In the early 1990s, Grunge emerged as a popular new hard rock musical style. Its characteristic image was of greasy-haired, lumberjack-shirted garage bands playing punk-metal guitar rock. Groups such as Nirvana, Soundgarden, and Mudhoney epitomized this new Seattle-based sound.

On November 15, 1992 the New York Times published an article analyzing the roots and evolution of the grunge movement. It theorized that Grungers had embraced greasy hair and lumberjack shirts as a way to rebel against the vanity and flashy style of the eighties. The Times also reported that, just like any self-respecting subculture, the Grungers had developed their own lexicon of "grunge speak." More >>>

In 1988 the German record producer Frank Farian discovered Robert Pilatus and Fabrice Morvan (Rob and Fab) while they were living in Munich. Impressed by their charisma and chiselled good looks, Farian formed them into a pop group that he dubbed 'Milli Vanilli.'

Their success was almost instantaneous. They rocketed to stardom on the strength of their hit singles, Girl You Know It's True and Blame It on the Rain. Their debut album sold over seven million copies, and they won a 1989 grammy as best new artist.

But there was an ugly truth lurking behind the attractive façade presented by Rob and Fab: they possessed absolutely no musical abilities whatsoever. They couldn't play instruments, write music, or sing. All of their songs had been created in a studio by professional musicians. Whenever Rob and Fab performed on stage, they simply lip-synched the words... More >>>

Billy Tipton (1914-1989) got his start in the predominantly masculine world of jazz during the 1930s. He made a name for himself playing the saxophone and piano, and during the 1950s formed his own group, the Billy Tipton Trio. Throughout his life he had a number of wives and adopted three sons. Therefore, when he died at the age of 74 on January 21, 1989, it came as a surprise to almost everyone to discover that Billy Tipton was really a woman. Even his wives claimed not to have known his secret during their marriages to him. More >>>

In the Fall of 1969 a rumor swept around the world alleging that Paul McCartney, singer and bassist for the Beatles, was dead. In fact, that he had died three years ago on November 9, 1966 in a fiery car crash while heading home from the EMI recording studios. Supposedly the surviving band members, fearful of the effect his death might have on their careers, secretly replaced him with a double named William Campbell (an orphan who had won a Paul McCartney lookalike contest in Edinburgh). However, they also planted clues in their later albums to let fans know the truth, that Paul was dead. More >>>

During the early twentieth century, Fritz Kreisler was considered to be one of the leading violinists of his time. Part of his popularity stemmed from his rediscovery of many 'lost classics' by famous composers. He explained he had found these works tucked away in libraries and monasteries throughout Europe. He would play these lost classics (which included pieces by masters such as Pugnani and Vivaldi) during his concerts, much to his audiences' delight. This became a signature part of his act. Over time many of these works became popular in their own right and entered the repertoire of other performers besides Kreisler.

By the time he was approaching the age of 60, Kreisler could look back on a highly successful career in which he had won acclaim and accolades, even though it was acclaim for playing other people's work. Then on February 2, 1935, his 60th birthday, New York Times music critic Olin Downes sent him a cable wishing him a happy birthday. In the cable she jokingly asked if he himself was actually the composer of all those 'lost classics' that had made him so famous. To her shock, he casually responded that, in fact, he was.

The revelation shocked the music industry. Half the industry heaped scorn on him for the deception, while the other half praised him. But Kreisler remained unrepentant. He pointed out that it should make no difference who wrote the works as long as people enjoyed them. He also claimed, quite rightly, that no one would have paid any attention to these works if he had identified them as his own. The public apparently agreed with him, because his popularity remained undiminished after the scandal.