Latest news with #JVKE
Yahoo
10-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
JVKE Teams Up With Le SSSERAFIM's KIM CHAEWON & TOMORROW X TOGETHER's TAEHYUN on Bubbly ‘Butterflies' Single
It's a late start, but JVKE may have just dropped the song of the summer. On Thursday morning (July 10), the Rhode Island native and 'Golden Hour' singer/producer released 'Butterflies,' a breezy new single featuring LE SSERAFIM'S KIM CHAEWON and TOMORROW X TOGETHER's TAEHYUN. The track anchored by a rollicking ragtime piano and jazzy beat blasts out of the gate with good vibes and the sunniest of dispositions as JVKE sings, 'Oh, baby, it's you, all I want is you/ I think we'd be cute together, call me back tonight/ Oh, baby, you, all I want is you/ Only you could give me butterflies/ I feel like I can fly when I'm with you.' More from Billboard Newly Named Global Ambassador Wyclef Jean to Join Mark Cuban at Inaugural Global Citizen NOW: Detroit Event Jennifer Hudson to Headline Whitney Houston Legacy of Love Gala Jackson Browne, Patti Austin, Seth MacFarlane & More to Fete Lyricist Alan Bergman on His 100th Birthday The yearning tune about a maybe love that has got all three of the singers dreaming of a call back soars into the heavens on the second verse, when TAEHYUN croons, 'Yeah, I'm up right now/ Head up in the clouds, no, I can't come down/ You an angel where you fly right now/ And when you walk in the room, all the eyes on you/ Made me look twice, mirror/ All the visions of you couldn't be clearer.' In a statement, the TXT singer said, 'I think this song is a perfect fit for all three of us! I hope that fans of JVKE, LE SSERAFIM, and TOMORROW X TOGETHER all enjoy it. I look forward to the day we can all perform it live together. Please give it lots of love!' JVKE was equally psyched and full of praise for his collaborators. 'I have so much respect for Taehyun and Kim Chaewon's artistry. it has been like a dream for them to love a song that I wrote enough to sing on it with me,' he said, with CHAEWON adding, 'I've always enjoyed listening to JVKE's music, so I was really thrilled to be featured on this track. Recording it was a lot of fun, and I honestly can't wait to share it with you all. I love how the song turned out and hope you're just as excited to hear it!' The LE SSERAFIM singer lands the plane in dreamy third verse, mooning, 'You drive me wild/ Whenever you're around/ This ain't your life/ I know you'll like it, right?/ 'Cause I can't hear you/ Oh, this feels like..' The song is the follow-up to JVKE's April collab with Tori Kelly, 'This Is What Floating Feels Like.' Listen to 'Butterflies' below. Best of Billboard Chart Rewind: In 1989, New Kids on the Block Were 'Hangin' Tough' at No. 1 Janet Jackson's Biggest Billboard Hot 100 Hits H.E.R. & Chris Brown 'Come Through' to No. 1 on Adult R&B Airplay Chart
GMA Network
09-07-2025
- Entertainment
- GMA Network
TXT's Taehyun, Le Sserafim's Chaewon to collaborate with JVKE for a song
TXT and Le Sserafim's vocal powerhouses are about to join forces! Tomorrow x Together's Taehyun and Le Sserafim's Chaewon teased a surprise collaboration song with American singer and producer JVKE on Wednesday morning. On Tiktok, a 12-second teaser video showed Taehyun, Chaewon, and JVKE greeting each other on a video call. The video ended with the song's release date and a purple butterfly. 'Surprise!! song with tae & chae chae!!' JVKE said. In a separate notice on JVKE's Weverse, it was announced that the song 'Butterflies' featuring Taehyun and Chaewon will be dropping on Thursday at 11 p.m. KST. 'This song captures the feeling of catching butterfglies every time that one person crosses your mind. We hope you love it as much as we do,' JVKE said in the notice. Taehyun, along with TXT, will soon be making a comeback with their 4th studio album 'The Star Chapter: Together' on July 21. They are also set to conduct a 2-day concert, 'Act: Tomorrow,' in Seoul in August. Meanwhile, Le Sserafim had recently dropped the music video for their newest song 'Kawaii,' which is the official theme song of Netflix's 'My Melody & Kuromi' series. —Jiselle Anne Casucian/JCB, GMA Integrated News
Yahoo
05-07-2025
- Health
- Yahoo
A Dad Tried To Bully Me Into Giving My Seat To His Kid. Here's What Happened When I Said No.
The concert tickets were a gift to my youngest daughter for her 11th birthday. I wanted to get back to the things we used to do before my brain surgery — despite needing a cane, noise-reducing earplugs and numerous calls to the general admission venue to secure an ADA seating accommodation. The accommodation turned out to be a metal bench attached to the back of a barricade that separated the VIP section from the general admission area. When I was seated, I faced away from the stage, into the VIP section. My head was in line with the standing crowd's elbows. I was four months into recovering and terrified I would get hit on my healing skull. As everyone sang along to teen pop star JVKE, the VIP crowd became denser. It was harder for me to stand up and turn around to watch the concert. But, if I didn't try to stand up, I'd miss the concert and the joy on my daughter's was during one of those moments when I stood that a man told his child to stand on my seat. The man and his family were part of the VIPs. I saw them when they were led into the section by people wearing all black clothing and headsets. The man was about 6 feet tall, wore a tight white T-shirt that accentuated his muscular build and sported a curly-hair-topped mohawk. I was afraid to confront him, but I needed my seat. 'Sorry, he can't stand there.' I said. 'That's my seat.' The man stared me down. 'Oh yeah? That's your seat?' He reeked of beer and a jagged vein bulged from his left temple. 'Why are you so special?' His question triggered an internal response in me that I had been working hard to erase — cowering instead of advocating. It was a residual trauma from more than a decade of not being taken seriously by doctors. Starting in my early 20s, I experienced unexplained dizzy spells, often felt fatigued and had crippling anxiety that prevented me from falling asleep, staying asleep or sleeping at all. One day, three years before I had my stroke, my brain felt so foggy that all I could do was curl up on my couch in the fetal position and cry for hours. I was so frustrated. I couldn't find the words to explain to my husband and daughters what was wrong. All I could do was sob. I bounced around from doctor to doctor for years, and each one blamed my malaise on something different: stress, an autoimmune disorder, being overweight. Not one said, 'We should order an MRI of your brain.' At 37 years old, I still had no answers, except for a therapist's diagnosis of medical-related post-traumatic stress disorder. Then, the stroke snuck up on me. On Tuesday, I felt a pain in my shoulder. On Wednesday, I couldn't grip my phone and my legs felt wobbly. On Thursday, I noticed that my left hand was slow to type, and I felt a sharp pain radiating up my wrist. Friday morning, I struggled to brush my teeth. That's when I, begrudgingly, went to the emergency room. I expected to be given an overpriced Tylenol and orders to avoid heavy lifting and rest. When the tests came back, the ER doctor began to tell me the results in Spanish, my native language. Un derrame cerebral. I translated it into literal English: My brain was spilling? That doesn't make sense. Do I suddenly not understand Spanish? I wondered. 'Can you say that again, in English, please?' I said. He said my brain was spilling, and probably had been bleeding for years. Then he told me to prepare for brain surgery. Two days later, a neurosurgeon, whom I'd met only twice, shaved a 6-inch strip across my head, drilled a hole in my skull and excised a cerebral cavernous malformation from my right frontal lobe. He put my head back together with a snowflake-shaped metal plate, screws and 28 staples. Then I had to spend months relearning how to use my body and my brain. I struggled to walk, read, hold a fork and tie my shoes. Loud noises made my heart rate shoot up, which needed to stay below 110 bpm or there was a risk of increasing blood pressure in my swollen brain. To avoid jarring noises, my husband unplugged the hospital room telephone, told every visitor to whisper and asked the nurses to stay away unless their presence was medically necessary. As much as I struggled, I never felt like I had the right to use the word 'disabled.' If I was truly disabled, I thought, my doctor would have surely slid a packet of papers across my hospital tray table and said, 'Welcome to the Disability Club.' He'd punctuate his statement with a reassuring pat on my hand. Then, I'd diligently study the bylaws of this group I'd unwillingly joined. But that is not what happened. It turns out that when you suddenly become disabled, there is no committee to ask if you qualify to label yourself as such or to ask what accommodations might be available. You have to learn to advocate for yourself. Advocating can be confusing and hard when your disability is invisible. Mine also runs on a spectrum and can be situational. It becomes much harder to manage the effects of having a hole in my brain if I don't sleep well, schedule breaks or avoid overstimulation. Participating in a noisy gathering means I'm tired, slow and useless for a day or two afterward. These nuances make it frustrating when people — sometimes even family members — don't believe that my needs are real. People with disabilities, invisible or not, shouldn't have to explain themselves. Nor should accommodations for them be met at the lowest bar. As much as I hated confrontation, I had already missed out on too much thanks to my illness, and so had my family. I couldn't let this man at the concert bully me into giving up my seat too. 'I had brain surgery.' Jerk. That's why I'm special. When my husband saw the confrontation, he put himself between me and the man and explained my situation. The man backed down, but he was only a few feet away for the rest of the night. His glare made me feel like he was judging whether my behavior aligned with his idea of disability. Was I allowed to dance or smile? Should I just sit there miserably with my back toward the stage to prove that I deserved my seat? He didn't know that I had only recently started showering and getting dressed without help. He didn't notice that I was walking with a cane that night. He didn't see that I was wearing earplugs to mitigate the noise and that the next day, I'd be in bed all day staving off what I now refer to as the 'hangover' — a feeling that my brain no longer fits in my skull and is so heavy that it wants to burst out of my temples. There is nothing I could have done to make that man understand that, even if it didn't look like it, most days I felt like my neurons were moving through quicksand — their messages to other parts of me went awry or were swallowed up entirely. I'd suddenly lose words, balance, the ability to organize my day and make the left side of my body do what I needed it to. He couldn't understand how difficult it is to lose your independence — and identity — from one day to the next, or how something as simple as having a place to sit was the difference between enjoying a concert with my family or having to stay home. However, I don't worry about trying to make people understand anymore. I've realized that my right to advocate for myself isn't contingent on another person's sympathy. I've made peace with the things I can no longer do as well as I used to. I ask for the things I need, like a low table at a restaurant when I am offered a high top. I carry my noise-canceling earplugs everywhere and pop them in as soon as any public space gets too noisy. I sleep in or take naps when my brain tells me it needs a break. I say no to things I don't want to do. I smile, I dance, and I focus on my gratitude for all the things I don't have to miss. Cyntianna C. Ledesma Ortega earned her first byline at 11 years old in the The Miami Herald's YO (Youth Only) section — a features section by and for kids. She holds a B.S. in communication and an Ed.D. in adult education from Florida International University, allowing her to combine her passions for writing and education as a learning experience designer. She lives in Miami — and probably always will — with her husband and two teenage daughters. When they're not driving aimlessly just to sing loudly in the car, she's writing, reading and daydreaming. Follow her at @cyntiannawrites on Instagram. Do you have a compelling personal story you'd like to see published on HuffPost? Find out what we're looking for here and send us a pitch at pitch@ I Suddenly Have 4 Severe Dents In My Head And I'm Trying To Accept My New Appearance A Brain Infection Made Me Forget Nearly Everything. Here's How I Became Myself Again. When My Husband Survived Brain Cancer, His Doctor Made 1 Suggestion. It Ended Up Changing My Life Instead.
Yahoo
05-07-2025
- Health
- Yahoo
A Dad Tried To Bully Me Into Giving My Seat To His Kid. Here's What Happened When I Said No.
The concert tickets were a gift to my youngest daughter for her 11th birthday. I wanted to get back to the things we used to do before my brain surgery — despite needing a cane, noise-reducing earplugs and numerous calls to the general admission venue to secure an ADA seating accommodation. The accommodation turned out to be a metal bench attached to the back of a barricade that separated the VIP section from the general admission area. When I was seated, I faced away from the stage, into the VIP section. My head was in line with the standing crowd's elbows. I was four months into recovering and terrified I would get hit on my healing skull. As everyone sang along to teen pop star JVKE, the VIP crowd became denser. It was harder for me to stand up and turn around to watch the concert. But, if I didn't try to stand up, I'd miss the concert and the joy on my daughter's face. It was during one of those moments when I stood that a man told his child to stand on my seat. The man and his family were part of the VIPs. I saw them when they were led into the section by people wearing all black clothing and headsets. The man was about 6 feet tall, wore a tight white T-shirt that accentuated his muscular build and sported a curly-hair-topped mohawk. I was afraid to confront him, but I needed my seat. 'Sorry, he can't stand there.' I said. 'That's my seat.' The man stared me down. 'Oh yeah? That's your seat?' He reeked of beer and a jagged vein bulged from his left temple. 'Why are you so special?' His question triggered an internal response in me that I had been working hard to erase — cowering instead of advocating. It was a residual trauma from more than a decade of not being taken seriously by doctors. Starting in my early 20s, I experienced unexplained dizzy spells, often felt fatigued and had crippling anxiety that prevented me from falling asleep, staying asleep or sleeping at all. One day, three years before I had my stroke, my brain felt so foggy that all I could do was curl up on my couch in the fetal position and cry for hours. I was so frustrated. I couldn't find the words to explain to my husband and daughters what was wrong. All I could do was sob. I bounced around from doctor to doctor for years, and each one blamed my malaise on something different: stress, an autoimmune disorder, being overweight. Not one said, 'We should order an MRI of your brain.' At 37 years old, I still had no answers, except for a therapist's diagnosis of medical-related post-traumatic stress disorder. Then, the stroke snuck up on me. On Tuesday, I felt a pain in my shoulder. On Wednesday, I couldn't grip my phone and my legs felt wobbly. On Thursday, I noticed that my left hand was slow to type, and I felt a sharp pain radiating up my wrist. Friday morning, I struggled to brush my teeth. That's when I, begrudgingly, went to the emergency room. I expected to be given an overpriced Tylenol and orders to avoid heavy lifting and rest. When the tests came back, the ER doctor began to tell me the results in Spanish, my native language. Un derrame cerebral. I translated it into literal English: My brain was spilling? That doesn't make sense. Do I suddenly not understand Spanish? I wondered. 'Can you say that again, in English, please?' I said. He said my brain was spilling, and probably had been bleeding for years. Then he told me to prepare for brain surgery. Two days later, a neurosurgeon, whom I'd met only twice, shaved a 6-inch strip across my head, drilled a hole in my skull and excised a cerebral cavernous malformation from my right frontal lobe. He put my head back together with a snowflake-shaped metal plate, screws and 28 staples. Then I had to spend months relearning how to use my body and my brain. I struggled to walk, read, hold a fork and tie my shoes. Loud noises made my heart rate shoot up, which needed to stay below 110 bpm or there was a risk of increasing blood pressure in my swollen brain. To avoid jarring noises, my husband unplugged the hospital room telephone, told every visitor to whisper and asked the nurses to stay away unless their presence was medically necessary. As much as I struggled, I never felt like I had the right to use the word 'disabled.' If I was truly disabled, I thought, my doctor would have surely slid a packet of papers across my hospital tray table and said, 'Welcome to the Disability Club.' He'd punctuate his statement with a reassuring pat on my hand. Then, I'd diligently study the bylaws of this group I'd unwillingly joined. But that is not what happened. It turns out that when you suddenly become disabled, there is no committee to ask if you qualify to label yourself as such or to ask what accommodations might be available. You have to learn to advocate for yourself. Advocating can be confusing and hard when your disability is invisible. Mine also runs on a spectrum and can be situational. It becomes much harder to manage the effects of having a hole in my brain if I don't sleep well, schedule breaks or avoid overstimulation. Participating in a noisy gathering means I'm tired, slow and useless for a day or two afterward. These nuances make it frustrating when people — sometimes even family members — don't believe that my needs are real. People with disabilities, invisible or not, shouldn't have to explain themselves. Nor should accommodations for them be met at the lowest bar. As much as I hated confrontation, I had already missed out on too much thanks to my illness, and so had my family. I couldn't let this man at the concert bully me into giving up my seat too. 'I had brain surgery.' Jerk. That's why I'm special. When my husband saw the confrontation, he put himself between me and the man and explained my situation. The man backed down, but he was only a few feet away for the rest of the night. His glare made me feel like he was judging whether my behavior aligned with his idea of disability. Was I allowed to dance or smile? Should I just sit there miserably with my back toward the stage to prove that I deserved my seat? He didn't know that I had only recently started showering and getting dressed without help. He didn't notice that I was walking with a cane that night. He didn't see that I was wearing earplugs to mitigate the noise and that the next day, I'd be in bed all day staving off what I now refer to as the 'hangover' — a feeling that my brain no longer fits in my skull and is so heavy that it wants to burst out of my temples. There is nothing I could have done to make that man understand that, even if it didn't look like it, most days I felt like my neurons were moving through quicksand — their messages to other parts of me went awry or were swallowed up entirely. I'd suddenly lose words, balance, the ability to organize my day and make the left side of my body do what I needed it to. He couldn't understand how difficult it is to lose your independence — and identity — from one day to the next, or how something as simple as having a place to sit was the difference between enjoying a concert with my family or having to stay home. However, I don't worry about trying to make people understand anymore. I've realized that my right to advocate for myself isn't contingent on another person's sympathy. I've made peace with the things I can no longer do as well as I used to. I ask for the things I need, like a low table at a restaurant when I am offered a high top. I carry my noise-canceling earplugs everywhere and pop them in as soon as any public space gets too noisy. I sleep in or take naps when my brain tells me it needs a break. I say no to things I don't want to do. I smile, I dance, and I focus on my gratitude for all the things I don't have to miss. Cyntianna C. Ledesma Ortega earned her first byline at 11 years old in the The Miami Herald's YO (Youth Only) section — a features section by and for kids. She holds a B.S. in communication and an Ed.D. in adult education from Florida International University, allowing her to combine her passions for writing and education as a learning experience designer. She lives in Miami — and probably always will — with her husband and two teenage daughters. When they're not driving aimlessly just to sing loudly in the car, she's writing, reading and daydreaming. Follow her at @cyntiannawrites on Instagram. Do you have a compelling personal story you'd like to see published on HuffPost? Find out what we're looking for here and send us a pitch at pitch@ I Suddenly Have 4 Severe Dents In My Head And I'm Trying To Accept My New Appearance A Brain Infection Made Me Forget Nearly Everything. Here's How I Became Myself Again. When My Husband Survived Brain Cancer, His Doctor Made 1 Suggestion. It Ended Up Changing My Life Instead.
Yahoo
09-02-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Another celebrity leaves Dancing On Ice as the dreaded skate-off returns
Love Island star Chris Taylor has been eliminated from Dancing On Ice after going head-to-head in a dance-off against former footballer Anton Ferdinand. The celebrities had to perform their routines again on Sunday after they received the lowest score when the public vote was added to the judges' marks. Taylor reprised his graceful performance to Golden Hour by JVKE with his skating partner Robin Johnstone, which had been awarded a score of 32 earlier in the night. The reality star's original skating partner Vanessa Bauer had previously been forced to withdraw from the rest of the series last week after tearing ligaments in 'an accident' backstage, meaning this was the second show Taylor had performed with Johnstone. View this post on Instagram A post shared by Dancing on Ice (@dancingonice) Judge Jayne Torvill previously said she loved the 'quality of the skating' and complimented his pivot, while Christopher Dean said the sign of a good skater was how quiet they are on the ice and he said Taylor was 'silent'. Meanwhile, Ferdinand performed his energetic routine to Livin' La Vida Loca by Ricky Martin with his partner Annette Dytrt again, which picked up a score of 34 the first time around from the judges. Following the skate-off, judges Ashley Banjo, Oti Mabuse, Dean and Torvill all voted to save Ferdinand and Dytrt, sending Taylor and Johnstone home. Following the announcement, host Holly Willoughby said: 'You've been brilliant, and I feel like you've loved this even though this partnership hasn't been long, it's been enjoyable.' Taylor agreed it was a 'brief encounter' but jokingly quipped that he is 'used to that'. Earlier in the show, actress Charlie Brooks landed her highest score so far despite having to swap her skating partner at the last minute due to injury. It was announced on Friday that her professional skating partner Eric Radford had to skip Sunday's show after sustaining an injury in rehearsals and that Brendyn Hatfield would be stepping in to take over. Brooks and Hatfield secured a score of 32 for their first energetic routine to Common People by Pulp, which saw the EastEnders star lifted on the professional skater's shoulders. View this post on Instagram A post shared by Dancing on Ice (@dancingonice) Dean hailed it as her 'best routine' so far and said it looked like she found her feet during the performance. Mabuse agreed and complimented her transitions and her chemistry with Hatfield. Later, The Only Way Is Essex star Dan Edgar secured a score of 38 out of 40 – the highest score of the series – after taking on the dangerous headbanger move with his skating partner Vanessa James. The TV star also performed lifts and a cartwheel launch during the routine to Lionheart (Fearless) by Joel Corry and Tom Grennan. Mabuse praised the performance as 'unbelievable' and said she was 'so proud' of Edgar. Despite a small stumble at the beginning, Dean said the routine had 'everything'. 'It had the power, it had the steps, it had the creativity and you topped it off with a headbanger – the only question is now what do you do?' he added. Edgar just pipped Countryfile presenter Michaela Strachan to the top spot after she had landed the previous highest score of 35.5 for her graceful routine earlier in the night. The TV star, 58, performed a series of difficult moves with her dance partner Mark Hanretty, including a rotating stag and a back arabesque layout, to Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol to land the top mark. Banjo complimented their partner work and how Strachan made it 'look so effortless' and 'light and fluid'. View this post on Instagram A post shared by Dancing on Ice (@dancingonice) Coronation Street star Sam Aston secured a score of 33 for his routine to Lady Gaga and Bruno Mars' Die With A Smile with Molly Lanaghan. Banjo described his skating as 'top tier' but said the performance needed more passion. Traitors star Mollie Pearce embraced her inner cheerleader as she skated to Hot To Go! by US pop star Chappell Roan. The TV personality secured a score of 29.5 with her skating partner Colin Grafton for the upbeat routine, which saw her perform the Hot To Go! armography. Dean complimented her skating and confidence but said he 'wants more originality' from the pair. Dancing On Ice continues on ITV next Sunday.
