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Many say that interest in classical music is fading, especially among the younger generations. But wander through University City in Philadelphia, and you’ll hear a different tune. From the rehearsal rooms of Penn’s Fisher–Bennett Hall to the halls of local churches, a new wave of musicians is keeping classical music alive, prioritizing passion, accessibly, and collaborative creation.
What do Billie Eilish and the Bush administration have in common? An intimate knowledge of shock and awe.
At 3 p.m. on a Saturday, the bar at Marsha’s is completely full. Killing Eve plays on one screen, Auburn University football on another, and the rest of the TVs broadcast the Philadelphia Flyers beating the New York Islanders 4–3. At the center of all the screaming and chatter is a portrait of Marsha P. Johnson beneath a gay American flag, watching over Philly’s newest sports bar like a patron saint.
At Lucien E. Blackwell West Philadelphia Regional Library, Max VanCooper is connecting neighbors in West Philadelphia through craft. West Philly Skill Share, an eight–part community arts series, invites participants to learn a new hands–on skill taught by a fellow community member while also meeting others from around the neighborhood.
As someone nearly 400 miles away from home, I find that it’s not often I can experience the joy of a home—cooked meal full of comfort foods. Dining at Fitz on 4th, however, comes pretty close. “With all the craziness going on in the world, I feel like this is like a nice piece of heaven, honestly, in the heart of Philadelphia and Queens Village,” chef Alison Fitzpatrick, the owner of the cozy vegan restaurant, says.
Dancerobot isn’t a restaurant—at least, it doesn’t appear to be from the outside.
Two months ago, The Lodge by Two Robbers opened its doors in the Bella Vista neighborhood.
Back when I first encountered PinkPantheress—a faceless phenom sharing snippets on SoundCloud and TikTok—I never anticipated how rapidly her work would come to dominate my playlists. From early flashes of virality with “Just A Waste” (please release it on streaming platforms, I don’t care about copyright law) to her cutesy 2023 collaboration with Ice Spice, PinkPantheress quickly cemented herself into the soundtrack of my coming–of–age arc.
Three people walk into a bar. They order drinks, talking about nothing in particular. Above them, an acoustic guitar version of “Birds of a Feather” by Billie Eilish plays. No one says anything about it—why would they? They already heard it at breakfast, at the coffee shop, at lunch. Maybe not Eilish this time—maybe Taylor Swift, maybe Phoebe Bridgers. Doesn’t matter. It’s the same oh–so–familiar song, dressed down with a guitar or piano track that fades into the next, equally ordinary tune. Come to think of it, that same soundtrack probably playing right now as I write this at Stommons.
The ringing of twin copper bells held together by a thin length of red string announces our arrival at Mayflower Bakery. On this sunny Friday morning, the back of the restaurant has been converted (to the grudging acceptance of the owners) into a makeshift mahjong parlor. While the bakery doesn’t serve dim sum in the traditional sense, Cantonese folks around the world know that dim sum is more about the lifestyle—sustained by free–flowing tea, snacks, and gossip. A proudly local establishment at the heart of Philly’s Chinatown, this cash–only bakery doesn’t advertise or deliver—choosing instead to sit comfortably atop its impeccable buns.
Five years after 2020’s Slow Rush, Kevin Parker—better known by his musical project Tame Impala—finally released his fifth studio album, Deadbeat, on Oct. 17. Since then, the album has been the subject of endless criticism for its lyrics, sound, and overall concept. Parker's newest project shifts a bit from his usual synth–backed sound, bringing in influences from ‘70s Turkish music, techno, and Western Australia’s “bush doof” rave scene. That blend alone is enough to send all corners of the internet into a frantic debate. Few artists are expected to please such opposing audiences at once, and fewer still end up using that tension to make a point.
While walking down Locust Walk last week, I came to a blood–chilling realization that stopped me in my tracks: there were several people wearing the exact same outfit as me. It’s truly the worst nightmare of someone who prides herself on her niche, Pinterest board–curated fashion repertoire, but I only had myself to blame. Like a significant number of Penn students, I found myself at the Xfinity Mobile Arena on Sept. 30 and fell victim to the allure of an overpriced polyester t–shirt I would only later realize was not as cool as I believed—but isn’t that the definition of being a Lorde fan? Cultivated, audience–tested, and thoroughly–vetted nicheness is the manufactured rebellion we as a society revere.
Tucked on the corner of Amber Street and Frankford Avenue in East Kensington sits Casa Borinqueña. Starting her career on the West Coast in San Francisco, Lourdes Marquez Nau—aka Chef Lulu—has since brought her skills to the streets of Philadelphia, opening the second location of her vegan restaurant back in June. Specializing in traditional Puerto Rican cuisine, the restaurant has a certain warmth that even a dreary East Coast day can’t take away.
“Can I get the ‘Impeach Bondi Then Eat Eggs Benedict Florentine,’ please?” I ask our waiter, who nods, expression unchanged. My fellow brunchgoer across the table follows suit: “And I’ll do the ‘Good Work Krasner! Berry Good French Toast.’” A wise choice, nestled just between the equally spirited “Impeach Noem” pumpkin pancakes and the “Shapiro 2028” sausage gravy and eggs.
When Kenan Rabah opened Majdal Bakery in 2024, his father, living in Majdal Shams, Syria, began to plant only za’atar in his garden. After it’s harvested, Rabah’s mother and grandmother dry it and mix it with sumac, sesame, and olive oil. Every time Rabah visits home, he makes sure to bring a little back with him to use at his bakery in Philly.
There’s no denying that Leon Vynehall is one of the most intriguing electronic producers working today. His earliest projects Music for the Uninvited and Rojus (Designed to Dance) are fresh takes on the broad genre of house, while the more minimalist Nothing is Still draws heavily on orchestral elements to tell the story of his grandparent’s emigration to the United States. Where Vynehall shines most is as a curator of vibes—every one of his releases is entirely self–contained, showing off his varied production talents in a new light. It's always Vynehall’s lush instrumentation that gives each of these projects their vital force, each successive track carefully built up layer by layer.
I met Lou Reed through a boy with pale blue eyes—which is to say I fell in love for the first time—and even if he only played The Velvet Underground for the bit, I kept listening long after he was gone. The Velvet Underground didn’t sound like The Beatles or The Stones or anything glossy. They sounded like rot, like sex, like you could bleed out in the East Village and the record would keep spinning. Reed, the group’s principal songwriter, died on Oct. 27, 2013, and he would’ve hated this article.
“I’m not great at journaling,” Alina Adams—better known by her stage name, ALINA—admits. “So I write songs instead.”
Time for a pop quiz! Picture a musician with a chiseled jaw, intense gaze, and a guitar slung low like a machine gun. He hails from a working–class background, in a town left behind by deindustrialization, and got out through the power of rock–and–roll. His music is powerful, reflective, and unabashedly political. Who is he?
Getting Killed, the fourth album for indie rock outfit Geese, doesn’t quite channel the spirit its title seems to promise. Though the cover depicts an angel aiming a gun at the listener, the record itself is more wistful than violent, more focused on moving through life than accepting death. Christian imagery abounds: the Angel Gabriel’s horn, emblazoned on the artwork, announces Judgement Day; “Taxes” compares lead vocalist Cameron Winter’s fate to that of Christ of the Cross; “Bow Down” sees the band explicitly confronted with the imperative to kneel before the divine. These motifs serve less as a real expression of faith and more as a reminder of where faith finds us—at the end of the road, on our knees, ready to serve. Getting Killed is ultimately a meditation on submission—to God, to love, or to the rhythms of everyday life.
Solutions by The State News