Why Britain Renamed This ‘Italian’ War Machine The Panther, Then Quietly Sold The Entire Fleet -Hw  

November 6th, 2003. Wellington Barracks, London. Lord Bach, the British Defense Procurement Minister, signs a contract for 401 armored vehicles. Cost: 166 million pounds. The official press release celebrates British engineering, British manufacturing, and British jobs at Newcastle. The vehicle is to be called the Panther.

Almost none of that statement is true. The Panther is not British. It is Italian. Designed by Iveco at their Bolzano plant in the late 1990s, known to the Italian Army as the Lince, meaning lynx, pushed into a British competition after the short list had already closed, built abroad, renamed at home, and within 15 years the British Ministry of Defense will quietly try to sell the entire fleet, fail to find a buyer, and announce that the unwanted Italian vehicle will continue in service until 2037.

This is the story of how Britain bought a lynx, called it a panther, and then could not get rid of it. By the late 1990s, the British Army had a quiet vehicle crisis. Land Rovers, FV432 armored personnel carriers, and aging CVR(T) tracked reconnaissance vehicles were still being used in command and liaison roles.

None were properly protected against modern threats. None had modern communications. None could survive the kind of battlefield emerging in the Balkans and beyond. The Future Command and Liaison Vehicle Program began addressing the problem in August 2000. The requirement was specific. Protected mobility for commanders, fire direction teams, reconnaissance officers, and liaison personnel.

Five vehicles competed in trials at the Armored Trials and Development Unit at Bovington. The Alvis Scarab, the RG32M Scout, the RG31 Nyala, the ACMAT Ranger, and one entry that should not have been there. The Iveco Light Multirole Vehicle was not on the original short list. According to detailed analysis by the Think Defense blog, the vehicle was added late in the process after the initial five had already been submitted, Alvis only included the Iveco design in their proposal through a last-minute partnership, displacing their own

Scarab. Richard North, writing on his Defence of the Realm blog, put it more bluntly. He alleged that the Ministry of Defence introduced the Iveco design in September 2001 after the short-listed closed in what he described as a breach of its own rules. North claimed the motivation was political, a desire to align with European procurement standards for the Joint Rapid Reaction Force and to share a common platform with continental partners.

It is important to understand that the Iveco design was not poor. The LMV became one of the most successful European light protected vehicles of its generation. Italy alone fielded around 2,000 by 2013. Austria bought 150. Belgium took 440. Norway took 170. Spain bought 185. Croatia, Czech Republic, Slovakia, Albania, Brazil, and Lebanon all became operators.

Russia liked the design so much that it built a local copy under license called the Rize. Total worldwide production crossed 4,000 vehicles. The Iveco was not the problem. The way Britain ordered it was. On July 17, 2003, Alvis Vickers was announced as the preferred bidder. On exactly the same day, Britain withdrew from the MRAV Boxer program.

Defence forums have speculated ever since that the Panther contract was a consolation prize for Alvis losing Boxer. The Ministry has never confirmed the connection. But the most damaging decision was buried deep in the technical specification. The same Iveco vehicle in Italian service was being purchased at STANAG 4569 level three protection.

The British contract specified level one, the lowest baseline, standard rifle rounds, hand grenades, shrapnel from a 155-mm shell at 100 m, nothing more. The Italians bought a properly armored command vehicle. Britain bought the cheap version of it. The Iveco design itself was genuinely advanced. The vehicle was built around a central armored capsule that the engineers called the Citadel.

A monocoque crew compartment with modular composite and steel armor panels that could be swapped to tune protection levels up or down. The bonnet hinged from the chassis, not from the Citadel. The front, rear, and cargo sections were deliberately sacrificial, designed to crumple and vent blast energy away from the occupants.

Underneath, the hull was V-shaped. A three-layer collapsible floor structure absorbed residual blast. The seats were suspended on elastic mounts derived from aeronautical engineering, eliminating direct floor connections that transmit mine shock to the spine. Wheel stations sat far from the central capsule.

Brakes were mounted inboard near the differentials, reducing unsprung mass. The fuel tank carried explosive suppressant foam. Powering the vehicle was an Iveco F1C 3-liter common rail turbo diesel. Output: 182 horsepower at 3,700 revolutions per minute. Torque: 456 Newton meters at 1,800. The transmission was a ZF 6-speed automatic with a two-speed transfer box and permanent four-wheel drive.

Top road speed: 130 kilometers per hour. Range: over 500 kilometers. Combat weight: 6,500 kilograms. The British version added the Selex Galileo and Folgore remote control weapon station, integrated with a BAE Systems self-defense weapon mount, and an uncooled thermal surveillance sight. The standard armament was the 7.

62 mm general-purpose machine gun. The mount could theoretically take a .50 caliber Browning or a 40-mm grenade launcher, but the heavier weapons made an already top-heavy vehicle dangerous. The Panther kept the lighter gun. Inside the crew compartment, the British also fitted Bowman, the new digital battlefield radio system.

And here, the engineering met procurement reality. The Bowman installation was so bulky that it occupied the entire right rear seat position. Joint Forces News documented the result clearly. The Panther, designed and marketed as a four-seat vehicle, became a three-seat vehicle in British service. Commander, driver, one passenger.

With body armor and load carrying equipment worn, even three occupants was tight. About the renaming itself, the Italian name Lince translates as Lynx. Britain already had a Lynx in service, the Westland Lynx helicopter, so the ministry needed a different name. They chose Panther, keeping the British military tradition of feline predators.

Ferret, fox, scimitar, Saracen, Lynx, Panther. But Richard North argued the rebranding served a deeper purpose. He wrote that the Ministry of Defense went to extraordinary lengths to conceal the Italian origin. Early documents described the vehicle as the Alvis Vickers Limited Multi-Role Light Vehicle, suggesting British manufacture that did not exist.

When BAE Systems acquired Alvis Vickers in 2004, the contract transferred. Final assembly was performed at the former Vickers tank plant in Newcastle, but as Think Defense concluded after detailed investigation, the base vehicles arrived pre-built from Bolzano. The Newcastle work was integration, not manufacture. Initial in-service date slipped from 2006 to 2007, and finally to June 2008.

The full fleet was delivered by the summer of 2009. There is one more procurement detail worth noting. When the contract was first announced in July 2003, the value was supposed to be over 200 million pounds, and the vehicles were destined partly for the Royal Air Force Regiment. By the time the contract was actually signed in November, Lord Bach told Parliament that the Royal Air Force Regiment would no longer receive vehicles from the initial fleet.

The contract value had been revised down. The price had not really dropped. The order had simply shrunk. At the same time, BAE was awarded a separate 28 million pound availability based support contract. It was the first such arrangement signed for a British military vehicle and a tacit admission that the Panther was, in Think Defense’s words, a maintenance intensive vehicle with poor availability.

The reception in service was not warm. Now, before we get to how the Panther actually performed when it reached combat, if you appreciate this kind of detailed work, hit subscribe. It takes a second, costs nothing, and helps the channel grow. Right, onto Afghanistan. The Panther never deployed to Iraq. By the time it entered service, Operation Telic was already drawing down.

The vehicle’s baseline protection was inadequate against the improvised explosive devices that were reshaping the Iraqi theater. In a telling detail, the Enforcer remote weapon stations originally purchased for the Panther program were stripped out and fitted instead to FV432 Bulldogs sent to Iraq in 2006. The Panther’s first contribution to a British war was cannibalizing its own armament for somebody else.

For Afghanistan, the ministry ran a separate urgent operational requirement worth roughly 20 million pounds, about 300,000 pounds per vehicle. The aim, bring 67 Panthers up to a higher theater entry standard. The upgrade package raised armor from the original baseline to roughly level three, added electronic countermeasures against radio-controlled bombs, fitted a larger roof hatch, redesigned the engine air intake because the original could not cope with Helmand heat, and mounted a flat platform on the rear deck to hold

the additional electronic countermeasures equipment. Troops took one look and nicknamed it the pace table, or sometimes the picnic table. 67 vehicles of a fleet that was now well over six times that size. About one in six of the entire Panther inventory ever reached the war for which the upgrade had been designed.

The remaining vehicles stayed in Germany and the United Kingdom, fulfilling the peacetime command and liaison role for which they had been originally specified. In June 2009, B Flight of 63 Squadron Royal Air Force Regiment, the Queen’s Colour Squadron, began patrolling Kandahar airfield with the upgraded vehicle.

58 Squadron of the Royal Air Force Regiment took them on mobile patrols out of Camp Bastion in 2011. The Close Support Logistics Regiment of the Royal Logistic Corps used them in support roles. The vehicles also served with armored and armored infantry units in command and liaison duties. The Tank Museum at Bovington displayed one specific vehicle in their Battle Group Afghanistan exhibit from 2011 until late 2024 with visible damage from an improvised explosive device strike sustained in Helmand.

The museum’s own commentary confirmed that the vehicle had been heavily damaged, recovered, refurbished, and returned to service. The crew survived. The armored Citadel, for at least that vehicle on that day, had done its job. The most damaging public criticism came in the House of Commons.

October 27, 2009, Westminster Hall debate on military vehicles and aircraft. Ann Winterton, the Conservative Member for Congleton, called the vehicle, quoting Hansard directly, the disastrous Panther. She pointed to the upgrade cost, 20 million pounds for those 67 vehicles, and questioned what the rest of the fleet was for.

She raised the rollover problem. The Panther had no rear exit, only side doors. In a rollover, occupants depended on the air conditioning, not in her words, a pleasant scenario to describe. Compare the Panther against the alternative that emerged afterward. The Foxhound, built by General Dynamics, was selected in September 2010. A 180 million pound contract for 200 vehicles, again under an urgent operational requirement, deployed to Afghanistan in June 2012.

Unit cost, roughly 900,000 pounds, twice the Panther, but the Foxhound had a properly V-shaped armored spine, interchangeable composite mission pods, and protection designed from the start against the improvised explosive device threat. Foxhound is now performing the role the Panther was supposed to perform. The comparison that matters most is the Italian one.

The same Iveco platform in Italian service with level three protection from the moment it entered the inventory. Italian Lince has survived multiple improvised explosive device strikes in Afghanistan in their standard configuration. No emergency upgrade required. No procurement of 1/6 of the fleet to be hastily up-armored while the rest sat in storage.

The Italians simply specified the vehicle correctly the first time. Britain did not. Which brings us to the story the title of this video promised. The quiet sale. April 30, 2018. The Defense Equipment Sales Authority listed 395 Panthers for disposal. The story was reported by Jane’s Defense Press.

The reasons given echoed every original criticism. Maintenance-intensive, cramped, inadequate baseline protection. A replacement was supposedly imminent under a separate procurement program. The sale did not happen. Crown copyright imagery from major NATO exercises continued showing Panthers throughout the years that followed.

Trident Juncture 2015 in Spain, Black Eagle 14 in Poland, Shamal Storm 16 in Jordan, a training deployment, not a sale, despite persistent confusion in defense forums about exactly that point. Kevatorm 17 and 19 in Estonia. And most recently, Steadfast Defender 2024 in Poland. The popular story that British Panthers were sold to Jordan has no basis in any primary source.

The popular story that they were donated to Ukraine after 2022 is equally false. The Iveco vehicles that have reached Ukraine came from Norway, from Belgium, from Italy itself, and as captured Russian variants. Britain appears on no donor list in the Oryx open source loss tracking, the Kiel Institute Ukraine support tracker, or in any Ministry of Defense announcement.

The decisive piece of evidence came in a single line of Hansard. January 31, 2024. Written parliamentary question number 12274. The Defense Minister replied, quoting directly, “Both the original and current out of service date for Panther is 2037. A 29-year service life for a vehicle that troops nicknamed for a folding table.

That deployed at 1/6 strength to its only war. That was openly listed for sale 6 years ago. And that the army quietly retained on its books when no buyer materialized. Britain ordered the Panther to celebrate British engineering. The vehicle was Italian. Britain ordered it to provide protection at the threshold of modern warfare.

The original designers offered the same vehicle to a higher standard, and one ally chose that standard, surviving where the British specification would have failed. Britain ordered the fleet to fight a particular war. About 15% of it actually fought. The premise behind this story, that Britain renamed an Italian war machine and quietly sold the entire fleet, contains exactly half the truth.

The renaming did happen. The quiet sale did not. The Panther is not buried in a foreign depot or rebuilt on a Ukrainian battlefield. It is still on the British Army’s books, still scheduled for service into the 2030s, still wearing its British name over an Italian chassis. The lesson is not that British engineering failed.

There was no British engineering to fail. The Panther was an Italian vehicle, bought at the wrong specification, delivered at the wrong time, deployed at the wrong scale, and now retained for the wrong reasons. Bought as a Lynx, painted as a Panther, and still, more than 20 years later, refusing to leave service.

That is the procurement nobody wants and nobody can quite get rid of.

QQ4 Bob Dylan and Keith Richards have been close friends for nearly 40 years. The friendship began on a live television program in November of 1986 in the 11 seconds after Bob Dylan called Keith Richards music derivative on camera. Keith Richard’s response to that assessment, one sentence said without anger, without performance, with the specific directness of a man who has nothing to prove and knows it made Bob Dylan laugh.

Then made Bob Dylan go quiet. then made Bob Dylan say two words that people who know Bob Dylan say he almost never said to anyone. This is the story of those 11 seconds and the 40 years that followed them. The program was a live music interview special broadcast on an American network on the evening of November 3rd, 1986. The format was simple.

Two musicians, a host, an hour of conversation about music and the state of it. The producers had assembled the pairing of Bob Dylan and Keith Richards with the specific calculation of television producers who understand that two people with equally strong and potentially incompatible views about what music is and what it should do will produce better television than two people who agree about everything.

The calculation was correct, though not in the way the producers had anticipated. Bob Dylan was 45 years old in November of 1986. Bob Dylan had released Empire Burlesque the previous year and had been on the road for most of the intervening period as part of the True Confessions tour with Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers.

Bob Dylan was in November of 1986 in one of the most prolific and restless phases of a career that had consisted almost entirely of prolific and restless phases. A career that had moved through folk, rock, country, gospel, and back again, that had been declared finished at least six times by the music press, and at each time continued with the serene indifference of a river to the opinions of people standing on its banks.

Bob Dylan had been redefining what music could be. Since 1962, Bob Dylan had invented and reinvented himself so many times that reinvention had become his defining characteristic, not in the superficial sense of a performer changing costumes, but in the deeper sense of a musician who had never allowed his work to settle into a form that could be anticipated or categorized from the outside.

Bob Dylan understood influence and originality and the relationship between them better than almost anyone alive in 1986. Bob Dylan had spent 24 years thinking carefully and specifically about where music came from and where music was going and what it meant that those two things were always in constant conversation with each other.

Keith Richards was 42 years old in November of 1986. Keith Richards had been playing guitar professionally since 1962. Keith Richards had built a career on a foundation of American blues and rhythm and blues. A foundation that Keith Richards had studied with the systematic devotion of someone who understood that the tradition he was building on was not incidental to the music he was making, but essential to it.

that you could not understand what Keith Richards did without understanding where Keith Richards had come from and what Keith Richards had been listening to since he was a teenager in Dartford with American Import Records and a secondhand guitar and no teacher except the recordings themselves. Keith Richards had never pretended otherwise. Keith Richards had in fact spent considerable energy across his career making the lineage explicit, naming the artists, citing the recordings, insisting on the acknowledgement of influence that the mainstream music

industry had a long history of suppressing or ignoring or crediting to the wrong people. If anything, Keith Richards was more transparent about his sources than most musicians of his generation. Keith Richards had always said openly that the Rolling Stones came directly from the blues, that Muddy Waters and Robert Johnson and the specific tradition of the Mississippi Delta were not background influences, but foundational ones.

The music Keith Richards made was in direct and sustained conversation with that tradition, something Keith Richards considered not a limitation, but a responsibility and a form of respect. The interview had been running for 8 minutes when the host asked Bob Dylan about the current state of rock and roll.

Bob Dylan answered with the density and the indirection that characterized Bob Dylan’s responses to direct questions, turning the question over, approaching it from an unexpected angle, finding his way to what he actually thought through a series of observations that moved like a river rather than a road. Bob Dylan was not a straightforward interview subject.

Bob Dylan had been asked about rock and roll in hundreds of interviews across 24 years and had developed the habit of treating the question as an invitation to think out loud rather than a request for a prepared position. The producer Gerald Sherman said afterward that in the first 8 minutes of the interview, he had been slightly anxious, not because anything was going wrong, but because nothing was going anywhere in particular yet.

The interview had the feeling of two conversations happening simultaneously. Bob Dylan’s internal one and the external one visible to the cameras. And Gerald Sherman was not certain in those first eight minutes that the two conversations would converge into something. Bob Dylan talked about influence. Bob Dylan talked about originality.

Bob Dylan talked about the difference between music that absorbed a tradition and transformed it and music that absorbed a tradition and reproduced it. And then Bob Dylan made his assessment. And then Bob Dylan said with the precision of a man making a musical assessment rather than a personal judgment that the Rolling Stones work, and Bob Dylan was specific, naming Keith Richards as the guitarist whose approach he was discussing was derivative in a way that Bob Dylan found limiting.

Bob Dylan said it without hostility. Bob Dylan said it as a technical observation about the relationship between source material and the work that came from it. Bob Dylan said that Keith Richards played the blues the way the blues had already been played, rather than using the blues as a starting point for something that had not yet been played.

Keith Richards had been listening to this with the specific attention Keith Richards gave to things being said about music by people who knew music. Keith Richards did not interrupt. Keith Richards did not shift in his chair or display any of the visible signals of a person preparing a defensive response. Keith Richards listened to Bob Dylan’s complete observation all the way to its conclusion without interrupting and without displaying any visible signal of preparing a response.

Then Keith Richards said one sentence. The sentence was not a rebuttal. The sentence did not defend Keith Richards music or argue for its originality or challenge Bob Dylan’s characterization of what the blues meant in the context of rock and roll. The sentence was something else entirely, something that required a specific kind of confidence to say.

The confidence of a person who has spent long enough thinking about the same things as the person they are talking to that they can locate the exact point where their thinking diverges and say something useful about that point rather than simply defending their own position. The sentence acknowledged everything Bob Dylan had said, the assessment, the distinction Bob Dylan was drawing, the specific musical concern underlying the observation, and then turned it 90°.

Keith Richards took Bob Dylan’s own framework, the one Bob Dylan had used to analyze Keith Richards relationship to the blues tradition, and applied it back to Bob Dylan’s work with the same precision Bob Dylan had used to apply it to Keith Richards. Spare aimed. The sentence asked Bob Dylan something about Bob Dylan’s own music, about the relationship between Bob Dylan’s sources and Bob Dylan’s output that Bob Dylan had not been asked on television before.

The sentence did not attack. The sentence illuminated. Bob Dylan laughed. The laugh was not the polite laugh of someone responding to a joke. The laugh was the involuntary laugh of someone who has been genuinely surprised. The specific kind of surprise that a person of exceptional intelligence experiences when someone else’s intelligence exceeds their expectations.

Bob Dylan laughed for 4 seconds. Then Bob Dylan stopped laughing. Then Bob Dylan was quiet for 3 seconds in the way that Bob Dylan was quiet when Bob Dylan was thinking rather than performing thought. Then Bob Dylan said, “You’re right.” The producer in the booth, a man named Gerald Sherman, who had been working in television for 14 years, said afterward that in 14 years of live television production, he had never heard Bob Dylan say those two words in a public forum.

Gerald Sherman said he had worked with Bob Dylan on two previous occasions and had observed Bob Dylan in numerous other contexts and that you’re right was not a phrase that Bob Dylan deployed easily or often because Bob Dylan had spent 24 years being right about music in ways that other people eventually caught up with. And the experience of being right ahead of everyone else does not generally produce a man who says you’re right readily when someone else makes a point.

The host of the program, a journalist named Patricia Wells, who had been interviewing musicians for 12 years, said afterward that the 11 seconds between Bob Dylan’s assessment and Bob Dylan saying, “You’re right,” were the most extraordinary 11 seconds of television she had been present for. Patricia Wells said that what she witnessed in those 11 seconds was not a debate or a confrontation or a celebrity exchange of competing opinions.

Patricia Wells said what she witnessed was one musician recognizing another musician as an equal, which was in the specific context of Bob Dylan in 1986, not something that happened in public very often. The interview continued for another 42 minutes after those 11 seconds. The conversation between Bob Dylan and Keith Richards in the remaining 42 minutes was described by everyone who watched it as fundamentally different from the first 8 minutes.

The host, Patricia Wells, who had been conducting music interviews for 12 years and understood the difference between the performance of conversation and actual conversation, said that at approximately the 9-minute mark, something shifted in the studio. That the formal interview, architecture dissolved, and what replaced it was something less structured and more genuine.

Bob Dylan and Keith Richards talked about influence and originality and the blues and what it meant to build on a tradition without being consumed by it. They talked about specific recordings and specific musicians with the specificity of two people who had spent their entire adult lives thinking about these things and rarely found another person who had thought about them with equivalent care.

They talked about where music came from and where music was going and whether those two questions were actually one question or two. Patricia Wells said afterward that she had asked approximately four questions in the remaining 42 minutes because Bob Dylan and Keith Richards did not require questions. They required only a room and a camera and the shared understanding that what they were saying together was worth recording carefully.

She said it was the best interview she had ever conducted and that she had conducted the smallest part of it. After the program, Bob Dylan and Keith Richards were in the corridor outside the studio when the host Patricia Wells passed them. Patricia Wells said she did not stop because she did not want to interrupt.

She observed them for approximately 30 seconds from a distance. She said they were talking with the ease of people who had known each other for years rather than people who had met for the first time 2 hours earlier. She said that something had shifted between them during the broadcast that the broadcast had made permanent rather than temporary.

She continued down the corridor and did not look back. She said in her account of that evening that she had decided in that moment not to interrupt the conversation because some conversations are more valuable than any question a journalist might ask and that the conversation she had observed for 30 seconds in the corridor outside the studio was one of them.

She had been a music journalist for 12 years. She recognized the difference. Bob Dylan and Keith Richards have maintained their friendship across four decades. They have appeared together at various events, most significantly at the concert for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1995, where people who were present described them as inseparable for most of the evening, occupying the same corner of the backstage area and talking with the concentrated attention of people who only have a limited amount of time together and intend to use it

well. Bob Dylan has spoken about Keith Richards in interviews with the specific thoughtful care that Bob Dylan reserves for musicians whose work Bob Dylan considers genuinely important rather than merely culturally prominent. Keith Richards has spoken about Bob Dylan in similar terms with the specific respect of someone who recognizes in another person a commitment to music that goes deeper than career.

Neither Bob Dylan nor Keith Richards has made a public statement specifically about how the friendship began or about the November 1986 interview. Bob Dylan has not mentioned the 11 seconds. Keith Richards has not mentioned the sentence. The interview exists in the archive. The 11 seconds are there. The laugh is there. The two words are there.

What is also there for anyone who watches the interview from its beginning and pays attention to the shift that happens at the 9-minute mark is the specific moment when two people who thought they were appearing on a television program discovered they were actually talking to each other. What Keith Richards said in that one sentence has never been officially reported.

The people who were in the studio that evening, Gerald Sherman, Patricia Wells, the floor crew, the two camera operators, the makeup artist who was watching from the side of the set, have described the sentence in consistent terms. They have described its effect. They have described Bob Dylan’s laugh and Bob Dylan’s silence and Bob Dylan’s two words.

They have not repeated the sentence itself in the specific understanding that the sentence was said between two musicians on a television program and that its power resided in the specific context of that exchange and would not survive removal from it intact. What can be said is this. Keith Richards said something to Bob Dylan about Bob Dylan’s music that used Bob Dylan’s own observation about Keith Richards as its starting point and arrived somewhere that Bob Dylan had not anticipated.

Keith Richards turned Bob Dylan’s assessment 90° and showed Bob Dylan something about the music they had both spent their lives making that Bob Dylan recognized immediately as true. And Bob Dylan said, “You’re right.” Two words said by Bob Dylan in public on live television in 1986 to Keith Richards in response to a single sentence Keith Richards had said about music.

Two words that Gerald Sherman, who had worked with Bob Dylan on two previous occasions, said he had never heard Bob Dylan say in a public forum. Two words that Patricia Wells, who had been interviewing musicians for 12 years, said were the most significant two words she had heard in those 12 years. Not because of their content, but because of who said them and what it cost to say them and what it meant that Keith Richards had produced them in 11 seconds from a conversation that began with Bob Dylan calling Keith Richards’s music derivative. And Keith Richards and

Bob Dylan have been close friends for nearly 40 years. The sentence did its work in 11 seconds on the evening of November 3rd, 1986. The work has been ongoing ever since. If this story moved you, subscribe and leave a comment below. Have you ever said something to someone that turned a potential disagreement into an unexpected and lasting connection? Tell us about it in the comments below.

Share this with someone who needs to be reminded that the right sentence said at the right moment can completely change the entire direction of a relationship. Ring the notification bell for more untold stories about the extraordinary human beings behind music’s greatest legends.