
The ‘bad vegan' fell for Alec Baldwin. Then she ended up with a con man
It was midday on a Saturday in the summer of 2010, and as usual I was at my restaurant, Pure Food and Wine. I was in the cramped basement office, catching up on work.
'Hey, Alec Baldwin just came in — he's seated in the garden,' someone said, passing by the open door.
'OK, thanks,' I called out.
It was normal for the staff to let me know if someone interesting came in. A few minutes later, a manager told me Alec's table had asked to speak to me. My first thought was, Really? Then, Shit.
Alec Baldwin had never been to the restaurant before, and I'd never met him. I was unshowered, wearing worn-out jeans and a loose tank top. I wasn't feeling my best. Oh well.
The garden was full. I felt the familiar pang of reticence at approaching any table, let alone Alec Baldwin's.
Melngailis at her restaurant Pure Food and Wine in 2011
KATHY WILLENS/AP
But Alec was gracious. He introduced me to his companion, a younger woman, probably about my age, with short brown hair. I kept the conversation — about our food, the restaurant, the usual — brief, not wanting to linger or overstay.
Later, I was near the front door when, a few minutes after they'd walked out, Alec came back alone. He said he was waiting for a car to take him back to the Hamptons. I suggested we sit outside on the front patio. We chatted only briefly before his ride appeared. He asked for my business card. Of course, I had one ready in my back pocket to give him.
Later that day, back at work on my computer, an email appeared from an address I didn't recognise. It was from Alec. In a series of witty, charming sentences, he asked if he might take me to dinner some time. I smiled. He wants to see me? A buzzy sensation rose inside me, like bubbles in a glass of champagne.
Alec was performing in a play out in the Hamptons, so a few weeks passed with us emailing before we saw each other again. Meanwhile, I told my live-in boyfriend Tobyn about this correspondence, and given he was a big fan of 30 Rock, he thought it was cool. It wasn't in his nature to get jealous or make assumptions.
Eventually, Alec and I arranged to have lunch at the Tuscan restaurant Beppe. Twice before, older and famous actors had asked me out, and both times I'd declined. In those cases, I got the impression they assumed I'd go out with them because they were famous. But Alec was different. He had none of that presumption. He was open and genuine, funny and kind, interesting and smart. We shared similar views on politics and animal rights.
Melngailis in the kitchen of one of her restaurants
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Over the next few weeks, Alec and I kept volleying emails back and forth. I never brought up the key detail of Tobyn — that I was living with my boyfriend. Alec never asked if I was seeing anyone. The longer I waited, the weirder it got, especially as our conversations grew increasingly personal, even gently flirtatious.
Finally, in one of my emails, I got around to acknowledging the minor detail of having a boyfriend — a much younger one with whom I'd been living for the past few years. Somehow, sharing Tobyn's age (he'd just turned 24) felt like it softened the conflict. Alec, at 52, was more than twice Tobyn's age. I was 37, right in the middle.
I confessed to Alec that I felt conflicted, that I was sorry for not bringing it up sooner. In an email I explained, honestly, that I hadn't said anything because 'I was too busy working on being flirtatious, combined with concern that you may cease our interesting communication.'
The truth was, I didn't know what I wanted.
Alec's email reply to my confession about a boyfriend was understanding and, like my email, left the door wide open.
In our conversations, I shared with Alec how drained and worn down I felt by the pressures of running the business. He suggested I come out to the Hamptons for a day — or however long I wanted — to get some fresh air and relax.
Melngailis in Bad Vegan, released in 2022
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He assured me I'd have my own guestroom. Eventually, I worked out that I could get away for one night, midweek, to visit Alec. For all Tobyn knew, it was a house full of people. (It was not.) I emphasised that I'd have my own room and just wanted to get out of the city for a day, that it would be fun. That Tobyn was so entirely OK with it probably should have told me something to which I ought to have paid more attention.
On the bus to the Hamptons, Alec and I texted back and forth. At one point, I sent a silly text saying I'd packed a Vera Wang wedding dress. By then, we had an unspoken understanding that, despite a fondness for one another, a future together was, realistically, not realistic. Therefore, I did what I tend to do: I made jokes about what might actually have been painful.
When the bus pulled up to the stop, Alec was already there. He'd just come from playing tennis and was leaning against his antique-looking BMW. It was a perfect sunny day. Already I could breathe easier. As we hugged, he apologised for being sweaty. I told him I didn't mind. We drove the short distance to his home, the tires crunching over the gravel driveway as we pulled up in front of a large, white-shingled house.
The yard was manicured — tidy but not overly perfect — and birds chirped from the trees overhead. As we walked towards the front door, a pair of small white rabbits darted out from under a bush, hopping across the lawn. I said to Alec, 'I feel like we're on the set of a Disney movie.'
He put his head down and spoke into the underside of his wrist. 'Cue the rabbits. I repeat, cue the rabbits.'
Inside, he kicked off his tennis sneakers, so I did the same with my old navy-blue Pumas. We padded across the wide-planked, gleaming hardwood floors in our socks as he gave me a tour. Sunlight streamed through the windows. Books, papers and personal things were scattered around, and photographs covered the walls. I loved how his home wasn't overly designed. It felt lived in and comfortable.
Upstairs, he showed me where I'd be sleeping — as promised, a quaint guest room. The bed was covered in plush white bedding with pillows perfectly fluffed, I presumed, by a housekeeper. For some reason, I felt unusually at ease around him, as if we'd known each other for years. As if he already knew me, and I was OK. As if everything about me was OK.
Later that evening, we went to a reading Alec was scheduled to give at a local bookstore — a few chapters of Moby Dick. The place was packed. Alec was attentive, introducing me to the bookstore owners, always keeping his hand gently at the small of my back. Those already seated could easily deduce I'd arrived as Alec's companion, and I attracted some curious stares.
Alec Baldwin at an event promoting his memoir, A Promise to Ourselves, in the Hamptons in 2010
ALAMY
Alec started to read. I wasn't paying attention to the words, but as I listened to his voice, I felt myself drifting into a dreamy sort of daze. I started to feel some kind of pressure building inside me, as if my heart was swelling. Then I realised that a sizeable knot of emotion was threatening to exit my body in the form of tears. Oh no. Why was this happening?
Then it hit me: I love this man.
I loved him? How could that be? But it was. I felt it. I sat there marinating in this epiphany. A mostly happy feeling, tinged with sadness. I kept these thoughts to myself.
After the reading, we went to dinner, sitting on the front porch of an old-timey sort of restaurant. It was candlelit and cosy. At one point, Alec took a photo of me on his cell phone and showed it to me. It was dark and glowy — my elbows were on the table, hands folded under my chin, and I had an actual, genuine smile on my face. I looked happy in that photo. Genuinely happy.
Everything about that night felt easy and OK. But I remember wishing I could freeze time. Or, more specifically, freeze my boyfriend. Put him on ice for a while — six months maybe — so I could freely spend time with Alec.
I'd gone to sleep in the guest room and woke in the morning to a text from Alec: 'Awake yet? Come in here.' So I brushed my teeth and, still in my PJs, went over to his room. I climbed onto the bed next to him, and we kissed. His mouth was minty too. Did we have hot sex? Romantic sex? Any sex? Nope. There was no pressure from him.
Instead, we just lay there, comfortably tangled up, talking. I don't remember about what. I just remember it felt nice. I liked listening to him talk, hearing his stories. After a while I went back to my room to get dressed and pack.
Melngailis's restaurants were among New York's most popular vegan places
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We went to breakfast at a farmer's market, and he took me on a drive around the area. We were out so long that eventually, it was time for lunch, and he drove us to a casual seaside restaurant. It was chilly with the sea breeze. After we ordered, Alec quickly got up, saying he'd be right back. A few minutes later, he returned with a pale lemon-yellow hoodie that had 'HAMPTONS' stitched across the front in white.
It fit nicely over my summer dress. I was completely relaxed, and didn't want this trip to be over.
But I kept thinking back to a moment from the night before. On our way back from dinner, we stopped at the ocean. I told Alec I hadn't been in the ocean in a long time, so he took me there. I told him I'd be right back and left him in the car to walk out to the water, taking off my sneakers and wading in to just below my knees. Then I thought about the opening scene in Jaws, when the girl wades into the water at night and gets eaten by a shark, so I backed out a bit.
Standing there with the waves rushing over my ankles, I kept thinking about something Alec had said, in our goofy half-serious fantasy talk, about how we could be good for one another. He'd come pick me up at the restaurant at night, he'd said. My life would be easier. I considered being taken care of in that way. He'd not outright said he'd pay my debts, but it was sort of implied. Looking out at the dark expanse of the ocean, I realised this was yet another reason it would never work. I couldn't let someone just wipe out my problems for me. The dynamics of the relationship would be forever tainted by my having cost a bunch of money, by needing to be rescued, and I didn't want that.
I liked being with Alec on even terms. He seemed to respect what I was doing and why I was doing it. It was soothing to be around him. Looking back now, that short Hamptons visit was like I'd been allowed to sample what a happily relaxed life could be, and how it could feel. To live without the weight of so much responsibility and debt.
***
Alec and I continued emailing regularly, but the pace slowed as it became clear that I wasn't leaving Tobyn, and we were stuck in the friend zone.
On a freakishly warm February evening in 2011, I was at home on the couch spooning my dog, Leon, exhausted after a long week, when my phone rang. It was Alec. 'I'm sitting on the patio at your restaurant. Where are you?'
I told him I was at home, in PJs. I was exhausted. This wasn't one of those times I'd hop up, and speed-walk the six blocks to the restaurant. Our conversation was short. I texted the manager at the restaurant to make sure they looked after him.
A few minutes later, my friend Justin texted, 'Where are you? I'm at your restaurant. Alec Baldwin is here!'
'I know,' I replied.
Sometimes, all I wanted was a break, a quiet night, but the constant action just a few blocks away was always there.
My phone pinged again. Justin texted, 'Alec's talking to a super hot brunette.'
'Cool,' I texted back, while thinking, screw off Justin, I didn't need to know that.
The hot brunette Alec met at my restaurant turned out to be Hilaria Thomas — later Hilaria Baldwin, now mother of their seven kids.
Alec and Hilaria Baldwin in 2013
DITMITRIOS KAMBOURIS/NBCU PHOTO BANK/NBCUNIVERSAL/GETTY IMAGES
Tobyn and I split up not long after Alec began dating Hilaria. Of course it happened that way. I became available as soon as Alec wasn't. Which, in retrospect, was OK. He wanted a wife and kids, and I didn't want children. Besides, I got the sense that we'd always have been better off as just close friends anyway.
I was genuinely happy for Alec. Truly. But my already low self-esteem was taking a beating. Being alone, feeling unwanted, with a bruised sense of self, I can see now, made me vulnerable. My weakened state combined with flimsy boundaries created the perfect conditions for Mr Fox to bulldoze into my life.
***
Fast forward to the fall of 2011. Alec Baldwin had recently joined Twitter when I noticed him interacting with a person calling himself @DiscipleofTodd. This guy's avatar was a cartoon instead of a photo. His banter with Alec was funny and entertaining.
Then he followed me, and I followed him back. He started commenting on my posts, and soon, our own back-and-forth ensued. It quickly moved to direct messages. He said his name was Shane Fox. I still didn't know much else about him, but since Alec followed him, I assumed they were friends, or at least acquaintances.
Shortly after he followed me, he changed his profile picture to an actual photo. But it only showed the lower half of his face. It was a grainy black-and-white image, both odd and intriguing.
I asked about the photo. Why the partial image? He responded by sending me a full photo — though his eyes were obscured by sunglasses. His full, dark hair, stubble and aviator sunglasses gave him the look of someone with a military background. His neck was solid, making him look big and strong. He seemed capable and important, but details remained vague. I was intrigued and wanted to know more.
Feeling drawn to him was a gradual and steady process. Like the tide coming in. You know it's happening, but you can't see it happening. Every comment, every new reveal, moved the tide a little more.
When he first told me his full name — Shane Anthony Fox — I thought, what a cool name. It never occurred to me that it wasn't real. I quickly started calling him Mr Fox, and before we had even met in person, he started calling me Mrs Fox. I liked the sound of it — Mr and Mrs Fox. As if we were characters in a movie, like Mr and Mrs Smith.
He was always mysterious about his job. He said he worked in 'commercial real estate' but also vaguely hinted that his real occupation was secret. As if he was, in fact, like Brad Pitt's Mr Smith, working undercover.
I wouldn't mind being Angelina Jolie, I thought.
***
After nearly two months of texting and phone calls, Mr Fox finally came to see me at my apartment. Looking back now, it makes sense that he waited so long.
He let the anticipation build, along with my trust in him, so that by the time he did come, I let him straight into my home. Writing this now, I'm embarrassed by my own recklessness, allowing someone about whom I'd verified nothing into my home. I was not, historically or by nature, a suspicious person. Nor was I very good at protecting myself in general. Boundaries? Not my thing. But he'd made me feel safe. I had already invested so much of my time and emotional energy in this relationship — if that's what it was — that I was eager to be alone with him. Still, I was nervous, so I started drinking beer on an empty stomach. By the time he arrived, I was a little drunk.
When Mr Fox arrived, I buzzed him in, instructing him to walk to the back of the lobby and take the stairs up one flight. I went to the door, unbolted it, and cracked it open. I heard his steps, heavy and deliberate, on the staircase.
Anthony Strangis, who claimed his name was Shane Fox
NETFLIX
His face was rounder than in his photos, which made him look less intimidating — almost sweet. Before he even set his bag down, we kissed. To my relief, he was a good kisser. He dropped his bag, and we inched our way to the couch, only a few feet from the door. He sat, and rather quickly, moving only the minimum amount of clothing needed out of the way, we had sex.
I cringe writing these paragraphs. Or, more accurately, I want to vomit on the keyboard. Because I find him so wildly repulsive now. But even if he was Prince Charming, I'd still feel embarrassed. This wasn't sex on the first date. It was sex before the first date. Maybe people do this all the time now with hook-up apps, but it seems dangerous — both physically and emotionally.
***
Just over a week after my encounter with Mr Fox, a voice in my head kept chiming in, 'You might be pregnant.' I didn't want to wait to see if I'd miss my period. I practically ran to CVS to buy a pregnancy test.
At home, I went straight to the bathroom, tore the test from the package, and followed the instructions. And there it was — the purple plus sign appearing on the white strip. A welcome miracle for some and entirely dreaded for others. I was firmly in the latter category. There was only one path. I bolted to my computer, and quickly researched options. It didn't take long to find the right place. The next morning, I made the call, and took their soonest available appointment.
The day of my procedure couldn't have come fast enough. I arrived at the Midtown office alone for the mid-morning appointment. After filling out paperwork, I changed into my paper gown and climbed up on the table equipped with stirrups. The doctor, an attractive and energetic blonde woman, treated me with gentle kindness, walking me through what to expect.
I lay back, scooted down, and put one socked foot in each stirrup. That's when the doctor, who had spotted my tote bag in the corner, said, 'Oh, One Lucky Duck! I love that place so much! I go there all the time for take-out. You go there, too?'
I propped up on my left elbow, pulling down my paper gown on that side to show her the matching tattoo on my shoulder.
Melngailis pictured with the celebrity chef Matthew Kenney and the actor Kyle MacLachlan
THEO WARGO/GETTY IMAGES
'Oh my god, that's your place! Oh wow, I love it so much. Such a great thing you're doing there!'
I thanked her, feeling awkward yet appreciative. She shifted back to the task at hand. A nurse held my hand, and I squeezed back hard when it hurt the most. When it was all over, I exhaled with relief.
With my clothes back on, I walked home.
I didn't tell Mr Fox about any of this. I felt no reason, and certainly no obligation to. Something in my gut told me it had been deliberate on his part. I resolved never to see him again.
However, I'd never been good at ghosting people — cutting off all contact. Even with my intention to pull away, I kept communicating with him. Part of me probably wanted an explanation. Something to make it all make sense. Who was he really? I figured there was little harm in staying in touch. I didn't have to agree to see him.
Except eventually, of course, I did.
I couldn't have fathomed how much I'd later regret having allowed him back into my home — back into my life. Later, I was diagnosed with autism-1, formerly known as Asperger's, which is more common than most people realise. Statistically women with this diagnosis have much higher odds of being manipulated in some way, and it's one more factor that probably made me a good target.
It took getting arrested to set me free.
Melngailis and Strangis, below, were arrested in 2016, facing 24 charges including grand larceny
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Anthony Strangis, who denied in court that he manipulated Melngailis, pleaded guilty to four charges of grand larceny in the fourth degree, criminal tax fraud and scheming to defraud. He was sentenced to five years' probation and served just over a year on remand. He remained at Rikers Island for one year awaiting trial after not being able to pay his bail charges, and was released in May 2017.
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The Guardian
22 minutes ago
- The Guardian
Song of the summer 2025: writers pick their tracks of the season
Summer is for out-of-office email bounce backs, smashing your laptop shut at 4pm and putting it off until tomorrow. This year, no song represents the simple thrill of shrugging it off better than Addison Rae's Headphones On. With a detached, lobotomy-chic delivery that's drawn comparisons to Y2K-era Madonna, the TikTok star turned serious pop scholar breezes through a list of anxieties, from her parents' relationship to the ever-present thrill of being bumped down a notch by 'the new it girl'. Ultimately, our laconic heroine swaps a panic attack for slipping those headphones on and riding it all out with a song. Clocking in at exactly four minutes, there's a straightforwardness to it all that I can't help but appreciate. Rae will make you dance without working too hard. And that's all I want right now. Alaina Demopoulos This song, sung by a six-woman international K-pop group, begins with an analysis of how malleable English slang is. 'They could describe everything with one single word, you know? / Boba tea, gnarly / Tesla, gnarly / Fried chicken, gnarly,' one member of Katseye sings, the bass thumping every time she says the most versatile descriptive word in the language, signifying intensity, both positive and negative. It's the early 2010s, and we're so back. The song is as maximalist as can be, similar to Skrillex's 2011 Bangarang or Kesha's 2010 hit TiK ToK. The music video, in which the group assembles a grotesque sandwich, calls back to 2010's Telephone, when Lady Gaga does the same. The song is fun and rowdy. It speeds forward, apt for TikTok (the app), where it first gained popularity with a distinctive, jerky dance. If you like Gnarly, I would suggest going in search of other songs by one of the song's writers, Alice Longyu Gao. Rich Bitch Juice and 100 Boyfriends feature the same mix of heavy bass and saccharine, electrified vocals and instrumentation. Blake Montgomery Since squishing a NOW! compilation's worth of ideas into three minutes on her solo single Angel of my Dreams, Jade has backed up what Little Mixologists always suspected – that she knows pop as if she has an MA in Bangers. Ahead of the release of her debut album That's Showbiz, Baby!, there's something invitingly scrappy to the way she's dovetailed from brash EDM to orgasmic disco, discarding cheap wigs and Jade-branded buttplugs in her wake. (To my mind, the only other pop act exploring genre this boldly is Sabrina Carpenter, who is something like a spiritual sibling to Jade as well as her stylistic opposite.) Plastic Box bottles a certain Scandinavian strain of sweet melancholy, with Jade playing the jilted lover over seductive electro-pop. Co-producers Grades and Oscar Görres, the latter of whom helmed most of Troye Sivan's slick Something to Give Each Other, hug her voice with rosy synths and a chorus that explodes in a cloud of confetti. It's an end of summer party that's chicer than SSENSE – and despite Jade's antics that made her so much fun to follow, Plastic Box proves that she's just as magnetic when she strips them away. Owen Myers To me, summer feels like going at terminal velocity down a waterslide: an unstoppable blur that before you know it has spat you out in the run-out pool of autumn, dazed and blinking. PinkPantheress's new 20-minute, 30-second mixtape Fancy That feels the same way, a rush of UK dance music history – heavy with samples of Basement Jaxx and Underworld and nods to Fatboy Slim and Groove Armada – guided by a flirt laying down the law in girlish RP. Illegal is the only time Pink's grip loosens, thanks to a hero dose of THC that leaves her tangled in lust, paranoia and shame. Between the reality-obliterating synth strobes, her sensory production makes you feel all the freedom and frustration of being high, close breaths and screams flickering through the slipstream. Laura Snapes There are plenty of songs of the summer about falling in love or partying or breaking up or going for a long, gorgeous drive, but there are hardly enough songs for summer lethargy. When the mercury hits 90 degrees, all my friends go insane, my technology stops working, and I start napping for at least one hour a day. Enter commie bf, a blunt buzzsaw of a song on which forty winks singer Cilia Catello yells that 'everyone and everything makes my ears ring' right before she and her bandmates unleash a maelstrom of nasty, dementedly catchy punk-pop. This is a funny, and fun, and ferocious track – loud and unruly, but so intensely catchy that even the guitar-music-averse among us would have to admire its moxy. Catello's sheer frustration rings through every second of the song, enough to shake you from that heatwave-induced stupor and get your ass back into gear, no matter how sweaty and malcontent you may be. Shaad D'Souza While pop fans fret about there not being a good enough song of the summer this year, the UK has gone ahead and anointed its choice anyway. MK's Dior is now at No 1 in the UK charts, standard behaviour for a country whose inhabitants need only the faintest hint of a 4/4 pop-dance beat on a temperate day to crack open a tinned cocktail at 11am and go 'wheeeeey' with arms stretched wide. US producer MK, AKA Marc Kinchen, has been around since the early 90s (he's behind the still-ubiquitous Push the Feeling On) and therefore brings a level of craft to bear on his productions that puts them into a different league to all other mirrored-wall nightclub fodder. 2017's 17 still shines like the white walls and high-tensile glass of an Ibizan villa; 2023's Asking is as good as build-and-drop dance gets. 2025's offering Dior is more coiled and sensual than those tracks, with a really dramatic delayed drop: silence and Chrystal's a cappella vocal fill the space where you expect the beat, creating a simple but spine-tingling effect. The high fashion references meanwhile make it a sort of sequel to 2023's equivalent dance-pop song of the summer, Cassö's Prada. Ben Beaumont-Thomas Best efforts notwithstanding, the vibes aren't great this summer. The news is terrible, the AI ominous, the culture still in an extended hangover from last year's Espresso buzz and Brat bumps. There is no obvious song of the summer – the charts are basically tracks from 2024 or Morgan Wallen (though you wouldn't know it in godless New York); Charli xcx basically headlined Glastonbury; people are too busy arguing over Sabrina Carpenter's album cover to remember her Espresso follow-up Manchild. In this muggy malaise, I've been stuck on Haim's Relationships – the LA trio's best pop song to date, a bright, deceptively airy anthem for being fucking over it. Lyrically, this lead single off the sisters' aspirationally titled fourth album I Quit describes the messy end of some ill-defined entanglement. But its spare, intoxicating production – simple piano chords, ambling bass, synths glimmering like barlights at 9pm dusk – evokes a more general, potent summer ennui. I normally want the bpm up when it's hot, but this summer, I've been circling blocks to Danielle's dreamy falsetto, ascending with her rhetorical questions – fucking relationships, don't they end up all the same? – and then crashing back to earth with her 'when there's no one else to blame'. Feelings? In this strung-out summer? Try me next year. Adrian Horton The most joyous sounding song of this summer addresses depression, numbness and the futility of it all. No Joy, by the tuneful New Zealand quartet The Beths, provides an ideal object lesson in the thrill of mixed messages in pop. The music couldn't feel more summery or light, fired by bouncy powerpop chords and chirpy backup vocals. The video, set in a candy-colored child's playroom, follows suit, with lead singer/writer Elizabeth Stokes deadpanning her way through lyrics like: 'All my pleasures, guilty / Clean slate looking filthy' and 'I feel nothing,' all while her bandmates smile with satirically exaggerated pleasure. It's impossible to keep a straight face while watching or listening to it, despite the fact that the numbness Stokes reports in her words reflects something sadly real. The lyrics chronicle her experience on the dulling SSRI drug she has used to deal with her depression. True as that may be for her, the song winds up giving the opposite feeling to the listener. When she sings 'no joy' over and over we feel nothing but – a twist that could make this the most ironic song of this summer, as well as the most irresistible. Jim Farber Welcome to sombr season. Summer '25 seems to have given us a new star, and he's Shane Boose – otherwise known by his melancholy moniker, sombr. A native of New York's bustling Lower East Side, at just 19 he has effectively launched his mainstream career with a series of chart-topping singles which flaunts the artist's emotional, guitar-propelled lyrics. Yes you read that right, the new generation has officially rediscovered actual instruments, with the teenage artist seemingly channelling alt rock acts like Arctic Monkeys and Radiohead, the latter of whom he's cited as a major influence. Songs like We Never Dated flaunt brutally honest lyrics accented by guitar-picking led it to become an instant breakout upon its late June release, which makes it a no-brainer when it comes to Song of the Summer status. Meanwhile, he's riding high on other explosive singles including Back to Friends, which recently was anointed as the most-streamed song on Spotify's global charts. Rob LeDonne Without a factory-made earworm to invade our every waking moment, the floor has opened up to a wider selection of artists this summer and, as there always should be in my opinion, a wider selection of vibes to go with it. Songs of the summer are typically characterised by the infectious perk and sweaty overwhelm of mid-afternoon sun but there's another seasonal feeling we all know, as the brightness starts to fade, that also deserves its space. Boston-born singer Khamari knows it too and in delicate downer Head in a Jar, he captures a brand of summery sadness that's also rather seductive, a deliberate dive into dark feelings that's as refreshing as an early evening breeze. It's a song about being pushed away from the centre of someone's life, forced to watch from a distance instead and, with a voice that has rightly earned comparisons to the mostly awol Frank Ocean, Khamari pierces right through. He's quietly been gaining buzz since his similarly reflective 2020 EP Eldorado and this one deserves to vault him from the outside in. Benjamin Lee You know you're in the right party if someone throws down this tune. The Chilean-German firebrand Matias Aguayo returned in May with a subversive dancefloor heater that has been building in notoriety over the subsequent months. It's sung in Spanish but translates to, Aguayo says: 'walking through the city on hot summer nights looking for the perfect dancefloor'. But it's also a mission statement, longing for 'revolutions in music and dreams in community' away from homogenisation, social media likes and solely facing the DJ booth. In the track, Aguayo remembers the freewheeling days of YouTube rips where you could hear 'raw, primitive and direct music' from, say, a Syrian wedding or Angolan teenagers dancing on the streets – references for El Internet's own jittery, restless rhythm and also his live DJ sets, where he sings and dances inside a circle in the audience, inviting onlookers to move freely with him and let loose. It's lithe, gonzo techno for sticky evenings in search of catharsis and connection. Kate Hutchinson


Daily Mail
22 minutes ago
- Daily Mail
Star Trek star Tom Troupe dies aged 97, five days after celebrating birthday
Star Trek and Mission: Impossible star Tom Troupe has died aged 97, his family confirmed on Sunday. The actor passed away at his home in Beverly Hills, California from natural causes on July 20, just five days after his birthday. He is survived by his son Christopher Troupe, daughter-in-law Becky Coulter, granddaughter Ashley Troupe and several nieces and nephews. Tom was married to Sixteen Candles actress Carole Cook from 1964 until her death from heart failure at the age of 98 in 2023. Instead of flowers, requests for donations have been made to either the Entertainment Community Fund or the Pasadena Humane Society. The actor was born on July 15, 1928, in North Kansas City, Missouri. He moved to New York in 1948, and studied at the Herbert Berghof Studio in Manhattan in the early 1950s, after he was given a scholarship from the late Reversal of Fortune actress-and-teacher, Uta Hagen. Tom also served in the Korean War - which was fought from 1950 until 1953 - and was awarded a Bronze Star for his service. He married his first wife Sally Singer on June 5, 1955. The couple welcomed son Christopher before divorcing in 1962. After serving in the war, Tom returned to New York and made his Broadway debut as Peter van Daan in 1957's The Diary of Anne Frank, which also starred Joseph Schildkraut and Gusti Huber. The following year, he moved to Los Angeles, California, where he landed dozens of top film and TV acting jobs during the 1960s, 1970s, 1980s and 1990s. Some of his most notable acting credits included playing David Day in the Mission: Impossible TV series, as well as being cast as Lieutenant Matthew Harold in the Star Trek TV series, both in 1967. He also appeared in The Fugitive, The Wild, Wild West, Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman, Cagney and Lacey, CHiPs, Knots Landing and Murder She Wrote. On stage, Tom co-starred alongside Carole in The Lion in Winter, Fathers Day and The Gin Game. He also co-wrote a one-actor play called The Diary of a Madman. Tom also co-founded The Faculty, a Los Angeles-based acting school, alongside Charles Nelson Reilly, Lu Leonard, John Erman, and Dom DeLuise.


The Sun
22 minutes ago
- The Sun
We were banned from entering Disneyland because of our ‘offensive' T-shirts, but our replacements were so ridiculous
GOING to Disneyland is a dream for many. But one couple was stunned when they were banned from entering the theme park because of their outfits. 3 3 The pair headed for their day of fun wearing matching couple shirts. The black T-shirt worn by the woman featured the hair of Princess Leia from Star Wars with the words 'I love you.' The shirt worn by the man was also black and featured a gun and read 'I know.' The shirts are in reference to one of the most iconic scenes of the franchise where Han Solo and Princess Leia kiss before he is dragged off by Storm Troopers. However, according to the post the T-shirt designs were deemed inappropriate for Disneyland. The poster wrote: "My friends were forced to change out of their "offensive" shirts at Disney." The pair then went to the gift shop to pick out some new T-shirts to wear for the day and what they found was shocking. "Look what they picked out as replacements in DISNEY'S GIFT SHOP!" the user continued. The picture then saw the couple hold up two shirts, one with a larger picture of Princess Leia with the words 'I love you.' The next shirt featured an image of Han Solo holding a gun with the words 'I know.' 3 Trolls branded my kids' uniforms 'inappropriate' but THEY'RE the real problem It's not the first time people have been dress-coded at Disney parks. Nicole DeLosReyes visited Disney World in Florida, and she opted for a pair of black jeans and a white knotted crop top. But as she tried to enter Epcot theme park within the Disney World complex, Nicole was told her top violated the park's dress code policy. In a viral video that's racked up over nine MILLION views, the star filmed herself hunting down the nearest gift shop for something to cover up with. She said: "Guys it happened. I got dress-coded at Disney. "I was told to leave or get a shirt. So now we're getting a shirt." According to Disneyland's website, the dress-code bans clothing with objectionable material, including obscene language or graphics, excessively torn clothing or loose fitting clothing which may drag on the ground and create a potential trip hazard, clothing which, by nature, exposes excessive portions of the skin that may be viewed as inappropriate for a family environment and clothing with multiple layers are subject to search upon entry.