DISGRACELAND - Sam Cooke: An Insatiable Libido and a Justifiable Homicide

Episode Date: March 6, 2018

Sam Cooke was a lot of things: soul superstar, civil rights champion, whip smart entrepreneur. But he was also a serial womanizer with an unbridled libido. On December 11, 1964, Cooke was shot to death by Bertha Lee Franklin, manager of the Hacienda Motel in Los Angeles. The killing was ruled a justifiable homicide due to Cooke’s unruly, drunken behavior, which involved him holding another woman captive in his hotel room and allegedly raping her earlier in the evening. With full appreciation of the #MeToo moment we are currently all living through as a culture, Disgraceland, with fresh eyes, looks into this crime and the successful effort by Sam Cooke’s family and powerful music industry colleagues to salvage his legacy and reputation by personally discrediting his victim.To see the full list of contributors, see the show notes at www.disgracelandpod.com.This episode was originally published on March 6, 2018.Sign up for our newsletter and get the inside dirt on events, merch and other awesomeness - GET THE NEWSLETTERFollow Jake and DISGRACELAND:InstagramYouTubeX (formerly Twitter) Facebook Fan GroupTikTok To learn more about listener data and our privacy practices visit: https://www.audacyinc.com/privacy-policy Learn more about your ad choices. Visit https://podcastchoices.com/adchoicesSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

This is exactly right. Double Elvis. When a group of women discover they've all dated the same prolific con artist, they take matters into their own hands. I vowed, I will be his last target. He is not going to get away with this. He's going to get what he deserves. We always say that trust your girlfriends. Listen to the girlfriends.

Trust me, babe. On the Iheart radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. This season on Dear Chelsea with me, Chelsea Handler, we have some fantastic guests like Amelia Clark. When like young people come up to me and they want to be an actor or whatever. My first thing is always, can you think of anything else that you can do? Rather be disappointed in. Do that.

David O'Yellowo. I love this podcast, whether it's therapy or relationships or religion or sex or addiction or you just go straight for the guts. Dennis Leary, Gaten Matarazzo from Stranger Things, Tanna Mongeau, Camilla Morone, Carrie Kenny Silver, and more. Listen to these episodes of Dear Chelsea on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts,

or wherever you get your podcasts. Sometimes a suspect is found guilty before a verdict is ever read in court. On the Wicked Words podcast, I talk with the writers who dig deep into the cases that changed history, including Marsha Clark, who went from prosecuting

one of the most famous murder cases to writing crime fiction. It doesn't matter that you didn't take part in the murder. If you were at the scene at all, you're guilty of murder. Every week, the real story is revealed. Join us every Monday for new episodes of Wicked Words. Listen to Wicked Words on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Disgrace Land is a production of Double Elvis.

The circumstances surrounding soul singer Sam Cook's death have long been shrouded in mystery. The mafia did it. His jealous wife did it. The racist music industry industrial complex did it. Truth is, Sam Cook did it. His own actions were the reason he was shot and killed. By a woman, he had just physically attacked for no good reason other than the fact that he wasn't accustomed to being told no. Sam Cook was an infinitely skilled performer, producer, and businessman. man. His talent afforded him things beyond the material world, earthly delights that eluded mere mortals. Sam Cook could have whatever and whoever he wanted. And Sam Cook made great music.

Some of the greatest music ever made as a matter of fact. The music you heard at the top of the show, that wasn't great music. That was a preset loop from my Melotron called Slow Fox Trimolo Organ, mk2. I played you that loop because I can't afford the rights to Ringo by the actor-turned singer Lauren Green. Why would I play you that specific

slice of Bonanza-inspired cheese? Could I afford it? Because that was the number one song in America on December 11, 1964. And that was the day that Sam Cook, aka Mr. Wonderful, pulled his brand new red Ferrari out onto the 405 and sped fast toward the airport,

kicking into gear what would become the last hours of his very short, very successful life. On this episode, Slow Fox Trimolo organs, speeding red Ferraris, Bonanza-inspired cheese, and Mr. Wonderful, Sam Cook. I'm Jake Brennan, and this is disgracement. To those who knew them, Sam Cook was many things. a gentleman, a provider, a civil rights champion, a supremely talented producer, chart-topping songwriter, whip-smart businessmen, and a great vocalist. But the thing that Sam had over everybody else was his ability to perform.

Charisma and presence for days. Sam Cook had it. Even back when his name was spelled C-O-O-K, before he added the E at the end for sophistication, before he was topping the pop charts, or scene ripping through Hollywood, and his cherry-red Ferrari, or out on the town dressed a kill in a side of a divorce suit. Before that Sam Cook, there was Sam Cook, no E at the end, the polite son of a Chicago by way of Mississippi minister. Sam's dad was a fire and brimstone country preacher, who took his musical family, Sam included, of course, on the road to perform at various service, throughout the Midwest.

The gospel touring circuit is where Sam Cook, Noe, started to hone his performance chops. The point of gospel music may have been to celebrate the Lord, but the point of gospel performance was to captivate the audience and vanquish all rivals. Gospel performers were highly competitive, and they had to be. The amount of talent within the scene was astounding.

The five blind boys of Mississippi, Mahalia Jackson and the group Sam Cook would one day join and lead, the soul stirrers, all shared immense talent. The five Blind Boys of Mississippi's live shows were known to be devastating, and Mahalia Jackson's talent was such that she was able to take American gospel music all over the world. And Sam Cook, by the time he joined the soul stirrers at the age of 19, was a unique, natural talent all of his own. Sex appeal, though subversive, was always part of gospel performance,

but Sam Cook brought a different kind of sexuality to it. It was subtle, less suggestive, more sophisticated, it was innate and as effortless as his uniquely intimate style of singing. And his singing style was indeed unique. It wasn't like what other gospel singers brought to the game. It wasn't all emotion. It wasn't all truth. Like Cupid's arrow, Sam Cook's voice was a shot to the heart.

Like Frank Sinatra's voice, Sam's voice transcended style. It transcended technique. And it effortlessly balanced vulnerability and authority. And in doing so, it made him irresistible. Irresistible to record executives who saw in Sam a crossover into secular pop music and who wanted a big payday. Irresistible to seasoned musicians Who knew a special talent when they saw it

And wanted to go along for the ride Irresistible to young musicians And young black men Who saw a successful artist and a businessman Who they wanted to be And irresistible to women who wanted him Lots and lots of women Wanted Sam Cuck

Forget Cupid's arrow With that voice, Sam Cooke May as well have been Cupid himself When Sam was in the room you felt his sexuality. It wasn't an accident that he was referred to as Mr. Wonderful. Mavis Staples referred to him as Sam the seducer. Back in the soul-stirer days, Sam hadn't quite graduated to bespoke suits yet,

but he dressed impeccably and had that tight, processed hair. He kept himself looking good, and out on tour as a soul-sturor, Sam was as much a sexual conquistador as he was a gospel missionary. There were women in every town, either waiting for him or waiting to meet him for the first time. Old girls, new girls, black girls, white girls. In Peter Grilnick's excellent biography of Sam Cook, Dream Boogie, Sam's friend, James Early Bird, is quoted as saying that Sam referred to white woman as, quote, snow, and sleeping with black woman as, quote, shoveling coal. It was a well-developed circuit, one that for a young man,

must have seemed bountiless and unwanted pregnancies, well, that was just the cost of doing business. By the time Sam was 21, he'd had three different children from three different women. But it didn't matter. His image was Teflon. The out-of-wedlock pregnancies and rap didn't stick. His image remained squeaky clean. Shit, if that nice boy next door with the wide smile and polite manner, the one who keeps himself so clean and sings like an angel, if he wants to sleep with my granddaughter, then better him than that flashy campaign-shouting Southern diplomat from down on the corner.

If it's got to be someone, it might as well be Sam Cook. Or so went to thinking of little old lady churchgoers everywhere. Understanding the effect Sam Cook had on people, on stage, and off is not easy. I can sit here and tell you all about his good looks, his charm, his talent, And you'll likely nod and think you understand, but to truly understand his appeal, you have to understand that Sam learned how to reach people by being a gospel singer,

which means he got to people on a spiritual level, by using all of his God-given gifts to shake you to your core, to hold you. His voice shot straight to the hearts of young and old women alike. As a performer, he owned you. You were enraptured. He was able to do whatever he wanted to you. You were powerless to his terms. And because of this, Sam Cook, a.k.a. Mr. Wonderful.

A.k.a. Cupid, aka Sam the seducer, the man with the golden tongue and the unbridled libido, grew very accustomed to getting exactly what he wanted. There's two golden rules that any man should live by. Rule one, never made. Mess with a country girl. You play stupid games, you get stupid prizes. And rule two, never mess with her friends either.

We always say that trust your girlfriends. I'm Anna Sinfield. And in this new season of The Girlfriends, Oh my God, this is the same man. A group of women discover they've all dated the same prolific con artist. I felt like I got hit by a truck. I thought, how could this happen to me? The cops didn't seem to care.

So they take matters into their own. hands. I said, oh, hell no. I vowed. I will be his last target. He's going to get what he deserves. Listen to the girlfriends. Trust me, babe. On the Iheart radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. This season on Dear Chelsea, with me, Chelsea Handler, we have some fantastic guests like Amelia Clark. When like young people come up to me and they want to be an actor or whatever, my first thing is always, can you think of anything else that you can do? You'd rather be disappointed in. Do that.

Dennis Leary. I wake up and I'm hitting him in the head with a water bomb. And Bruce Jenner is on the aisle in a karate stance. Like he's about to attack me. Like making karate noises. And his entire the Kardashian family over there, everybody's going. And the air marshal is trying to grab my arms and screaming. I immediately know that I've been sleepwalking.

David O'Yellow-O. I love this podcast. whether it's therapy or relationships or religion or sex or addiction or you just go straight for the guts. Guy Branham. So anyway, Nicole Kimman broke up with Keith Durbin. Being half of a country couple was always a hat she was going to wear, not like a life she was going to lead. Oh, interesting. I like that.

Did you practice that on your way over? Gayton Matarazzo from Stranger Things. Santa Monsu. Camilla Morone at Carrie Kenny Silver. and more. Listen to these episodes of Dear Chelsea on the Iheart radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Sam had gotten what he wanted all right, a shot at the big time. It wasn't easy, but he was able to navigate his way out of the gospel scene, and for the most part, avoid the dreaded sellout rap. His first single, You Send Me, went to number one on the pop charts, not just the R&B charts, the top, the top, of the pop charts.

Getting to the top, sometimes seemed like a giant pain in the ass, but it was worth the sweat. Success was indeed, sweet. And Sam deserved it. He was special. He knew it. When most of his peers were blowing their bread

willy-nilly, Sam was investing in himself. He founded his own record label, S-A-R, and was writing and producing and giving younger soul musicians on the come-up a shot. He and his new manager, the very astute Alan Klein, had just swung a deal with RCA records, where Sam Cook, a black man in 1964 America, would own SAR's master recordings. This was a big deal. It meant power in the music industry, an industry that in the early 1960s was entirely controlled by white men and gangster con artist.

Now, Sam Cook, a black man in a rock. real artist was also an executive producer who controlled his own future and was able to provide real opportunities for young black men and support with both his voice and his wallet, a cause that had grown dear to him, the growing civil rights movement. It had been a long time coming for sure, but change in a lot of ways had come. Sam had come a long way from selling quote-unquote race records out of barbershops and shoe shine stands to hang you with. with Muhammad Ali and headlining the Copa. And now, a stable of younger artists depended on him

for guidance, material, expertise, tour support, financial support. It was heavy, and heavy lay the crown. Plus, there was still his own career that needed minding. His current album for RCA, ain't that good news, was ending its cycle, and Sam had plans for his greatest creative achievement yet, a blues album that perfectly melded his patented, sophisticated soul with the down-home gut punch of blues artist he loved like John Lee Hooker in Muddy Waters. It was unclear how Sam was going to pull this off, but he was obsessed.

Some days, it was all I could think of. But finding the space to think and be creative was not easy. There was always something. It was a lot. The investment in himself, it was paying off, but man, it was stressful sometimes. He'd married Barbara Campbell. one of the mothers of his six children, thinking marriage would add a sense of order to his life, when in effect, all it did was add more chaos. The home, despite the wall-to-wall carpet, the brand-new hi-fi and the pool out back,

was a straight-up battlefield when Barbara was around. That woman was almost as restless as he was. The tension was thick and ever-present. In the phone, it never stopped ringing. The Valentino's bus had broken down on Towers, Little Billy Preston needed money for a new organ. Johnny Taylor was pissed off again about something or another. And Martin was calling.

He wanted to talk to Sam about performing at a benefit for the Southern Christian Leadership Conference early next year. Sam would do anything for Martin Luther King, Jr. But right now, the civil rights movement would have to wait. Sam needed to blow off some steam and get his head right. We'll be right back after this word, word, word. There's two golden rules that any man should live by. Rule one, never mess with a country girl.

You play stupid games, you get stupid prizes. And rule two, never mess with her friends either. We always say that, trust your girlfriends. I'm Anna Sinfield, and in this new season of the girlfriends... Oh my God, this is the same man. A group of women discover they've all dated the same prolific con artist. I felt like I got hit by it. A truck. I thought, how could this happen to me?

The cops didn't seem to care. So they take matters into their own hands. I said, oh, hell no. I vowed. I will be his last target. He's going to get what he deserves. Listen to the girlfriends. Trust me, babe. On the Iheart radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts.

This season on Dear Chelsea, with me, Chelsea Handler, we have some fantastic guests like Amelia Clark. When, like, young people come up to me and they want to be an act or whatever. My first thing is always, can you think of anything else that you can do? Rather be disappointed in. Do that. Dennis Leary. I wake up and I'm hitting him in the head with a water bomb.

And Bruce Jenner is on the aisle in a karate stance. Like he's about to attack me. Like, making karate noises. And his entire, the Kardashian family over there, everybody's going. And the airman. is trying to grab my arms and screaming. I immediately know that I've been in sleepwalking. David O'Yellowo.

I love this podcast, whether it's therapy or relationships or religion or sex or addiction or you just go straight for the guts. Guy Branham. So anyway, Nicole Kidman broke up with Keith Thurban. Being half of a country couple was always a hat she was going to wear, not like a life she was going to lead. Oh, interesting. I like that. Did you practice that on your way?

Gaten Matarazzo from Stranger Things. Tena Monsu. Camilla Morone, Carrie Kenny Silver, and more. Listen to these episodes of Dear Chelsea on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Sam Cook's Ferrari hit the valet at Martoni's in Hollywood sometime on the evening of December 10th, 1964.

He'd meant to get dinner, but never made it to the table from the bar. He'd been swarmed by, friends and hangers on. The drinks were flowing, and Sam was leading the bar and sing-along after sing-along until a pretty young woman in one of the booths caught his eye. Sam was at her side in no time with a drink. She was just as tight, and of course he was hers. With Sam's energy now focused on the task at hand, the vibe in the bar had died down. A change of scenery was needed, so it was decided they'd hit PJs over on Santa Monica. Now, after midnight, Sam was at least four or five martinis deep.

The woman, Elisa Boyer, was stunning, even more so around closing time, and was garnering attention from other men besides Sam. This did not please Mr. Wonderful. A fight nearly ensued. Fuck the bars. Let's get some privacy. The two jumped in Sam's Ferrari and were out on the 405 in no time. He was driving fast, heading out of town. Where were they going?

Elisa was staying downtown. And don't worry about that. Relax. Enjoy the ride. Alisa was worried. She told Sam she wanted to get out. He was clearly drunk, driving like a lunatic, and pulling off of a bottle of scotch,

and apparently headed somewhere out by the airport. She had no idea where. But Sam had an idea. The Hacienda Hotel. It was perfect. That little place that Sims twins first told him about. Remote, quiet, cheap, and indiscriminate of color or marital status. No last call Letharios to loosen the vibe while trying to get little Miss Strange to help him blow off his steam.

But Alisa seriously wasn't having it. It didn't matter. She'd come around. They always did. He was Sam Cook. Mr. Fucking Wonderful. The Ferrari sloppily roared into the Hacienda parking lot at 2.35 a.m. Sam hit the motel manager's office, looking. like a damn fool, wild-eyed, anxious, drunk, to the motel manager, exactly like every other man who checked in at two in the morning. She gave him a room key and noticed the girl on the Ferrari with the Jacqueline Kennedy scarf and glasses. In the motel room, things were not going as Sam planned. Elisa, despite her googly-eyed bullshit back at the bar, wasn't picking up what Sam was putting

down. Sam had had enough. He was impatient, horny. He grabbed her, groping, kissing, all hands, no heart. Gone was a subtlety he was known for on stage and on record. It was replaced by bass, colonel desire that was obvious and boring, the same as all the other ordinary men she'd known. Elisa was grossed out. She wanted no part of it. She wanted Sam to take her home, now. But Sam wouldn't have it. She'd come around. They always did. He was the Sam cook, executive seducer. It was only a matter of time, he thought. Besides, he had a piss. He hit the bathroom to give a little Miss Strange a minute to collect herself.

Instead, she collected her clothes and got the fuck out of there. In a hurry, she split, ran out of the room half naked, and just her bra and slipped, and through the parking lot, past the motel manager's office and out onto the street. And just like that, gone, in the wind. Sam came out of the bathroom to an empty room. No strange. The door was open.

Sam was naked and his clothes were gone. In his wallet, what the fuck? He grabbed all he could find. His blazer and one shoe. Scooped up his car keys, jumped in the Ferrari and squealed over to the manager's office where he imagined Elisa to be hiding out in. Again, he parked like an asshole, jumped out of the car,

left the driver's side door open, and with one shoe on and with little Sam Cook hanging out beneath his blazer, he began pounding on the door. Let me in. Where is she? The fuck? Where am I closed? She took my wallet. On the other side of the door was 55-year-old Bertha Lee Franklin. She'd checked Sam in earlier and knew exactly how fucked up the fool on the other side of the door was.

She was nonplussed and was on the phone with her boss at the moment, as she always was at this time of night. So she ignored Sam. Sam grew more upset, started shouting again. She ain't in here. Yes, she is. I know she is. Let me in. Mr.

no one in here but me. That's when Sam started ramming the door with his shoulder. Three tries and he came pouring into the joint like a bag of banged-up bricks. Bertha Lee was stunned, still on the phone. She told this naked fool to get out and that the woman he was looking for wasn't there. But Sam, cock-blocked and blue-bald, was not hearing it. He was leering over her shoulder into the apartment adjacent to the motel manager's office. He knew she was in there.

And now thought that this woman was in. on whatever scam was being run on him. After all, why the hell else wouldn't that woman sleep with him? Where the fuck was she? And where am I close? Mr. She ain't in here. You gotta go. Sam snapped.

He grabbed Bertha Lee by the shoulders and started shaking her. The struggle intensified. The phone fell to the floor. Bertha Lee tried biting, scratching. Sam threw her to the ground and pounced. Still naked and even more enraged. But Bertha Lee was able to get out from under him and wobbled to her feet.

She knew where the gun was. It was there for a reason. This reason, to fend off some wild-eyed, horny, drunk fool. She grabbed the 22 resting on the television, and as Sam started to come at her again, she aimed and pulled the trigger. The first shot whistled over his head. The second passed his shoulder,

and the third, straight into the heart of Cupid. Stunned, Sam Cook looked up at Bertha Lee Franklin and said, Lady, you shot me. Sam fell to his knees, and for a moment seemed subdued. But then, in a last burst of adrenaline, attacked Bertha Lee again, this time would be his last. She could sense that life was a fleeting proposition for this naked fool and showed mercy. She dropped the gun, grabbed a broom,

and gave Sam a simple oops upside the head to keep him at bay. It was all that was needed. He fell over and died. the official cause of death, a shot to the heart. Bertha Lee Franklin shot and killed Sam Cook. The court cleared her of any charges. The homicide was ruled justifiable. But the court of public opinion thought otherwise.

Bertha Lee received numerous death threats, was forced to quit her job, go into hiding, and was sued by Sam Cook's widow for her husband's funeral expenses. A husband, who was one of the most successful pop stars in the world, a husband she grieved over for exactly three months before marrying his best friend, Bobby Womack.

But Bertha Lee didn't deserve this treatment, not according to the jury that took all of 20 minutes before coming back with the ruling of justifiable homicide. Why? Because she was the victim, not Sam Cook, because she voluntarily took and passed a lie detector test, as did her boss, the owner of the hotel, Evelyn Carr, who was on the phone with her at the time the incident went down. Then, at 3.15 a.m., as soon as the line disconnected in the middle of the melee when Sam was attacking Bertha Lee, Evelyn Carr, her boss, called the police to report what she heard on the other end of the motel phone. In her call came minutes after Elisa Boyer had called the police

from a payphone out on the street by the hotel to report that she had been kidnapped. Furthermore, as soon as the police arrived on the scene, Elisa emerged from the shadows to voluntarily speak to them about everything that had just happened. These are facts, corroborated about. by phone records in the Los Angeles Police Department. Facts that don't sound like the acts of thieves conspiring to rob a pop star, which was the theory being pushed by Sam's friends, family and management. The excuse-making machines started up immediately, and frankly, it's still hums. The thinking from Sam Cook Apologist goes like this.

Sam was high class. Why would we believe these women? One, Bertha Lee Franklin, was working in this fleabag motel, and the other, Elisa Boyer, was hanging out in it with a married man. And Elisa Boyer was arrested a month later for prostitution. She was a pro. So she was probably also a scam artist. She had to have taken Sam's wallet, scooped it up along with his clothes when she made her hasty escape from the room. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know she claimed she grabbed all this stuff by accident, but come on, do you believe her?

As a matter of fact, I do believe her. If it were all a scam on Elisa's part, why would she have called the police to claim she'd been kidnapped? At that time, she had no idea Sam had been shot. The smart move would have been to disappear and not involve the police. But when the cops showed up, she did too, right away, to deal with the problem. Let's assume the apologists are right about Elisa, that it was a scam, that she robbed him.

It doesn't erase the fact that Sam Cook physically attacked Bertha Lee Franklin. broke down her door and entered naked into her office like a madman, enraged over not getting what he wanted. Sex, with a woman, he'd been worked up into a frenzy over. When I started thinking about Sam Cook's death, I thought I'd read about the mysteries surrounding his murder. He was set up by the two women. His wife did it so she can marry Bobby Womack. The mafia did it because Sam was gaining too much power in the music industry. Please, a half hours worth of research,

debunks these theories. The only mystery here is why we as a culture are still letting Sam Cook skate. There is a victim here, but it ain't Mr. Wonderful. It's Bertha Lee Franklin. Yet history doesn't regard Sam Cook as a lecherous crete. Instead, history shifts the blame to his victim under the cloud of conspiracy. Because in the pantheon of pop music, Sam Cook is a sacred cow. He's Teflon. You can't touch him. He did so much good. He was a civil rights champion. He was a proud black entrepreneur.

He was immensely talented and intelligent. Yes, all of this is true. And all of this deservedly should be part of his legacy. But why can't it be both? Why can't we reconcile the artist and the public figure with the physically abusive creep? Are we incapable of nuance as a society? Why does Sam Cook's legacy have to be one or the other?

What if this crime happened today? How would we as a society treat Sam Cook's murder under the exact same circumstances in the era of Me Too? We'd bury him in the court of public opinion and throw Bertha Lee Franklin a parade. We'd put her on the cover of Time magazine for standing up for herself, which would be the right thing to do. Everyone loved Sam Cook.

They still do, even in death. And in life, because he was so beloved, he was used to getting exactly what he wanted. And when he didn't, he couldn't handle it, acted like a maniac, and ultimately met in early demise. But in the end, he's still got the legacy I'm guessing he would have wanted. And his victim, Bertha Lee Franklin, got the shaft, which is unfortunate. And some would say disgrace. I'm Jake Brennan, and this is Disgraceland.

Disgraceland was created by yours truly and is produced in partnership with Double Elvis. Credits for this episode can be found on the... the show notes page at disgracelandpod.com. If you're listening as a disgrace land all-access member, thank you for supporting the show. We really appreciate it. And if not, you can become a member right now by going to disgracelandpod.com slash membership. Members can listen to every episode of disgrace land ad free. Plus, you'll get one brand new exclusive episode every month. Weekly unscripted bonus episodes, special audio collections, and early access to merchandise and events. Visit at disgracelandpod.com

slash membership for details. Rate and review the show and follow us on Instagram, TikTok, Twitter, and Facebook at Disgracelandpod, and on YouTube at YouTube.com slash at disgraceland pod. Rockerola. When a group of women discover they've all dated

the same prolific con artist, they take matters into their own hands. I vowed. I will be his last target. He is not going to get away with this. He's going to get what he deserves. We always say that trust your girlfriends. Listen to the girlfriends.

Trust me, babe. On the Iheart radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. This season on Dear Chelsea, with me, Chelsea Handler, we have some fantastic guests like Amelia Clark. When, like, young people come up to me and they want to be an actor or whatever. My first thing is always,

can you think of anything else that you can do? Rather be disappointed at it. It's disappointed in. Do that. David O'Yello. I love this podcast, whether it's therapy or relationships or religion or sex or addiction or you just go straight for the guts. Dennis Leary, Gaten Moderato from Stranger Things, Tanna Mujou, Camilla Morone, Carrie Kenny Silver, and more. Listen to these episodes of Dear Chelsea on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts.

Movies can make you feel, make you dream. Sometimes they even make you appreciate architecture. Is there anybody who's been hotter in a doorway than Elizabeth Taylor? That's the kind of analysis you'll find every week on Dear Movies I Love You, the new podcast from the Exactly Right Network. Every Tuesday, we break down the films we're crushing on, from blockbusters to deep cuts. Listen to Dear Movies I Love You on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts.

Thank you.