Her famous father brought her to our attention with a song in the Forties, and she seized the spotlight for herself in 1966 with These Boots Are Made For Walkin'. Now, decades later, Nancy Sinatra captures our interest again. America's favorite bootscooter is making a comeback--with a new CD--and we have pictures that will leave you crooning. Helping the Chairman's daughter swing for the camera was cool-cat photographer Stephen Wayda. Another famous daughter feeling the summer wind on her skin is Jeanie Buss, whose dad, Dr. Jerry Buss, owns the Los Angeles Lakers. Heir Jeanie says she posed to promote herself and her hockey team, the L.A. Blades. Completing our hat trick of women who break the mold is Camille Paglia. Since her first best-seller, Sexual Personae, which celebrates male power and aggression, Paglia has tried to change the direction of the women's movement. But can it be done by such a rebel? In an interview conducted by Contributing Editor David Sheff, Paglia makes fun of Naomi Wolf's and Gloria Steinem's hair, talks about stalking Catherine Deneuve at Saks and relates how she nearly assaulted a flirtatious woman who wouldn't have sex with her.
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The other day I saw the words Chomsky knows scratched into the wall of a toilet stall. This is how word of Noam Chomsky tends to spread: You hear the guy, your life changes and you share the news however you can. He has been called the most quoted living human. As a professor at MIT, he is one of the most important linguists of the 20th century. What does this have to do with popular music? Well, as an anarchist, Chomsky has long been a hero to the punk subculture (Bad Religion put one of his lectures on the B side of a single). As punk has permeated other forms of rock, Chomsky's influence has spread. Pearl Jam, for example, plugged Chomsky in a live radio concert, and producer Don Was plans to sample some of Chomsky's aphorisms for a compilation album. If you want to be hip, you have to listen to Chomsky. So where do you find him on tape? Send away to Radio Free Maine (P.O. Box 2705, Augusta, Maine 04338, 207-622-6629), which has a vast catalog of his lectures--along with those of other dissident heroes--on audiocassettes and videocassettes. The Role of the Media in Manufacturing Consent is a particularly bracing analysis of the recent elections and the propaganda offensives of the American ruling class in the past 25 years. If you find the truth exhilarating, Noam Chomsky provides a better buzz than rock and roll.
Working with Twin Peaks composer Angelo Badalamenti, who served as producer and co-writer, Marianne Faithfull moves into Edith Piaf territory with A Secret Life (Island). Thirty years after As Tears Go By, Faithfull has become a great pop voice. Whether she's intoning a fluffy mystification such as The Stars Line Up or delivering lines from Shakespeare, she's singing in the tradition of French and Italian balladeers, and she provides a far more interesting listening experience than, say, Jacques Brel. But this is not the best material she's ever produced. In fact, with a couple of exceptions (such as Losing), it's a long way from the intimate biographical songs that we have come to associate with her. As Faithfull ought to know, it's one thing to sound intimate; it's another thing to be intimate.
Want to amaze your friends and confound your enemies? Tell them you have a copy of Eric Clapton's follow-up to last year's blues tribute, From the Cradle. Then slap on Mobile Fidelity Sound Lab's CD, John Mayall's Blues Breakers With Eric Clapton, and watch them marvel over Eric's playing and the incredible sound quality. Then hit them with the punch line: Clapton recorded this masterpiece almost 30 years ago. Blues Breakers was the album on which Clapton found his voice. Here, he created the vocabulary of modern blues-rock guitar. The only thing that will astonish you more than Clapton's incendiary playing is the sound quality that the engineers rediscovered in the master tapes. As with all the Sound Lab reissues, you'll swear the musicians are jamming right in your living room.
Why mince words? North Carolina's Archers of Loaf are aesthetes--definitive indie rockers. Like their perfect 1993 album, Icky Mettle, the brand new Vee Vee (Alias, 2815 W. Olive Avenue, Burbank, CA 91505) is for connoisseurs of guitar noise, clever rage, camouflaged catchiness and jagged tempos. As such, Vee Vee will irritate anyone who is not plugged in to the alternative circuit and will delight anyone who is. Tough noogs for the naysayers, serious fun for the rest of us.
Professor Trance & the Energizers, Shaman's Breath (Island): New Age anthropology discovers the rave, and we think it's about time. Trance dancing is too much fun to be left to the exclusive domain of teenagers on ecstasy.
Two New York crews with best-selling debuts have toughened their follow-up messages without brutalizing them. Digable Planets' Blowout Comb (Pendulum EMI) emphasizes Afrocentrism and gets its jazzy groove from live musicians. Fu-Schnickens' Nervous Breakdown (Jive) shifts the focus from kung fu to East Flatbush and pulls out the stops on Sum Dum Monkey, as technically breathtaking a rap as you could hope to hear.
One of last year's best soundtracks was for the movie Above the Rim. Dr. Dre supervised the collection--a sharp, diverse look at contemporary black pop. The soundtrack to Murder Was the Case (Death Row/Interscope), a short film directed by Dre and starring Snoop Doggy Dogg, isn't quite so good. The movie is a vanity project, but the 15 tracks on the album are diverting even if too much of Murder is simpleminded Los Angeles gangbanging. The collection reaffirms the emergence of R&B and rap as this decade's most important trends.
The Clifford Brown-Max Roach Quintet may have been the best jazz band of the Fifties. The double disc Alone Together (Verve) provides plenty of evidence. True to its title, the set focuses on the individuals. Disc one spotlights the quicksilver Brown, including his sessions with strings and with vocalists Sarah Vaughan and Helen Merrill. Disc two follows Roach's career after Brown's fatal auto accident in 1956. Too few of the tracks feature Sonny Rollins, who joined the band in late 1955. Still, it's a great time capsule.
In Western music, drums usually provide the backbeat. But in Africa, drums often take center stage. Ghanaian percussionist and composer Obo Addy lets his talking drums tell the story while haunting flutes provide the backdrop on The Rhythm of Which a Chief Walks Gracefully (Earthbeat/Warner Bros.). Addy uses folk traditions to blend ancient and modern music, creating a true African masterwork.
The Complete Stax-Volt Singles Volume 3: 1972-1975 (Fantasy): You have to be kind of fanatical to want a set that plays out over ten discs. This box chronicles the fall of Southern soul and the label's inability to come to terms with funk and disco. But Eddie Floyd, Frederick Knight, the Soul Children and--most of all--Isaac Hayes and the Staple Singers more than keep a devotee's attention. Guess that makes me one.
The Best of Excello Records (Avi): As great a crackpot enterprise as American music ever created, Excello had a roster that included one genius--Slim Harpo. The label also produced one trash masterpiece--the Gladiolas' original Little Darlin'. There's also stuff that's too bizarre for us to classify: the Blues Rockers' Calling All Cores and Rollin' Stone by the Marigolds lead the parade. If you like your R&B languid and loony, this is it.
With more radio stations programming Seventies and Eighties R&B, it's not surprising that there's been a glut of compilation albums. The latest is Smooth Grooves (Rhino), four volumes of love songs, many of which also scored as crossover hits. Earth, Wind & Fire's Reasons, the Manhattans' Shining Star and Teddy Pendergrass' Love TKO are three of my favorites, but if you listened to the radio any time in the past 15 years, there should be something here for you. Catch the originals before one of Dr. Dre's acts covers them.
The film Amateur (Sony Classics) is another off-the-wall demicomedy by writer-director Hal Hartley, whose three previous works--The Unbelievable Truth, Trust and Simple Men--have established his reputation as a film poet unfettered by rules. Here, an amnesiac (Martin Donovan) who can't recall his former career as a pornographer meets an ex-nun (Isabelle Huppert) with problems of her own. She writes stories for a porno magazine and claims to be a latent nymphomaniac who has never had sex. Their budding relationship is complicated by the appearance of several unsavory characters, including the amnesiac's wife (Elina Lowensohn), who pushed him out a window and left him for dead after he forced her to perform in his films. Huppert plays Hartley's game with her usual deadpan savoir faire. What results is a mildly subversive action movie with a smidgen of mainstream sophistication. [rating]2-1/2 bunnies[/rating]
An actor's actor who prefers the Broadway stage to cinema, Kevin Spacey, at 35, is edging toward movie stardom in spite of himself. "I'm having a year in which I'm pretty much out there," he says over breakfast at a Greenwich Village restaurant. A 1991 Tony Award winner for his stage role in Neil Simon's Lost in Yonkers, Spacey will co-produce and star this fall in a play called National Anthems. Meanwhile, he's showing up on the big screen in three movies: Swimming With Sharks (see review); The Usual Suspects, as a talkative crook named Verbal Kint; and the highly anticipated Outbreak, with Dustin Hoffman ("A sort of medical thriller. I'm a pretty funny good guy"). Spacey is well-remembered for previous film work as the weaselly office manager in Glengarry Glen Ross and as a comically caustic hostage in The Ref. He is slated for a role in Seven, starring Morgan Freeman and Brad Pitt, and is also making a documentary in collaboration with Al Pacino (a close friend) about actors doing Shakespeare.
The stars of Oliver Stone's Natural Born Killers weren't the first cinematic pair to take to the highway. With its cheap motels, cool convertibles and dusty streets, the road flick is as American as apple pie--though never quite so wholesome. Our video road map includes:
Do the less-than-sovereign escapades of Charles and Di leave you wondering if some of the bloom is off the royal rose forever? The Windsors: A Royal Family (MPI, $79.98) tracks five generations of oftmadcap monarchs in four volumes, with a dash of recent regal dirt. . . . If rock-and-roll royalty is more to your liking, time-warp through Time Life's The History of Rock and Roll (ten volumes, $160), from the first twang on a Les Paul sixstring to today's rap and hip-hop. The encyclopedic effort features 250 tunes and 204 interviews. . . . Chute 'em up with Colorado Cowboy: The Bruce Ford Story (Kino, $24.95), a video rodeo starring the five-time world champ and king of the bareback buckaroos. The black-and-white documentary copped a cinematography prize at the 1994 Sundance Festival. . . . Prepare for a royal blush as two kings--and one queen--of stand-up headline a trio of Showtime specials from Paramount ($12.95 each). The titles tell all: Denis Leary: No Cure for Cancer, Joan Rivers: Abroad in London and Tim Allen: Men Are Pigs. . . . From Video Action Sports comes Mad Beef: An Inline Felony ($19.95), a crash course on daredevil street skating, in which the best blades in New York and Los Angeles duel to neardeath. The spoilsport vid box warns couch jocks not to try it at home. We won't.
Take me to your remaster. Among the spruced up titles from Pioneer, in both wide-screen and pan-and-scan formats: Terry Gilliam's Time Bandits, Robert Redford's Ordinary People and the still-amusing Arnold Schwarzenegger action film, The Running Man. . . . Voyager's documentary release, François Truffaut: 25 Years, 25 Films, is a French kiss to the pioneer of the New Wave. The digital transfer is superb and the supplementary material includes trailers, audition clips, commentary (by Spielberg, no less) and the rarely seen short, Les Mistons (1957). Other Truffaut from Voyager's Criterion Collection: The 400 Blows (1959), Jules and Jim (1962) and Two English Girls (1971). Bon spectacle! . . . Laser fans may notice yet another code making its debut on the jacket to Paramount's Clear and Present Danger: AC-3. That's short for Dolby Surround AC-3 Digital, which refers to an upgrade in the more familiar Dolby Surround and Pro Logic audio processes. With the right equipment, AC-3 gives you a fuller sound. Without it, you're stuck doing what the rest of us do: enjoying the movie.
"I like films with conviction," says music legend Quincy Jones. The maestro's top ten? Citizen Kane, The Godfather, Apocalypse Now, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, The Informer, Boyz N the Hood, The Last Emperor--and the comedies Being There, The Odd Couple and Enter Laughing. When rewinding his favorites, Jones is a sucker for good direction. "In Last Emperor, when Bertolucci moves us outside through the billowing cloth door to see thousands of people in beautiful costumes, and all you can hear is the sound of the wind--no orchestra--that's a brave choice. That's where the heart and the soul come out. When it all falls together like that, there's nothing like it."
Ever since the waning days of J. Edgar Hoover's reign, the Federal Bureau of Investigation has had a public relations problem. Recent criticism of triggerhappy, malicious and bureaucratic feds may, however, be washed aside by Hard Evidence (Simon & Schuster), David Fisher's impressive portrait of the FBI Criminal Laboratory. This book reveals exciting advances in forensics at this center for crime detection, and it details case after case in which scientific analysis has foiled contemporary criminals.
Last summer I was fit. It required four months of flogging unwilling flesh, but by August I felt honed, and I swore I would stay that way. In October, though, the weather turned dirty, so I didn't get out on the bike quite as much as I'd intended. Then the holidays arrived. Not wanting to be a party pooper, I ate heartily and drank with purpose. I also missed a session or two at the gym. Actually, I stopped going altogether.
During the latest Los Angeles floods, my Saab, a cranky car at the best of times, spitefully developed a leaky sunroof. I drove around in my mobile wading pool, looking at macho jeepy vehicles tearing straight through mud slides.
My fiancée and I have been together for two years. One night we were fooling around and she asked if I had a fantasy. I told her I did but that she wouldn't be happy if I were to reveal it. She proceeded to get me so hot that I blurted it out: I want to sleep with her and her sister at the same time. She seemed to get turned on by this, so I gave her details and we ended up having great sex. Later that night she said it would never happen and she got angry at me. Every once in a while, I masturbate at the thought of the three of us together. Should I tell her about this?--P.C., Washington, D.C.
Like so many things having to do with sex, the political discussion of masturbation was over almost as soon as it began. Outspoken Surgeon General Joycelyn Elders stated the obvious (that teens masturbate), and President Clinton fired her before the Republicans could glom on to masturbation as a rallying cry. Voters were deprived of the chance to hear Republicans mumble themselves into oblivion debating the party line on beating off. There were a few jokes--"Clinton did it at Oxford but insists he never came"--and muted outrage from the religious right, but little else.
"One might best describe his actions as heedlessly irresponsible and, at worst, as nihilistic, self-indulgent and lacking in any fundamental sense of values. [Allowing this case to proceed could criminalize the conduct] of the myriad of home computer users who succumb to the temptation to copy even a single software program for private use. It isn't clear that making criminals of a large number of consumers of computer software is a result that even the software industry would consider desirable."
Imagine your perfect date. What are you drawn to? What do you avoid? Be discriminating. Now, keep it to yourself. You may be breaking the law--at least according to the Harvard Law Review, which apparently can't tell the difference between illegal discrimination and exercising free choice in affairs of the heart.
The ones we read about never seem to stop with a single victim. Jesse Timmendequas, convicted twice of sexually assaulting children, served six years in prison. Upon his release he moved to Hamilton Township, New Jersey. He talked seven-year-old Megan Kanka into his house, where he raped and strangled her.
Because its backers consider a liberal bias to exist in other broadcasting networks, the upstart Conservative Television Network plans to fill its schedule with original programming designed to promote conservative values. We can see the program log already:
In light of the Newtonian revolution, this columnist has decided to abandon political punditry for a more promising career as a financial analyst. Training tapes and seminars are in the works, but for now I'm stuck with print. The basic premise of the Scheer Stock System is so obvious that you'll wonder why you didn't think of it yourself.
It is almost easier to get through to the president than to Camille Paglia. The litany of instructions on her answering machine is intentionally intimidating. A male voice begins, "Due to her pressing obligations as a teacher and scholar, Professor Paglia cannot personally return calls." The instructions continue, "American and Canadian media with official requests should contact her publisher; international media must contact her agent. Invitations to speak and all other business should be put in writing and sent to Professor Paglia. Do not send faxes. Professor Paglia does not accept them. All packages are opened and inspected by the staff. Unsolicited materials without return postage will be automatically discarded. Urgent messages may be left on this tape to be reviewed by the staff. If you do not receive a response, Professor Paglia is not interested in your proposal."
The house is one of those modern single-story Hollywood hills rectangles that just out from the hillside at an absurd angle, held in place by giant steel brackets. It belongs to the son of a well-known movie producer, but few of the hundred guests at the party seem to know their host. Music and laughter echo off the patio, which is crowded with young entertainment-industry types and more than a few recognizable musicians and TV stars. It's a mix of guys in Ben Davis hip-hop outfits and women in kinderwhore dresses.
I like being underestimated," says Jeanie Buss with a grin, and for a minute, you have to wonder who would be foolish enough to make such a mistake. Underestimate a woman who, at the age of 33, has been running professional sports teams for 14 years, who has promoted events at a prestigious arena since she was barely out of high school, who serves on the board of directors of one of the hottest sports franchises of the past few decades?
Ad magic, the celebrated direct-mail wizard for the Global Aid hunger effort, spent a full day and two dark nights of the soul in his bathroom at the Hotel Arusha. It was a nasty, humid little room about the size of a small French elevator. It smelled of old sewage and fresh bilious vomit even with the door open and the bathroom air commingling with the dead, heavy air of his suite. He had a case of the Tanzania trots that seemed to go on forever. And the malaria Ad Magic had picked up in Rwanda was making a comeback now that he was unable to keep his mefloquine down. Malarial fever had a way of elongating time into delirious expanses of paranoia and despair. Yet the bone-rattling chills that would follow were somehow worse, like impending death, and he alternated between fever and chills with something near documentable regularity. Between the sieges, Ad Magic would fall into a heavy slumber punctuated by horrible hypnagogic dreams, or by wide-awake bouts of visceral evacuation. The heart of darkness Conrad wrote about so vividly was still available in modern-day Tanzania. It seemed that he had fallen into an eternal vortex of hell.
Spring. You know the drill. You take your baseball mitt from the closet, lovingly apply oil and start working on the pocket. Or you uncover your Windsurfer and check the status of the sail. Or you hoist your mountain bike off the wall and start cleaning the chain. You do a few stretches, lift a few weights, but hey, it's time to play. This is the year you go for greatness. You also know what happens next. All the anticipation turns to pain as you try to replay last season's glories with this season's muscles. To help ease you into your favorite summer sport, we contacted some of the best trainers and athletes in America, including Robby Naish, a legendary windsurfer since the age of 13; Tom Schuler, general manager of the Geo/Rollerblade Racing Team, and Jon Summerbell, an in-line racer; Gard Gardiner, tennis director at John Gardiner's Tennis Ranch; James Flick, who coaches Jack Nicklaus and other golf pros; Ned Overend, a 39-year-old who's almost unbeatable in the sport of mountain biking; and Tom Fleming, who conducts running clinics with former Olympian Joan Benoit-Samuelson. We also spoke with Tim Grover, a sports-enhancement specialist and head (concluded on page 148)Spring Tune-Up(continued from page 80) of Advanced Athletics in Chicago. Grover's clients include Michael Jordan and members of Chicago's national champion 16-inch-softball team, Lettuce. We asked Grover what he does to get clients in shape for baseball. His approach epitomizes the new direction of sports fitness:
Let us consider the Pop Resurrection. You know: Tony Bennett on MTV Unplugged, Johnny Cash at the Viper Room, Roy Orbison onstage with Bruce Springsteen and Elvis Costello. Every few months another old guy hangs out with some not-so-old guy and gets on MTV (or at least VH-1), looking for a comeback even if he's really never been gone.
San Francisco County Jail #3 is the oldest in California, a frightening place with chipped white bars and gray cement floors. The cells are tiny, 5' x 9'. TV sets bolted to the ceiling in the walkways between the cells blast rap videos. Between lockdowns a group of glaring black men in orange sweatsuits huddles under one set, while several glaring Hispanics huddle under another. The inmates here wear sweatsuits in one of three colors--orange for presentenced prisoners, yellow for sentenced prisoners, dark blue for inmates allowed outside the secured areas. "Why do we have to wear orange?" asks a new arrival who has just stepped out of a sheriff's van. "It makes you a better target," replies a guard. "That's not funny," says the prisoner. "It wasn't meant to be," says the guard.
Cindy Brown is in the middle of a spirited discussion about the environment and destructive human appetites when temptation turns her pretty head. Six Hell's Angels roar up Rose Avenue, rattling the open windows of the café where we sit, just off the beach in Venice, California. "Oh my God," Cindy exclaims, her eyes suddenly gleaming. "I want a Harley really bad!" What? A gas-guzzling vestige of our unenlightened past? "Oh man!" she says, immediately launching into a new story. "I was sitting at Johnny Rockets on Melrose Avenue one night, and this woman drove up solo on a Harley. That's supposed to be a man thing. Everybody gave her respect right away. I'm constantly looking for a way to do things that women aren't supposed to do."
In 1994 rock and roll took a ride on the information highway. The way artists communicate with fans has probably changed forever. We still went to record stores and concerts, but CD-ROM now makes it possible to interact in the virtual world of the musicians we admire. The Rolling Stones broadcast part of a live show on the Internet. Rock stars advertised their wares on the World Wide Web and, taking heed of digital pioneer Peter Gabriel, musicians including Bob Dylan, Aerosmith, Yes, David Bowie, the Residents and Alice in Chains brought out interactive CD-ROMs. So far, the best-seller has been Interactive by the Artist Formerly Known as Prince. It allow the user to go to his house, jam with him in a music video, visit his dance club and poke around in his creative life. CD-ROMs can also let the user experience events in the past. Haight-Ashbury in the Sixties (with music by the Grateful Dead and the Jefferson Airplane) includes artwork, articles, poetry, animation, interviews and video clips. Now users can do the Sixties without any of the bad acid.
They Killed the World Series. Now the afterimage of a good season is not Seattle's Ken Griffey Jr. wristing another home run at the moon; not the White Sox' Frank Thomas, with his hammer-thrower's swing, joining Griffey and San Francisco's Matt Williams in the chase toward 61 homers; not lonesome Padre Tony Gwynn hitting .394; not Atlanta's sleepy-eyed Greg Maddux defying hot hitters to spin one of the best years a pitcher ever had; not six pennant races promising a Series that might have been as retro as Yankees-Dodgers or as bizarro as Indians-Expos. Instead we remember a Milwaukee car dealer named Bud Selig standing at a podium, announcning that he and his fellow team owners were killing the hostage.
If a video game's blockbuster status has any impact on a movie's box office, then Christopher Lambert is about to become a star of huge proportions. He plays Lord Raiden in New Line Cinema's forthcoming release Mortal Kombat, based on the best-selling video game. But here, the star of Greystoke and the Highlander films takes on the monochromatic styles of summer. Achieving Lambert's warm-weather look is simple: Mix a jacket, a sport shirt and easy-fitting pajama pants--all in the same color. It's combination that's cool, sleek and slenderizing. Not that you need that last bit, of course.
Master crime writer Elmore Leonard is shrinking. He used to be 5'9", he says, but not anymore. As the money from his 32 books makes his bank account grow, his body gets smaller. He figures it comes with getting older--he is now 70--and in not getting enough exercise. Sitting at his desk knocking off a novel a year isn't going to stretch his spine. And jogging, as far as he's concerned, is a criminal activity. Unless you're running from the law, he doesn't think you should have to run any farther than it takes to catch a cab.
It should come as no surprise that Nancy Sinatra is back. We've known her since she was just a kid, when her father--you know, the most famous saloon singer in the universe--introduced her in a lilting lullaby called Nancy(With the Laughing Face). Twenty years later, she strutted into pop culture accompanied by an indelible quarter-tone bass line as she snarled the lyrics to the protofeminist anthem, number one hit and all-around cool song These Boots Are Made for Walkin'. Occasionally, she even lent daddy a hand; One of his biggest hits is Somethin' Stupid, his duet with Nancy.
He is on a roll. It's not just the success of the internationally syndicated "Baywatch," David Hasselhoff's sun, fun, hardbodies and good-family-values TV series. After the show was dumped by NBC five years ago, Hasselhoff and his "Baywatch" co-investors rescued the series by cutting costs and going independent. A "Baywatch" spin-off, "Baywatch Nights," in which lifeguard Mitch Buchannon (Hasselhoff) moonlights as a private eye, is coming soon. "Baywatch" peripherals are about to hit the market--including "Baywatch" Barbie dolls and Baywatchers restaurants. Also, Hasselhoff is such a singing sensation in Germany that he is referred to as that country's Elvis. We had Contributing Editor David Rensin quiz Hasselhoff as he prepared to wrap principal photography on another season. Says Rensin, "I found Hasselhoff at the top of the world--OK, at the top of a Ferris wheel on Santa Monica pier."
Electronics manufacturers are thinking smart: Instead of forcing us to clutter our desktops with gadgets, they're combining useful technologies in ways that make great sense. Take the marriage of telephones and answering machines. Several companies, including Sony, Toshiba and Panasonic, now offer cordless phones with digital messaging systems built into the base. Owning one of these devices means enjoying the convenience of a top cordless phone and the instant-access advantage of a tapeless microchip recorder. There are also integrated phone-answering machines with multiple mailboxes and voice prompts that route your calls. Some of these virtual receptionists can even play music for callers who are on hold. No Michael Bolton, please.
Rusty Mike--A lot of people think that when Mike Tyson gets out of the joint, Boxing's Heavy-Weight class will be heavy once more. But can the Ex-Champ reclaim the tarnished crown? Vic Ziegel weighs in with the answer