😱 SHATTERED SECRETS AT 78: Linda Ronstadt drops the bomb we’ve whispered about for decades—’I hated them ALL!’ 💔 The rock queen names SEVEN icons she loathed, spilling backstage betrayals and ego wars from her wild youth that rocked her world. 😤 What grudges did she bury? This raw confession will stun you. 👉 Click for the full explosive tell-all.

In a revelation that’s rippling through the music world like a rogue guitar riff, Linda Ronstadt, the 78-year-old queen of rock who once commanded stages with a voice that could shatter glass, has finally unleashed decades of pent-up frustration. In a candid, no-holds-barred interview with Rolling Stone, published this week, Ronstadt named seven fellow musicians she “could never stand” during her explosive rise in the 1970s—a confession that’s left fans reeling and industry insiders scrambling to revisit old tour logs and backstage lore. “I was young, ambitious, and surrounded by egos bigger than the Hollywood Bowl,” Ronstadt said, her voice steady despite the progressive supranuclear palsy that’s silenced her singing since 2011. “We all suspected the feuds, the slights, the betrayals. But I kept quiet—for the music. Now? I’ve got nothing left to lose.” The admissions, drawn from private journals and fresh recollections, expose the cutthroat underbelly of rock’s golden era, where collaboration often masked deep-seated rivalries.

Ronstadt, born Linda Maria Ronstadt on July 15, 1946, in Tucson, Arizona, burst onto the scene as a fresh-faced 18-year-old in 1964, ditching high school a semester early to chase dreams in Los Angeles. Armed with little more than a Martin guitar inherited from her grandfather and a powerhouse soprano honed in family mariachi sessions, she formed the Stone Poneys, a folk-rock trio that scored a Top 10 hit with “Different Drum” in 1967. By her early 20s, Ronstadt was the undisputed “First Lady of Rock,” blending country twang, pop polish, and Latin fire into hits like “You’re No Good” (1974) and “Blue Bayou” (1977), selling over 100 million records worldwide and snagging 11 Grammys. Her style—boho blouses, bell-bottoms, and that tousled mane—made her a ’70s icon, gracing covers of Rolling Stone and Newsweek alongside whispers of romances with Jerry Brown, Aaron Neville, and even a flirtation with the Muppets that pivoted her toward standards.

But fame’s glitter hid thorns. Ronstadt’s confessions zero in on seven figures whose clashes scarred her ascent, painting a portrait of an industry where women navigated landmines of sexism, creative theft, and outright sabotage. The first bombshell: a “charismatic frontman” she dubs “The Eagle Who Clipped My Wings”—widely interpreted as a veiled shot at Don Henley of the Eagles, with whom she toured extensively in 1974. “He poached my band, my sound, and then acted like it was his divine right,” Ronstadt recounted, referencing how Henley and Glenn Frey recruited her backing musicians to form the Eagles, catapulting them to “Hotel California” stardom while she soldiered on solo. “I suspected it then—now I say it: It felt like betrayal wrapped in harmony.” The Eagles, inducted into the Rock Hall in 1998, have long credited Ronstadt as a muse, but her words sting: “Loyalty’s a two-way street, boys. You drove off without looking back.”

Number two on her list: “The Doors’ Lizard King,” a nod to Jim Morrison, whose chaotic 1968 tour antics left her “black and blue from dodging bottles and egos.” As an opening act for The Doors, the 22-year-old Ronstadt endured Morrison’s drunken rages and stage invasions, once fleeing mid-set after he grabbed her mic stand. “We all suspected he was unhinged—turns out, he was dangerous,” she said. “I sang through tears that night, wondering if rock was worth the bruises.” Morrison’s estate has not responded, but Doors drummer John Densmore, a longtime friend, called it “tragic but true—Jim was a storm we all weathered.”

The third revelation targets “The Pretender,” Chrissie Hynde of The Pretenders, whom Ronstadt accuses of “stealing my thunder in ’79” by covering her arrangement of “Back on the Chain Gang” without credit. “She was young, fierce—I admired that. But when she bit the hand that inspired her? Shocking, even then.” Hynde, 73, tweeted a terse reply: “Linda paved the way; I walked it my way. Respect always.”

Ronstadt’s list escalates with “The Zevon Enigma,” Warren Zevon, her frequent collaborator on tracks like “Poor Poor Pitiful Me.” “He was brilliant, but his lyrics cut too close—mocking my heartbreaks like they were punchlines,” she admitted. Zevon, who died in 2003, once quipped about her in interviews, fueling rumors of a lovers’ quarrel. “We suspected the barbs were personal; now I confirm: They stung like hell.”

Fifth: “The Browne Shadow,” Jackson Browne, whose 1972 tour she opened, only to face “endless revisions” on her sets. “He’d critique from the wings, like I was his protégé, not a peer. Youth makes you doubt yourself—I did, for too long.” Browne, 77, issued a statement: “Linda was a force; any notes were from admiration, not ego.”

The sixth j’ab is at “The Blue-Eyed Soulman,” Aaron Neville, her duet partner on the 1989 Grammy-winning “Don’t Know Much.” “Our voices meshed like fate, but off-mic? He ghosted collaborations, leaving me holding the ballad.” Neville, 84, responded warmly: “Linda’s the gold standard—forgive an old fool.”

Finally, “The Riddle Riddle,” conductor Nelson Riddle, whose big-band pivot in 1983’s “What’s New” she now calls “a gilded cage.” “I suspected it diluted my rock soul; admitting it now feels like reclaiming my youth.”

These confessions come amid Ronstadt’s health battles. Diagnosed with progressive supranuclear palsy (PSP) in 2019—initially misidentified as Parkinson’s—she lost her singing voice in 2011 after a tick-borne illness, and earlier this year, a brutal COVID bout stripped her speech and hearing temporarily. In a June Arizona Daily Star update, a high school classmate revealed she’s regained her articulate tone through therapy, though hearing loss lingers. “At 78, silence isn’t golden—it’s suffocating,” Ronstadt told interviewers via text-to-speech. “My young self swallowed too much; this is her roar.”

The timing? Poignant. Ronstadt’s 2023 memoir “Feels Like Home” delved into her Mexican roots and family, but this interview, tied to a deluxe reissue of her ’70s catalog, feels like unfinished business. She’s long championed women’s rights in music, co-founding the Trio with Dolly Parton and Emmylou Harris in 1987, and her Rock Hall induction in 2014 came after a 20-year eligibility wait—fueling suspicions of gender bias she now echoes.

Social media’s ablaze. On X, #RonstadtReveals trends with 2.5 million posts, fans dissecting clues: “The Eagle? Henley confirmed!” tweets @RockHistorianX, racking 150K likes. Defenders like @EmmylouFanClub post: “Linda’s grace shines brighter than grudges.” Critics, though, question the timing: “Why drag ghosts at 78?” snipes @MusicPurist, amid rumors of a Netflix docuseries.

Ronstadt’s no stranger to shock. In 1976, her Newsweek cover with Jerry Brown sparked “Groupie” smears; she fired back by dating filmmaker George Lucas briefly in 1984. Her 1978 Muppet Show stint, crooning standards with Miss Piggy, pivoted her to Nelson Riddle’s swing era, earning a 1984 Grammy but alienating rock purists. And in 2019’s “The Sound of My Voice” doc, she bared her health hell, raising PSP awareness amid whispers she’d “faked” retirement.

Yet Ronstadt insists this isn’t vengeance—it’s validation. “We young women suspected the game was rigged; now I name the players,” she wrote. “Music heals, but truth? That’s the real hit.” As reissues climb charts— “Blue Bayou” up 200% on Spotify—the confessions recast her as rock’s unfiltered elder, proving at 78, Ronstadt’s voice, though silent in song, still commands the stage. In an era of cancel culture, her list isn’t a hit job—it’s a history lesson, raw and resonant.