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'Trojan Horse' begins with some ominous whistling. A man is taking a cart to the export hall, and The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald is setting the tone for the rest of the episode.
The episode kicks off with that dolly zoom that we’ve all come to know and love, flipping a switch on Irving Bailiff and turning him into Irving B.
I’m only being a little dramatic when I say that Severance should get an Emmy for best editing for the last two minutes of season two, episode three alone.
The second episode answers some of my questions, and asks a lot more. It kicks off right where the first season ended, with Mark interrupting a book party his sister, Devon (Jen Tullock), and his brother–in–law, Ricken, were hosting, shouting that Gemma is alive.
Leo Biehl (C ‘25) meets us at the corner. The entrance to his house is a bit hidden, he explains, and it’s always easier to just show people the way. He’s wearing a blue button–up and dark denim jeans, well styled in their similarity while avoiding a Canadian tuxedo. Inside, the ceilings are high, and the floors are akin to a basketball court. It used to be an old gymnasium but has since been converted into a three–bedroom unit. He offers a drink before sitting down at the wooden kitchen table. Leo is just as comfortable here at home as he would be at Clark Park’s Saturday morning farmers market, at a coffee shop in Vietnam, or serving orange chicken in Santa Cruz, Calif.
Awards shows care about being cared about.
It’s getting late in the evening, but Aaron Jones (C ‘25) has a ways to go before he can call it a night. He’s rehearsing and re–rehearsing every move in the dance studio until each step, twirl, and gesture is etched into his memory. Aaron isn’t the only one toiling away. As a new member of the band Penn Sargam, Raghav Gopalakrishnan (W ‘28) is knee–deep in the process of adding his clarinet to the group’s rendition of the latest pop hits.
In the pantheon of social media iconography, one big–headed girl stands out: the work of Yoshitomo Nara. Perhaps you don’t recognize his name, but Nara’s work of indifferent cherubic girls, simply drawn dogs, and emphatic text has stamped itself on our teenage and young–adult hearts. He’s everywhere—our profile pictures, our clothes, as designs on nails, on our bodies. Nara’s works are images that move us on a daily basis and exhibit the everyday translation of an internet obsession to a symbol for our personalities and lives. What’s most unique and enduring about Generation Z’s love for Nara is not just in visits to galleries and exhibitions: It’s how he influences our style.
On June 24, 2022, a landmark United States Supreme Court ruling overturned what was once a symbol of the protection of private rights for many: Roe v. Wade. This 1973 case legalized abortion before the fetus was viable, making it a critical centerpiece of the reproductive rights movement.
I thought I was going to see Natural Wonder Beauty Concept. During my first week alone in London, I figured the subdued soundscapes of Ana Roxanne and DJ Python would calm my nerves, surrounded by other artsy folks in their Institute of Contemporary Arts. However, due to my inexperience with the building and some very stern bouncers, I ended up at something even more pretentious: a perfume launch. They were digging their hands into ice–cream cakes the size of my torso, they were in baroque corsets and custom suits, there was a girl in lingerie reading Anaïs Nin. Despite wearing just a flannel and some jeans—being by myself, by accident in this fantastical and unreal space—I felt right at home. I felt like I was supposed to be there, among people older than me, but peers I aspire to be. I kept that feeling when dancing with Central Saint Martins’ graduate students at Howl Pride or chatting up the manager at Machine–A. That indescribable settling down of, “Ah, these are my people.”
Welcome to this week's Street Sweeper!
The extravagant combination of Baroque Revival architecture, rich laughter, and clinking wine glasses paints a picture: one relaxing evening filled with lively classical music. The lights suddenly dim as four beautifully dressed individuals, each holding stringed instruments, enter the stage. From the tuning of their instruments to the ambiance of the theater, any stranger to the band would expect to be serenaded by intricate classical pieces crafted by 18th century composers of whom they’ve never heard.
Bob Dylan is an iconic musician, activist, and Nobel Prize recipient. Often considered the voice of his generation, his contributions to folk and rock music of the ’60s and ’70s are widely understood. But as far as his popularity amongst the younger generation goes, it is safe to say he’s less followed. However, A Complete Unknown, the biopic starring Timothée Chalamet, has established itself as Dylan’s contemporary, Oscar–nominated revival. A lengthy press run complete with Bob Dylan memorabilia, cover albums, and SNL performances—the artist was evidently brought back into the mainstream from some distant, outmoded–but–powerful place. The ease and rapidity of his comeback seems to be a testament to his artistry, but it also begs the question—did Dylan’s music ever leave the conversation to begin with? Fortunately, the answer is close to home. To gain insight into the Bob Dylan phenomenon, look no further than Penn and the existing campus community of long–time fans.
“The revolution ’bout to be televised,” warned a man at the peak of his game to a nation in distress on Superbowl Sunday. And real revolution or not, heads were turned and eyes were peeled during a performance that would have Donald Trump evacuating the stadium shortly after. Watching it live, it was hard not to feel like we’d already won the Super Bowl at its halftime show.
The first month of 2025 brought with it several powerhouse releases for rap. In the mainstream, there was the hauntingly brilliant Mac Miller album Balloonerism, and in abstract and conscious rap, a few big(ish) names showed up with some of their best projects to date. Notably, MIKE’s psychedelically resonant Showbiz!, Ghais Guevara’s densely conceptual Goyard Ibn Said, and Pink Siifu’s industrial odyssey Black'!Antique (a wildly invigorating record that has me thinking society’s progressed way past the need for JPEGMAFIA) were releases to celebrate.
Even from a Zoom–window–sized look into Bob Lord’s life, it’s immediately apparent that Lord loves music. The PARMA Recordings CEO joins our meeting from a swivel chair in what appears to be a makeshift studio space, grinning widely and surrounded by instruments, equipment, and music stands. It’s the kind of place where any musician would feel immediately at home; I know I certainly feel a comfortable familiarity upon noticing the clutter. It confirms for me that Lord is indeed the source of the spirit and deep love for music that you can feel behind any PARMA recording.
My closet inventory, in no particular order:
Saturdays are for the boys, but also the shoppers. Ever since I first arrived in Philadelphia, one noteworthy activity regularly enriches my weekends: wandering among Center City’s emporium of superstores. A stroll within the city’s vibrant shopping scene never fails to satisfy—even amid a penetrating breeze or unsupervised tweens screaming obscenities.
Like all of us, Mac Miller had no idea what he was doing. The rapper was just 19 years old when he released his first major album, K.I.D.S.—just aging out of childhood himself. In college, we often feel like twentysomethings, trying to push through growing pains, deal with complex relationships, and figure out who we really are. Six years after Miller's tragic death, we’re still mourning the loss of the artist who understood that feeling best.
Solutions by The State News