate dad, Phil Dunphy, on the hit television sitcom, "Modern Family." Shortly after the popular show wrapped, Burrell and wife Holly packed up their lives in Los Angeles for the opportunity to raise their daughters in Utah. Burrell, 57, now says he has no regrets about moving away from Hollywood for a quieter life in Salt Lake City. "It's just been spectacular," Burrell told People magazine about his family's new lifestyle in Utah. "We moved here right after ['Modern Family'] ended, and I don't have any regrets. It's been lovely and a great place to raise the kids." "The Good Life" voice actor admitted he is "itching" to get back in front of the camera, but for now, his voiceover work enables more time for activities, despite growing up without a love of the great outdoors. "My parents weren't really those kinds of people," Burrell confessed. "So at first, when we moved here, it almost felt like cosplay, like we were pretending to be people who were outdoorsy, and now we really truly love it." Burrell isn't the only "Modern Family" star who left the City of Angels after the series wrapped in 2020. Burrell's co-star Ariel Winter also ditched Hollywood for a quieter life after negative comments about her body took a toll on her self-esteem. "It was just everywhere," she told People magazine. "It was every headline I read about myself, like, grown people writing articles about me saying how I looked terrible or pregnant or like a fat s---. I mean, I was 14. It totally damaged my self-esteem." "I understood what it was like to be hated," Winter added. "No matter what I was going through, I was a target. It made it very difficult to look at myself in the mirror and go, 'I love this version of me.'" Winter's childhood wasn't only marred by the harsh lights of Hollywood. The young actress was allegedly abused by her mother, who has denied the allegations. At the age of 14, Winter was placed with her sister, Shanelle Gray, after being removed from her home by Child Protective Services. "I went on to have a great rest of my teenage years thanks to being under her custody," Winter told the outlet. Eric Stonestreet, known for his role on the show as Cameron Tucker, confessed last year that Hollywood life isn't all it's cut out to be. After working on the popular sitcom for 11 seasons, Stonestreet, 53. left Los Angeles to head back to his home in Kansas City. "What I realized it does is it highlights everything great about our business, the entertainment business," Stonestreet shared on "In Depth with Graham Bensinger." "And it highlights all the douchebaggery of our business. It amplifies it. Because I'm here, I'm dealing with people from here … I'm going into the store and having all these authentic, real moments." He continued, "Then I go to Hollywood … and you're reminded of some of the types of people that you deal with." While the Kansas City native moved to Los Angeles to jump-start his acting career, he added there were some perks to living in Hollywood. "But then you're also offered fruit on a big board," he emphasized. "'Would you like some lychee and kiwi, sir?' It's like, oh, yeah, this is what's great about Hollywood.… So, it's really fun. It just amplifies it. It's like, leaving [Kansas City] and going back and doing something is almost more fun than it was living there, doing it." Stonestreet starred alongside co-stars Ed O'Neill, Sofia Vergara, Jesse Tyler Ferguson, Julie Bowen, Sarah Hyland and more. When asked if he thinks the ship "sailed in terms of a 'Modern Family' spin-off," Stonestreet replied, "I don't think it's potential anymore." "Well, they had their chance. Chris Lloyd and a couple of the writers wrote a really great script that spun Jesse and I off in our life in Missouri, and they said, 'No.' They just said, 'We don't want to do it.'"
Yahoo
29 minutes ago
- Yahoo
One is straight. The other is gay. Together, these best friends are reimagining masculinity
They met in a Brooklyn theater nearly two decades ago — an audition, a role, a spark of camaraderie. Jonathan Gregg was a fresh face in New York City, auditioning for a production of Six Degrees of Separation. Tom Felix was the director. The two hit it off immediately: witty banter, creative chemistry, and, yes, a little bit of undeniable mutual attraction. Keep up with the latest in + news and politics. 'I thought he was super hot and just wanted to keep him around,' Felix, who is gay, admits now, grinning, with Gregg, who is straight, laughing in the Zoom window beside him during their interview with The Advocate. But the friendship that followed, spanning city apartments, career pivots, marriages, late-night texts, vacations, and barbecues, grew into something beyond flirtation or creative synergy. It became family. Sunday, on International Friendship Day, they're not just celebrating a nearly 20-year bond; they're putting it under a mic. Their new podcast, No Homo with Jonathan and Tom, is a weekly riff on life, masculinity, queerness, parenting, politics, and everything in between. 'Two best friends, one straight, one gay,' as they like to say, 'gassing each other up as the world burns.' Behind the riffs and running gags is something quieter and more binding: a friendship that's teaching listeners how expansive masculinity can be. Related: L Word alums Leisha Hailey and Kate Moennig wrote the book on queer Opposites, but alike Gregg, 43, lives in Queens with his wife and two young kids. He now works as director of operations for a spirits portfolio—think bourbon, vodka, rum, ready-to-drinks. He's magnetic, unapologetic, and often the louder of the two. He's also a popular social media influencer: 127,000 followers on TikTok, 140,000 on Instagram, and counting. Gregg grew up in northern Alabama, in what he calls a 'sheltered, conservative' environment shaped by church life and Southern Baptist teachings. At the time, he considered his church progressive. His pastor had once refused to join a denomination-wide boycott of Disney over the company's perceived LGBTQ+ support. 'I thought of my church as a relatively progressive place,' he said, though in hindsight, he recognizes how narrow that bar was. Still, the experience stuck with him. 'Why would you cut out something in your life because they're being kind to a group of people?' he asked. As he left Alabama, first for Nashville and then New York, the distance made clear how insular his upbringing had been and how much space there was to grow. 'Exposure is the antidote to hate and fear,' he said. 'Knowing people, not being scared to know people, that's it.' Felix, 46, is quieter and more careful. A former theater director and television development exec, he now works in corporate communications and lives nearby in Astoria with his fiancé, Naquan, and their kittens, Fish and Chips. He's the one who overthinks. Felix grew up in a working-class Catholic household in central Connecticut, where he says it took time to make peace with being gay. By junior year of high school, he had come out to himself. By senior year, he was quietly living a double life, closeted at school, where he was prom king and class president, but beginning to explore his sexuality through community theater. 'I was ready to be gay,' he said. 'I just wasn't ready to mess with everything else.' He waited until college to come out to others, on his very first night in New York, sitting in a diner with a group of fellow freshmen. When someone asked if he was gay, he set down his grilled cheese and said, for the first time out loud, 'Yes. I'm gay.' Coming out to family and hometown friends took longer. And the bullying he endured as a kid, taunts for doing theater, not playing sports, still lingers in memory. 'It was something I dealt with all through high school,' he said. Both men exude strong 'daddy vibes,' physically muscular, emotionally available, and unmistakably at ease in their own skin. They've shared bedrooms, wedding aisles, and dance floors. And when they hit the right party, Gregg sheds his shirt beside Felix in a sea of sweaty, writhing men. 'He's come with me to a Rekt party or a Honey Dijon party,' Felix says. 'I wouldn't necessarily call them circuit, but definitely like a gay tech house party.' Their rhythms may differ, but the friendship is seamless. Felix officiated at Gregg's wedding. When Felix and Naquan get married next year, Gregg will return the favor. 'We've had some really strange and exciting experiences together,' Felix says. 'And I just think there's such a long history now… I trust him completely.' Asked if the relationship has ever crossed into romantic or sexual territory, both are disarmingly candid. 'Tom has made the most convincing arguments to be with a man I've ever heard,' Gregg jokes. 'But I'm in a committed monogamous marriage. And I'm straight. Tom knows that. And he respects it.' Felix, without missing a beat: 'And I'm still trying.' Paint your nails, punch Nazis Their closeness has shaped Gregg's public persona, too. Through the Trump years, he coined a slogan, 'Paint Your Nails, Punch Nazis,' that went viral and stuck. Now it's on T-shirts, stickers, and plenty of merch. The phrase grew out of lived experience. Bullied as a kid, Gregg bulked up and leaned into hypermasculinity as protection. Later, when his son asked to paint his nails, Gregg painted his too — and kept going. Tom Felix (left) and Jonathan Gregg at a costume Jonathan Gregg & Tom Felix (provided) 'My wife and I always wanted to buck gender norms,' he says. 'When our son was born, we made pink tank tops that said, 'It's a boy' on the front, and 'Gender norms are for the weak' on the back.' It wasn't about rebellion. It was about modeling freedom. 'Even if my son never paints his nails again,' Gregg says, 'he'll remember that a masculine man in his life did. That's powerful.' He and Felix have made that kind of modeling part of the show, silly, serious, or somewhere in between. Building a friendship and a show while reclaiming "no homo" The podcast was years in the making. They'd joked about it forever. But the 2024 election, and the political darkness that followed, finally gave them the push. 'I was just tired of screaming into my phone,' Felix says. 'I wanted to use my voice for something more.' So they hit record. Then they did it again. And again. The format is loose: a weekly check-in, some current events, a few personal revelations, and always—always—a vibe. No Homo launched in late June. New episodes drop every Thursday. As of this week, six have aired, and the show is already finding its footing. Last weekend, Felix was recognized for the first time at The Cock, the legendary gay bar on Manhattan's Lower East Side. 'Are you the guy from the podcast?' a man named Dan from Albuquerque, New Mexico, asked. 'I'll always have The Cock,' Felix joked on the show. Dan also passed on a compliment for Gregg: 'If you flutter your eyelashes fast enough, he thinks you just might float away.' Before they ever pressed record, the name sparked debate. No Homo was originally coined as a reflexive disclaimer, a way for straight men to distance themselves from anything that might be perceived as gay. The phrase exploded in the 1990s and early 2000s hip-hop, where artists used it to assert dominance, affirm heterosexuality, or preempt ridicule after saying anything remotely affectionate. It was defensive, insecure, and often deeply homophobic. Gregg and Felix know all that. And they named their show No Homo anyway. 'We wanted to hold a mirror to the absurdity of it,' Felix says. 'The phrase itself is so rooted in anxiety, about gender, about orientation, about being perceived. And we wanted to flip it.' 'It's the dumbest, most hilarious thing straight men ever came up with,' Gregg adds. 'And now here we are, one straight, one gay, saying, yeah, no homo, and also all the homo. Deal with it.' The title is provocative by design. But it's not empty provocation. It's about subversion, about confronting cultural discomfort with male closeness. By reclaiming the phrase, they're turning its original anxiety on its head, and replacing it with something grounded, funny, and emotionally honest. 'We're in on the joke,' Felix says. 'But we're also dead serious about it.' Jonathan Gregg (left) and Tom Jonathan Gregg & Tom Felix (provided) In the sixth episode, Gregg shared a message from a listener, what he jokingly called a 'no-homer slash bromo,' who'd reached out to a gay friend after hearing their ongoing conversations about friendship and flirtation. The straight man asked: 'Do you find me attractive?' The friend said yes, but explained that because the man was married, he hadn't said anything before. 'It made him feel really good,' Gregg said. 'And frankly, it's kind of always been in the back of my mind — that's the best service we can offer from this podcast.' 'There is a male loneliness epidemic in the country,' he added. 'There's a void of love from men—how they experience it, how they accept it, how they show it. And I'm telling you, there would be less of a loneliness issue if you just make some gay friends and let 'em flirt with you. It's the best you're ever going to feel.' A May 2025 Gallup poll found that 25 percent of American men ages 15 to 34 reported feeling lonely 'a lot' of the previous day, more than young men in 35 other high-income democratic countries. In the U.S., young men are significantly lonelier than both young women and older adults. Experts link the crisis to long-standing cultural norms that discourage boys from expressing vulnerability, often leaving them emotionally isolated. 'There are some ways to feel a little better,' Felix added. Gregg didn't miss a beat: 'If you and your gay friend decide you want to go down that path, that's totally cool too. And if you don't, then take the flirting, take the compliments, take the gas up, and know that they'll probably give you a really good blowjob if you want it.' 'I did try to grab his dick on my 30th birthday,' Felix admitted in his Advocate interview. 'That's true. But I was being a real tease,' Gregg chimed in. 'So even I can forgive that one.' But was it no homo or was it homo? 'Yeah, it was no homo,' Gregg said. 'It might've been after the fact. It might have no homoed after the fact.' Gregg and Felix aren't trying to be icons. They're just trying to be honest. To show what friendship can look like when men stop fearing softness, stop fearing each other. 'If more straight men had gay best friends,' Gregg says, 'the world would be a better place. Period.' He's not wrong. Happy International Friendship Day. Catch below. - YouTube This article originally appeared on Advocate: One is straight. The other is gay. Together, these best friends are reimagining masculinity Solve the daily Crossword
