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Traditional recipes

Trouble in Paradise

Trouble in Paradise

 Tosca's cocktails are so good people drink them well into the meal." />Tosca's cocktails are so good people drink them well into the meal." />

Tosca's cocktails are so good people drink them well into the meal.

Ingredients

  • ¾ ounces fresh grapefruit juice
  • ¾ ounces fresh lemon juice

Recipe Preparation

  • Shake honey and 1 Tbsp. warm water in a small jar until honey is dissolved. Combine 1 basil sprig, bourbon, Campari, grapefruit juice, lemon juice, ½ oz. honey syrup, and pepper in a cocktail shaker. Fill shaker with ice and shake vigorously until outside of shaker is frosty. Strain into a rocks glass filled with ice and garnish with remaining basil sprig.

Recipe by Isaac Shumway, Tosca, San Francisco,Reviews SectionThis is a very good drink! The bourbon I used was 46 proof so a little more of a bite. Thanks!!AnonymousLos Angeles03/03/18

Trouble in Paradise

arlon Brando spent the last few years of his life mostly cloistered in the master bedroom of his home on Mulholland Drive, the great actor reduced to an obese, distrustful and tormented recluse. But there was a place to which he could escape by simply closing his eyes. It was a place far away in the South Pacific, a 27-square-mile island called Tetiaroa that’s protected by a coral reef, about 35 miles north of Tahiti. Brando could transport himself there—to the coconut trees swaying in the soft trade winds, to the azure waters lapping against the glistening white sand, to the rare red-throated frigate birds soaring into a cloudless sky.

“It was his little Zen heaven,” recalls Scott Billups, a director of TV commercials who knew Brando for more than 30 years. “He could put himself in that space. It was just as good as being there.”

Who hasn’t imagined themselves freed from the stresses of modern life, communing constantly with nature in a tropical paradise? Who wouldn’t want to be a latter-day Robinson Crusoe? But Brando, unlike most of us, didn’t have to rely completely on his imagination. From 1966 until his death in July 2004 at the age of 80, he was the legal owner of Tetiaroa.

Before he went into seclusion, Brando made the eight-hour, 4,100-mile flight from Los Angeles to French Polynesia on many occasions, sometimes staying on Tetiaroa for months at a time. He delighted in life as an island owner, dozing on the beach, imitating the scuttle of hermit crabs, and even developing part of his domain as Hotel Tetiaroa Village, a modest resort featuring a few primitive, thatched-roof huts to which tourists were brought from Tahiti by air—the island’s small airstrip being the only reliable access to the place.

“My mind is always soothed when I imagine myself sitting on my South Sea island at night,” Brando wrote in his 1994 autobiography, “Songs My Mother Taught Me.” Brando wanted to die on Tetiaroa, preferably “sitting under a coconut palm in a very special place on the island,” as he put it to an employee. In a will he signed in 1982, he put Tetiaroa in a trust so it could be preserved for posterity. “If I have my way, Tetiaroa will remain forever a place that reminds Tahitians of who they are and what they were centuries ago,” he wrote.

But Brando died far from any coconut palms in an intensive care unit at UCLA Medical Center. And less than a year later, acting on a revised will that included no specific provision for Tetiaroa, the executors of his estate sold an interest in the island for $2 million to Richard Bailey, a Tahiti-based hotel developer who had courted Brando without success for several years.

Bailey is taking over what seems more like a dystopia than a utopia. Brando, a massively flawed product of the Hollywood dream factory, couldn’t insulate his fantasy island from the storms of his personal life—the failed marriages, the wrecked relationships and the troubled children—and the strains on his finances. He stopped going to Tetiaroa after his son Christian killed a Tahitian native in 1990, and by the time of his death, the resort he built was pretty much in ruins. But friends and former employees say the island is still the truest mirror of Brando’s search for purity. And they’re worried that Bailey is about to ruin it for everybody else.

Technically, Tetiaroa is not an island but an atoll of 13 islets—or, as the Polynesians call them, motus—surrounded by a lagoon that is separated from the ocean by the reef. From the air, the motus look like oddly shaped putting greens fringed with sand. In early 2004, aviation authorities shut down the airstrip, saying the length of the runway did not comply with safety regulations. Since then, Brando’s resort has been closed and only his 42-year-old son Teihotu lives there, working for Bailey as Tetiaroa’s caretaker.

Publishing tycoon Malcolm Forbes and fruit magnate David Murdock of Dole Food Co. are among those who have made a success out of owning remote tropical paradises. The former spent a fortune building homes for his employees on Laucala, the Fijian island he acquired in 1972 the latter forked out $400 million to build two resort hotels on Lanai, Hawaii, which he added to his empire in 1985.

Brando, for all his Hollywood stardom, could not begin to match their financial resources—or business savvy. “Marlon was a dreamer,” says Jo An Corrales, the actor’s former business manager.

Dick Bailey is, clearly, a businessman. He doesn’t own any islands, but he knows the luxury resort business. A native of Lafayette, La., he moved with his wife, a Tahitian attorney, to Tahiti in 1985 and got a job with the island’s tourism agency. In 1989, he became the local representative for IEI International, a Japanese real-estate firm that owned two resorts on Tahiti and another on Bora-Bora. When IEI hit financial troubles, Bailey bought the properties in 1998.

Through his company, Tahiti Beachcomber SA, he has invested some $50 million in refurbishing those properties. Another $65-million resort being constructed on Bora-Bora will feature, among other things, 80 villas built out over the island’s lagoon and a spa where guests can relax in thermal and seawater baths. After the resort is finished in May 2006, Bailey will take on Brando’s island. He envisions a Tetiaroa reserved strictly for the wealthy. For about $1,500 a night, they will stay at “The Brando,” a luxury “eco-resort” consisting of 30 villas. Construction is expected to begin next year and cost as much as $40 million, and the resort could open for business in 2008.

Under the terms of a complex deal finalized in April, Bailey paid $2 million upfront to Brando’s estate the beneficiaries include nine of his surviving children. The estate has granted him a 60-year lease to develop Onetahi—the motu where Brando built his village—and part of Rimatuu, a neighboring motu. The area covered by the lease accounts for about 15% of the atoll’s total 1,400-acre landmass.

Starting in 2012, the estate will receive $100,000 a year as rent and $400,000 a year or 4.75% of the new resort’s gross revenues, whichever is greater, for allowing Bailey to use the Brando name. By 2065, when the 60-year deal expires, the gross value to the heirs should add up to at least $28.5 million. “We believe we got a very fair deal for the estate,” says David J. Seeley, a Kirkland, Wash., lawyer who worked for Brando and is advising the estate. “We were not going to get any better deal.”

It has not, however, gone down well with some who knew the actor. They see the proposed resort as a threat to the island’s delicate ecosystem and to Brando’s legacy. “The Brando,” they lament, is something that its namesake would never have imagined, even in his most tortured dreams. “The estate broke a promise Marlon made to the Polynesian people,” says Corrales.

True, Bailey’s vision sounds far more like “Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous” than anything you would associate with the earthy authenticity of Brando’s island. Wasn’t his ideal to experience a South Sea island in as pure a way as possible? Wouldn’t a Bailey resort on Tetiaroa be as incongruous as a Club Med in Siberia? But in a phone interview, Bailey repeatedly insists he is on the same page as Brando.

“The concept [for Tetiaroa] is very much in keeping with what Marlon wanted,” he says. “It’s environmentally sensitive, visually sensitive, architecturally sensitive.”

Bailey says he absorbed Brando’s vision during many discussions and meetings with him going back to 1999. They had a “stormy relationship,” he admits, and Brando was “very ambivalent about what he wanted to do” with Tetiaroa. By that time, most of Tetiaroa’s visitors were flying in from Tahiti on $300 day trips. But Bailey says that low value, high volume was not the way to go. “I told [Brando], ‘What you really want is higher-paying [guests], less visitation. That is how to preserve the island,’ ” he recalls.

In 2002, Brando executed a will that appointed Corrales and his longtime secretary, Alice Marchak, as his executors—the previous will was out of date because, among other things, he had produced five more children during the previous 20 years. Both the executors had known him for decades and, says Corrales, they would never have allowed a luxury development on Tetiaroa. “He knew Alice and I would do what he wanted,” she contends. But on June 18, 2004—just two weeks before his death—Brando removed them from the will and named three people to handle his estate: Avra Douglas, a friend of his daughter Rebecca former Orion Pictures studio head Mike Medavoy and accountant Larry Dressler, who is Medavoy’s brother-in-law.

Brando gave no explanation for a change that effectively turned insiders into outsiders overnight. None of the new executors belong to the old guard of longtime Brando retainers Medavoy never made a film with Brando. Some of the old-timers have questioned whether Brando was competent when he signed the codicil to the will. But Seeley says the codicil was a “well thought-out plan.” Corrales had by then been fired from her management job, he notes, and the elderly Marchak wouldn’t have been able to cope with the “enormous responsibilities” of the estate. Others say Medavoy was chosen because Brando knew he could handle complicated movie rights and other film-related issues for the estate.

After Brando died, Bailey, who already had applied for a building permit and spent about $300,000 on plans, was ahead of the curve. The three new executors picked his project after getting no proposals from anyone else. “Brando went really far with Bailey—the furthest he went with anybody,” says Seeley.

At $1,500 a night, of course, “The Brando” will be out of reach of most Polynesian people, even though the country’s per capita income is a relatively high $15,000. But Seeley says the estate “doesn’t have the ability to give property away.”

Both he and Bailey also stress that, however much Brando might have idealized Tetiaroa, things on the ground were quite different. Under his watch, paradise, if not lost, was tarnished. “There was a divergence between what Marlon wanted to do and what was actually done,” Bailey says, phrasing it as diplomatically as possible. “To assert Tetiaroa is an absolutely pure and virgin island is not accurate.”

Marlon Brando first spotted Tetiaroa in 1960 while scouting locations for the film “Mutiny on the Bounty,” which was shot on Tahiti and neighboring Moorea. Once a summer residence of Tahitian royalty, the atoll then was owned by the heirs of a Canadian dentist, W. Johnston Williams. After filming finished, Brando hired a fisherman to ferry him there. It was “more gorgeous than anything I had anticipated,” he marveled in “Songs.”

Brando looked into buying the atoll, but the Williams family wasn’t ready to sell. About four years later, they capitulated and, after obtaining government approval, he paid $200,000 for most of Tetiaroa in October 1966 and $70,000 for the remainder the following January. He promised Williams’ daughter he would “preserve the island in its natural state as much as possible.” The deal gave him the motus while the government retained ownership of the lagoon and the reef—as it does throughout French Polynesia to keep marine resources in the public domain.

The Omaha, Neb., native—who grew up mostly in a small Illinois town and, during a tumultuous childhood, got kicked out of several schools—truly had arrived. At the age of 42, Brando was a screen legend, he had fathered a son with a Tahitian beauty, Tarita Teriipaia, who played the lover of his character in “Mutiny"—and he was the new ruler of Tetiaroa.

“An uneducated Midwestern farm boy had what every man ever dreamed of—an exotic island unto himself,” says Caroline Barrett, his former secretary and the mother of Brando’s adopted daughter Petra.

In 1971, Brando hired Los Angeles architect Bernard Judge to draft a master plan to develop Tetiaroa in several stages. Initially, they would build 12 bungalows and an airstrip on Onetahi, a 192-acre motu in the southwest corner of the lagoon. Later would come a large hotel on Oroatena, a motu in the northeast corner. The ultimate goal, Judge wrote, was to establish a “self-supportive community, a blending of research and training, nutriculture, aquaculture and tourism within sound ecological constraints.”

But Judge says things changed as he and Brando spent time together on Tetiaroa. “It didn’t take a genius to figure out this was not the place for a large hotel,” he explains. “It was just a little piece of heaven in the Pacific.” The nature-loving Brando just “wanted it for his family and friends and the Tahitian people to appreciate nature,” and he would never build anything on Oroatena.

On Onetahi, Judge, along with a bulldozer and seven Tahitian workers, chopped down coconut trees to clear the airstrip site and used materials from the trees to build the bungalows. So fragile is the lagoon’s ecosystem that Brando decided not to make a passage through the barrier reef. “There are species in the lagoon that can’t be found anywhere else,” Judge says. As a result, boats would shuttle supplies to the atoll, dropping them off on the ocean side of the reef. Workers would then drag them over to the lagoon.

Hotel Tetiaroa Village opened for business with its dozen bungalows in March 1973. For up to $500, tourists could get a package deal of airfare to and from Tahiti on a local airline—Air Moorea—meals and one night in a bungalow. But the facilities appealed only to those, like Brando, who didn’t mind going without running water or air conditioning, or being swarmed by sand gnats and mosquitoes. The diesel generators that supplied power were expensive to run and frequently broke down. “It was not the Hilton, I’ll tell you,” says Jay Baldwin, an alternative energy expert whom Brando invited to Tetiaroa. Its only recreational facility was a ping-pong table.

Customer service wasn’t exactly top-notch, either. According to Peter Manso’s biography “Brando,” one dissatisfied day-tripper complained to Tarita, who was then managing the resort, saying she would tell Brando that “his island is not being run the way it should be.” Tarita replied, “You know something? Marlon Brando doesn’t give a [damn].”

Tetiaroa was for a time an idyllic refuge from Hollywood, a place where Brando could entertain friends and frolic with his children, who included son Teihotu and daughter Cheyenne from his relationship with Tarita. “I could open this up for tourism and make a million dollars, but why spoil it?” he told a writer for Playboy magazine in 1978. But even the high salaries he was commanding—he was paid $3 million for a minor role in the 1978 film “Superman"—did not cover his bills. And he couldn’t find a way to make the atoll pay for itself capital-intensive ideas such as a lobster farm came to nothing. Brando refused to enhance the attractions, even by adding a swimming pool. One Christmas, he had a jet-ski shipped to Tetiaroa for his children. But he complained it polluted the lagoon and disturbed the fish. After the machine broke down, he wouldn’t allow any repairs, so it was left to rust in the sand.

In April 1983, a major hurricane extensively damaged the resort, flattening Brando’s private bungalow, uprooting trees and strewing dead birds across the lagoon. After a professional manager took charge of Tetiaroa, Brando agreed to spend up to $750,000 on renovations. But the cash never materialized and the manager quit in frustration in 1988, writing Brando that he was “tired of being the keeper of the most exclusive slum in the South Pacific.”

Speculating on the elderly Brando’s thoughts and emotions may be a futile exercise. After all, in one of his last interviews, he kissed Larry King on the mouth and rambled on about Jews running Hollywood. But a death on Mulholland Drive may have changed his feelings toward Tetiaroa, or at least left emotional scars that tainted his Pacific paradise.

On the night of May 16, 1990, police found Dag Drollet, the Tahitian boyfriend of Cheyenne Brando, dead in the den of Marlon Brando’s L.A. compound. Her half-brother Christian, drunk and distressed by Cheyenne’s allegations that Drollet abused her, had shot him in the head. The case ended with Christian pleading guilty to manslaughter in January 1991 and an anguished Brando testifying in court that he and Christian’s mother, actress Anna Kashfi, had failed him.

Drollet’s father, a pillar of the cultural and political community in Tahiti, had never thought too much of Brando. After the homicide, he made it clear that Brando would not be welcome in the islands, threatening to have him arrested as an accomplice in Dag’s death. In a final blow, Cheyenne ended her battle with mental illness by hanging herself in her mother’s Tahiti home in 1995. Cheyenne’s suicide “shattered [Brando], and he has been unable to stand on the place where it happened,” George Englund, a movie producer and close friend of Brando, wrote in his memoir “The Way It’s Never Been Done Before.”

Isolated on Mulholland and battling increasing health problems, Brando, by then in his 70s, left some of the daily operations of Tetiaroa to Tarita, from whom he had split years before and who had no resort management experience, and their son Teihotu. He never returned to French Polynesia, even for a brief visit. “He put a lot of faith in Tarita,” Judge says. “Had he gone there, he would have realized it was too much for her.”

In his absence, the roofs and walls of the hotel bungalows, which should have been replaced every six years, fell apart garbage, rather than being composted, stacked up where the tourists couldn’t see it and poachers raided the lagoon, depleting the stocks of fish. In 1998, Judge proposed renovating and adding to the resort, but Brando balked at the $10-million cost of the project. And the bills kept coming, with one key creditor, Air Moorea, complaining that it wasn’t getting its share of the money from the tourist package deals. (By the time Brando died, he owed Air Moorea $460,000 repairs to bring the airstrip up to code would have cost him about $400,000.)

Brando owned Tetiaroa through a company called Frangipani SA. In his 1982 will that set up a Tetiaroa Trust, he declared it was his “express wish that the stock of any corporation [holding title to Tetiaroa] . . . or any leasehold . . . shall not be sold.” He also wanted the property to “go to my children and their issue . . . many of whom are or will be Polynesian, so that this property, to a large extent, will be owned by Polynesians in the future.”

He expressed similar sentiments in his autobiography and, according to Judge and others, never wavered from them. He turned down offers to buy Tetiaroa—even though he boasted it was worth $80 million. Several major hotel chains, including the Four Seasons, Regency, and Sofitel, approached him about a leasehold, but Brando didn’t come close to making a deal.

Negotiations were just a game for Brando, close friends say, a way to stave off boredom, to play with suitors like marionettes. “Marlon would back out of one deal after the other, always wanting a bigger piece of the pie,” recalls Barrett, Brando’s former secretary. “If they offered him three slices, he demanded five—or more.” He had, she adds, “no intention of leasing Tetiaroa to anyone, and certainly not to a hotel chain.”

Two years before his death, in August 2002, Brando signed the new will and trust agreement that said nothing about Tetiaroa or a legacy to Polynesians. Instead, the atoll was lumped together with his other assets, and it was left up to executors Corrales and Marchak to distribute income from those assets to the beneficiaries. Maybe—with Tetiaroa now more of a financial and emotional albatross than it had ever been a utopian idyll—Brando was freeing his heirs to get some value out of it.

Attorney David Seeley, who has worked closely with Dick Bailey on the Beachcomber deal, insists that Brando did become more receptive to a luxury project on Tetiaroa. Those who say otherwise, he argues, “don’t know what they’re talking about. They don’t know a lot of what happened in the last four or five years. Maybe his thoughts changed.”

But Corrales says Brando trusted her and Marchak not to do anything that would conflict posthumously with his ideals. He did not provide for Tetiaroa, she contends, because “he knew it would be taken care of according to his wishes by individuals who knew him absolutely,” who knew that he wanted “his birds, turtles, coconuts, palms, critters and so on to live free, to have a small oasis.” Contrary to Seeley’s assertion, Corrales says, the estate’s responsibilities are not beyond the 85-year-old Marchak. She is “sharp as a tack.”

Moreover, even if Brando did go further with Bailey than anyone else, his wishes did not include actually doing a project with him. In their discussions, Bailey admits, “We were very far apart on the gives and gets of any deal.” Their relationship effectively ended after the French Polynesian government closed the Onetahi airstrip in January 2004. Brando believed Bailey had engineered the closure to pressure him into making a deal—which Bailey denies. “As if that was going to advance my cause,” he says. “It would only make things worse.”

Less than three months later, though, Brando fired Corrales, who says she was not popular among some of his family members because of her tight control of Brando’s finances. (Corrales has sued the estate, alleging Brando wrongfully terminated and sexually harassed her. Seeley declined to comment on the firing, citing the litigation.) And then came that crucial, last-minute codicil to his will, 13 days before his death, appointing Medavoy, Dressler and Douglas as the new executors. The three of them have the same broad power as Corrales and Marchak would have had, and they exercised that power to decide the fate of Tetiaroa.

Discussing his “eco-resort,” Bailey says he will follow Brando’s wishes by not building any of the 30 villas over water where they could interfere with sea turtle habitats. “They’ll be set back from the beach and invisible from the lagoon,” he adds. The reef will remain intact, though he intends to build a platform on top of it to make the transportation of construction materials easier. Solar panels will produce power, a high-tech “micro-treatment” plant will handle sewage, and desalination technology will provide drinking water. All very expensive, but, says Bailey, all “in keeping with Marlon’s vision.”

Judge is willing to give Bailey some benefit of the doubt. The environmental measures are “pretty good solutions,” he says. “It sounds like he’s trying to do the right thing.” But Bailey could build the world’s most environmentally sensitive resort and still wouldn’t satisfy the Brando cohorts, including Corrales, who claims “they are changing the island forever.”

The old-timers certainly are not satisfied with the name Bailey has given his Tetiaroa development. “I was stunned to discover that the Beachcomber people are going to call it ‘The Brando,’ ” says Barrett, who recalls that while Hotel Tetiaroa Village was still operating in the 1980s, its agent in Tahiti posted a sign at the inter-island airport. “Marlon Brando’s Atoll of Tetiaroa—Book Here,” the sign read.

“People were surprised to learn they could book a week’s stay, or even a day’s excursion,” Barrett says. “Most assumed it was Marlon’s private island and off-limits to the public.” The sign drummed up “a lot of business.” The problem, she continues, was that “when Marlon found out, he hit the roof. He made [the agent] take the sign down. Marlon didn’t want any exploitation of his name, even if it meant less business.”

Judge also thinks his old friend would have “hated” having any resort named for him. “He wanted people to go there for Tetiaroa,” he says, “not because of some movie actor.”


Just a few weeks after their wedding vows renewal it seems as if the power couple of Sophie Ndaba and Max Lichaba heading for a nasty divorce. However, it has been established that Ndaba and Lichaba separated last year just in March. The breakup of their much-publicized union happened after they renewed their vows and sported new weddings bands in February last year.

The two lovebirds are allegedly heading for divorce after trying unsuccessfully to sort out their differences and rekindle their love. If this uncertain matrimony crushes, it will be Ndaba’s third failed marriage in 23 years. Ndaba, who shot to fame when she played Queen Moroka in SABC1 soapie Generations. She was married to fellow actor Themba Ndaba, who plays Brutus in The Queen, in 1998. The couple divorced in 2007.

However, she later tied the knot with Bishop Keith Harrington in 2011 and they broke up bitterly in 2013. She wedded Lichaba in 2018. News of Ndaba and Lichaba’s separation, which was kept under wrap, was revealed by the couple’s close friend, who did not want to be named for fear of discrimination. However, she has been making all sorts of headlines of late. From death rumours to property repositioning.

Recently Sophie Ndaba-Lichaba found herself in a tight position as she battles to save her businesses from the effects of the pandemic. The actress, who has lost weight as she battles diabetes is set to lose her truck after the bank that financed her company tries to recover a debt.


Tried Claire's chocolate chip cookies recipe. Trouble in paradise. :(

My brown butter didn't solidify and I can't figure out why. I dipped my finger in it and it was room temp, yet a clear liquid. I whisked it over an ice bath for around 10 minutes. The cookies turned out so greasy, which I anticipated, but my fear is if my brown butter doesn't solidify, I won't be able to try a plethora of recipes. Help!

I'm not sure if you followed her video or the cookbook method, but they are slightly different. I did a mashup of both. In the book she only browns half the butter, which is poured over the remaining softened butter. I think this helps bring the temp down. Then she says to set aside to cool, but I whisked mine over an ice pack like she did in the video, and got it looking like hers within a few minutes.


Trouble in Paradise

Los Cabos doesn't look like a place for arguments. The long sandy beaches, shimmering sunlight and abundant palm trees of the resort hotels where Mexico is hosting this G-20 meeting would make the perfect setting for a rom-com -- in fact Jennifer Aniston has a place here. But European Union Commission President José Manuel Barroso broke up any notions of a love-in when he said the EU hadn't come here for a lecture.

"Frankly, we have not come here to receive lessons in terms of democracy or in terms of how to run our economy," Mr. Barroso said at the end of a pre-G-20 briefing. "The European Union has a model and we are very proud of it.…We are certainly not coming here to receive lessons from nobody."

In response to some rather forthright questions by a Canadian journalist asking why North Americans should risk their assets, via the IMF, for Europe, Mr. Barroso said it's in the continent's interests to help Europe.

"The European Union is the biggest economy in the world -- yes, you know that," he said. "This contribution to the IMF all these years has been from European Union states."

He'll be putting the same case more delicately this afternoon to the leaders of the group of 20 industrialized and emerging economies -- four of which are EU members, along with permanent guest Spain. Leaders are getting fed up of Europe's slow response to the crisis, with U.S. Treasury Secretary Timothy Geithner warning last week the "stakes are very high for them and the rest of us."

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Doo Wop

That devil is going around spreading lies again! The song “Trouble in Paradise” went to #20 on the U.S. Billboard Hot 100 in 1960. Group members on this song are Johnny Maestro (Mastrangelo), J.T. Carter, Talmadge “Tommy” Gough, and Harold Torres. The group formed in New York City in 1957. They had charting success with 󈬀 Candles,” “Six Nights a Week,” “The Angels Listened In,” and “Step by Step,” among others.

Over the years, there were numerous personnel changes for The Crests (it’s a fluid business) as people left and were replaced. Just to name a few of the changes are the following iterations. At one point early in their history, Patricia Van Dross, sister of R&B legend Luther Vandross, was a member. Maestro went on to a solo career in 1961 and then joined the Del-Satins. They merged with The Rhythm Method and became Johnny Maestro & The Brooklyn Bridge.

Here are the lyrics to “Trouble in Paradise” by The Crests:

“Calling all angels
Calling all angels
Calling all angels, wooh
Calling all angels
Calling all angels
Calling all angels, wooh
There’s trouble in paradise
My turtle dove’s changing wings
There’s trouble in paradise
The birds no longer sing

Some devil told my angel
A lot of lies
And now my tears are falling
Like raindrops from the sky

There’s trouble in paradise
The stars no longer shine
There’s trouble in paradise
‘Cause she’s no longer mine

That devil told my angel
I’d been untrue
Won’t somebody help me please T
ell me what to do
Mr. Moon, Mr. Sun
Tell her she’s the only one
Guide her with your lovely light
Back into my arms tonight

There’s trouble in paradise
And heaven’s not the same
The angels sit and cry
They say it’s such a shame

They’d like our love
To be just like before
Then the trouble in paradise
Will be no more

Mr. Moon, Mr. Sun
Tell her she’s the only one
Guide her with your lovely light
Back into my arms tonight

There’s trouble in paradise
And heaven’s not the same
The angels sit and cry
They say it’s such a shame

They’d like our love
To be just like before
Then the trouble in paradise
Will be no more

Calling all angels
Calling all angels
Calling all angels, wooh
Calling all angels
Calling all angels
Calling all angels, wooh…”

If you are interested in reading an interview with J.T. Carter, the founder of The Crests and Huffington Post music reviewer Mike Ragogna, please click here for “A Conversation with The Crests’ JT Carter.” For more songs by The Crests: “The Angels Listened In” and “Sixteen Candles.”

For More Golden Oldies Music

The Daily Doo Wop Rec Room has daily featured doo wop, rock and roll, R&B, or rockabilly songs that were hits during the first era of rock and roll (that is, from about 1952 until the British invasion in 1964). After a song is featured, it then goes into the juke box. You are welcome to listen to any of the 40+ selections there. Every weekend, there is a Golden Oldies Juke Box Saturday Night, and the juke box is full of song requests from the 1950s and 1960s.

Please click here for the Daily Doo Wop YouTube channel, to which you can subscribe. Thank you for stopping by The Daily Doo Wop. Hope you enjoyed “Trouble in Paradise” by The Crests.


Is there trouble in paradise for a Bringing Up Bates courtship?

Nathan Bates and Ashley Salyer may have hit a bump in the road of their courtship, but they are handling it with wisdom far beyond their years.

Let me just take a moment to applaud these two for recognizing and trying to work through their differences. That moment during tonight’s episode of Bringing Up Bates where the couple sought out Kelly Jo and Gil Bates’ counsel was so impressive. It was definitely a point in favor for courtship.

Rather than just enjoy spending time together getting to know one another, Ashley and Nathan are really taking the time to think through a future together by communicating.

“You know, I don’t want Ashley to change,” Nathan said in his conversation with his parents. “I love her and who she is, but at the same time, we do have concerns. We have, sometimes, a lot of conflict, and neither one of us are really, you know, sure that God wants us to get married.”

Like Kelly Jo said, communication is the key to a successful relationship, so even though Ashley and Nathan are recognizing some differences they have together, they also have clearly mastered one of the cornerstones for success: honest, open conversation.

“I am so proud of y’all,” Kelly Jo told Ashley and Nathan. “It’s obvious &mdash you’re sitting here holding hands &mdash it’s obvious that you have feelings for each other and, I mean, you’re discovering something about relationships that everybody has to discover. There are times that you rub each other the wrong way.”

She reassured them that they would figure it out either way. “We want the best for both of you. We love you.”

Will these two get married? Who knows.

Even they admitted they don’t know at this point in their relationship. But the fact that they are talking so openly with one another makes it clear that they are both going to end up in happy, healthy relationships even if it isn’t with one another at the end of the day.

Nathan is only 22 years old, after all. He still has plenty of time to explore relationships and what the right path is for himself and same with Ashley.

It’s hard as a spectator to give my opinion on whether these two should stay together or not. They really didn’t get into the details of their differences. But in my opinion, part of dating is learning your likes and dislikes, and discovering what makes someone compatible as a life partner. If this doesn’t work for the two of them, I think they’ll both be able to learn and move forward with a better understanding of what will make a suitable life partner for each of them.

Do you think Ashley and Nathan will be able to work through their issues?

Before you go, check out our slideshow below.


Trouble in Paradise

For Susanna Moore, a novelist turned historian, Hawaii is a land of arrivals —of seeds, plants and birds, and then human migrants, when long-range Polynesian voyagers reached the islands. (She herself was an arrival as a child, an experience she has described in an earlier book.) The first settlers in these remote volcanic islands probably came from the Marquesas, a couple of thousand miles to the South, in about the sixth century, but the crucial migrations came from Tahiti between the 11th and 14th centuries, for these new arrivals brought with them, in their great double-hulled canoes, their own gods, together with ali’i (chiefs) and priests whose authority was supported by an intimidating system of kapu (taboo).

Kapu dominated every aspect of life. Men and women ate separately. High chiefs possessed the prostrating kapu, by which all persons within sight had to throw themselves facedown on the ground. A breach of kapu occurred when a man’s shadow fell, however accidentally, on a high chief. When a kapu of silence was imposed, all noises were forbidden, even coughs. Major violations of kapu were punished by death—by clubbing, strangulation or burning. Although commoners were the worst sufferers, chiefs were not immune, and their attendance at royal court exposed them to danger on a daily basis.

If chiefs were not at court, then they were probably at war, for hostilities were endemic both within the islands that made up the Hawaiian archipelago and among them, as chiefs and their warriors battled for ascendancy. Tension and fear became the defining features of Hawaiian society, and even sleep brought no relaxation, for it was dangerous to sleep next to the walls of the grass houses in case of a lethal spear thrust through the thatch.

All in all, it is difficult to see in this society Ms. Moore’s “Paradise of the Pacific.” Rather, as she admits, Hawaiians before the overthrow of the old gods lived in “an unending state of terror. . . . The threat of punishment, death, and dissolution shadowed every moment of existence.”

Hawaii’s isolation from the outside world came to an end with another arrival, that of Capt. James Cook in 1778 and 1779. Ms. Moore spends little time rehearsing the thesis that has engaged anthropologists in lively debate: that Hawaiians recognized Cook as the incarnation of the god Lono, the Hawaiian god of peace and fertility, whose procession around the island was celebrated in the joyous Makahiki season, lasting from November to early February. By the day of his death on 14 February Cook was out of character and out of time, for the season belonged to Ku, the grim god of war.


Trouble in Paradise: Drug Runners and Battered Wives

CANCÚN, Mexico - When battered wives show up at Lidia Cacho's crisis center, they often come with more than their children and their pain.

They come with men like Alfredo Jiménez Potenciano trailing after them.

Law enforcement officials consider Mr. Jiménez to be one of this city's most powerful drug traffickers, responsible along with his brothers for overseeing shipments of cocaine that pass through here on the way to the United States.

On a bright morning last December he arrived in a caravan of sport utility vehicles at Ms. Cacho's refuge, carrying his AR-15 rifle. "Give me back my wife and kid," he demanded, according to Ms. Cacho. "If not, I'll jump over the fence and kill you all."

Most of the local police officers were on strike. The others refused to respond. The federal police arrived an hour later. Mr. Jiménez and his companions got away, but not with his wife and child.

This is the other Cancún. The city better known for its white sand, wet T-shirt contests and all-you-can-drink margaritas is also one of Mexico's most sinister cities. It is an essential hub of illegal traffic of all kinds, especially drugs, and of the violence that goes with it.

In recent years increasing attention has been paid to the open clashes among organized mafias just a few miles from the Disneyesque tourist areas, although very limited progress has been made against them.

Ms. Cacho, 42, fights the violence in their homes. Often she fights on her own.

"In almost all cases when women suffer violence by men, the women feel a deep sense of impotence against the omnipresence of the men," she said. "In the case of the wives of drug traffickers, that feeling is much, much stronger. These husbands have dozens of men out looking for the women. And they will not stop until they find them, wherever they are.

"One woman told me that her husband said, ɾven if you crawl under a rock, I will find you."'

Ms. Cacho and other activists for women describe domestic violence as one of the ugliest byproducts of Mexico's culture of machismo. But most such violence, the experts lament, has been largely ignored by the police, lawmakers and the human rights community, except for the ruthless murders of women and girls in Ciudad Juárez.

A study in 1993 by the National Women's Institute found that nearly half of the 19.4 million women surveyed said they had suffered some kind of domestic violence. In another study that same year, the Health Ministry reported that the state of Quintana Roo, whose largest city is Cancún, has the country's highest reported incidence of sexual, physical and emotional abuse.

Ms. Cacho said that last year more than 70 women were killed in incidents of domestic violence. Her center, she said, serves at least 300 women a month. And during spring break, Ms. Cacho said, at least 30 percent of those women are young American tourists.

In 2002, according to a study done for the Mexican Congress, more than 2,700 women were killed by domestic violence across the country. More recent statistics are hard to find, the officials said, because state attorneys' offices and municipal police forces do not keep reports of every time their officers pull an enraged husband off his wife.

In more cases than anyone likes to acknowledge, the victims endure their turmoil in silence, sometimes because they are too afraid to go to the police and sometimes because the police fail to answer their calls.

Ms. Cacho, a native of Mexico City who was educated at the Sorbonne and speaks four languages, has been living with death threats for eight years. They started when she began writing newspaper columns against Mario Villanueva, the governor of Quintana Roo from 1993 to 1999 he is currently living in a maximum-security prison cell on charges related to drug trafficking.

Since the release two weeks ago of her book about a child prostitution ring that operated with the complicity of the local police and politicians, the threats have become more frequent.

In 1998, she was ambushed and raped in a bathroom in a bus station, an attack that Ms. Cacho believes was meant to silence her. It didn't. With a concussion and two broken ribs, she picked herself up from the floor and got herself to a hospital before breaking down briefly in a phone call to her mother.

After the physical wounds healed, she decided to do more than write about the social problems that plagued Cancún. That is when the wives of drug traffickers and corrupt security agents began showing up at her door. And then came their husbands.

Unlike most of the 35 other shelters for battered women across the country, Ms. Cacho's center is more like a witness protection program. In the three years since it opened, she says, she has helped win asylum in the United States and South America for at least several dozen wives who possess valuable evidence that could help authorities prosecute their husbands.

"Somehow the most difficult cases come to me," she said.

Among her latest tough cases is that of an army lieutenant's wife who has fled to different shelters across the country trying to escape her husband. There also is the wife of a pilot for a major trafficker who is on the F.B.I.'s most wanted list. And there is a drug trafficker's wife who said her husband had links to the killing of nine traffickers and federal police agents here last December.

Ms. Cacho said that in her first interviews with the trafficker's wife, the woman scanned newspaper photos of the massacre and identified some of the dead as her in-laws.

It is a case that could leave her with another gun pointed in her face.

"I have a very clear perspective on this work," she said. "We are living in a time when impunity permeates everything. We must either fight with everything we have, even our lives, or we have to leave this work. There's no middle ground.

"So when people ask me if I am willing to lose my life, I tell them I am not willing to lose my life. But I am willing to give it."


Watch the video: The Crests- Trouble In Paradise Doo wop (January 2022).