Letter From the Editor, February 2025
Two households, both alike in dignity,
1000 items found for your search. If no results were found please broaden your search.
Two households, both alike in dignity,
Tucked behind the brick–and–terra–cotta Venetian entrance of the Fisher Fine Arts Library, the new exhibition After Modernism: Selections from the Neumann Family Collection is finally on view at the Arthur Ross Gallery and will remain on view through March 2.
Restaurant Week is a time when Philly opens its heart—and its kitchens—to remind us why it’s one of the most exciting food cities in the country. It’s more than just prix fixe menus; it’s a celebration of the flavors, vibes, and stories that make this city feel like home. Whether you’re craving nostalgic comfort food or looking for a sleek night out, these restaurants deliver on every front. Here’s where to go and why.
We’d talked about going to the concert together for months. In August, when we learned that Panchiko was coming here on tour, she was elated. I’d seen them before, but I’d go again with her.
What is the price that we pay to live in America? How far will we go to understand and help those that we love, even when they don’t reciprocate love in the way that we need? Rental House by Weike Wang, a Creative Writing professor at Penn, explores these questions by following a couple—Keru and Nate—and their delicate relationships with their family and the world around them.
If I were to mention “Funky Drummer,” you might furrow your brow in unrecognition, or you might be trying to decipher what combination of sounds could warrant the title. Is the drummer funky because he smells weird? Or is it a nod to his unparalleled groove? Chances are, you wouldn’t recognize the track’s appeal or mid–20th century cultural significance, nor would you be familiar with its creator. In the hip–hop world, the eccentric James Brown is widely considered to be the most sampled artist of all time. Alongside iconic hits like “Funky President (People It’s Bad)” and “Get Up Offa That Thing,” he penned “Funky Drummer” during a successful career that spanned the ‘60s and ‘70s. But if you’re just not cool enough to keep up with Nixon–era disco, chances are you are familiar with its borrowers.
It’s been three years since we last saw the inside of the Lumon office building, and, according to Mr. Milchick, the newly–promoted head of the severed floor, it’s been five months since Mark S., Helly R., Irving B., and Dylan G. have, too.
It’s not hyperbole to say that David Lynch changed my life. There are those precious few artists whose work hits you at precisely the right moment in your life that forever alter its course. Through the perfect combination of circumstance and substance, they literally expand your field of view. They show you what art can be, and immediately your life is never the same. David Lynch did that for me and for so many others.
On Monday, Sept. 23, two different red signages mingled with the crowds outside of Citizens Bank Park. There was the typical Philadelphia Phillies red, donned by excited fans to cheer their team on against the Chicago Cubs; and then there was the bright scarlet of solidarity and unity, displayed on shirts and signs of striking Aramark workers. Even under grey, rain–threatening skies, the spirits of fans and striking workers alike weren’t dampened. Chants of “If we don’t get it? Shut it down!” and “What do we want? Contracts!” rang through the air, all under the watchful eye of the iconic, inflatable Scabby the Rat.
Engaging with the rich history of Philadelphia’s Black communities requires balancing the specific and the universal—examining the unique, localized histories of individual neighborhoods and people while also identifying broader themes and shared experiences that connect them. These local histories form a diverse tapestry, challenging the idea of a single, monolithic Black experience in Philadelphia, while still revealing common struggles, triumphs, and cultural threads. Temple Contemporary’s exhibition Black Like That: Our Lives as Living Praxis furthers this dynamic exploration, contributing to a unique vision of art as living praxis—an art informed by both archival research and engagement with Philadelphia’s neighborhoods.
In high school, there was never a more depressing time for me than Saturday nights. Plopping onto my all–too–familiar mattress, I’d brace myself for an hour of creative writing that rarely produced tangible results. In an effort to ignite a spark of inspiration in my writing, I would browse through the Poetry category of the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards gallery to see what other poets my age were writing about. And after months of continually browsing this tab, I came to two conclusions—that “winning” writing was most often about some sort of cultural trauma, and that it was always depressing.
Has the world collapsed with “Skibidi Toilet?” This phrase, along with many others, has become a language staple in the ever–evolving slang of today’s youth.
When you think of a superhero movie, you are probably thinking of bright supersuits and dramatic action scenes with even more dramatic villains. In today’s Marvel Cinematic Universe, you probably think of snarky one–liners, less saturation than you would traditionally imagine, and a balancing act between gritty darkness and fun action. Perhaps after all this time, the movies and television shows sort of blur together with some standing out but most falling into a tapestry of mediocrity. We have been long overdue for a show that takes a new angle on a classic story.
Buy bananas for cheap while you can, because tomorrow, just one might cost $6.2 million.
We've all seen the Instagram–worthy photo sessions at the concert halls of the Metropolitan Opera House or the Academy of Music. It's the same with countless other institutes of fine arts; flocks of people dressed to the nines in sheer tights or suit jackets, posing their way through the night, the art of the PMA in the backdrop. One might think: What does this person know about art, much less classical music? Could they name one interesting observation about the Puccini that they apparently went to see? It doesn’t matter that this can't be answered—the very idea that someone could publicly enjoy art that they don’t understand (and here elitism rears its ugly head) seems to us tacky and embarrassing.
2024’s been an unbelievable year for hip hop, and there’s a good chance you already know this. Of course, it’s a colossal one for the culture, with Kendrick Lamar finally dragging rap out of the “Drake era,” but there’s been an endless outpouring of phenomenal records from every other corner of the genre too.
There was a particular era of indie culture back in the late 2010’s that some might rather forget: Odd Future merch everywhere, an influx of “soft boy” fashion, and suburban youth all over America bumping this zany new boy band called BROCKHAMPTON. They sounded fresh as hell, but they might’ve been the kind of thing you had to just be there for. Over half a decade later, most of the artists that defined this period have moved on to other ventures—but as evidenced by Chasing Moving Trains, there’s one still hung up on it.
I’m going to be honest, I almost fell for it too. Big Ridley Scott Haters almost got me.
Sampling has always been at the core of hip–hop. DJ Kool Herc knew it when he threw the first ever hip–hop party in 1973. Back then, sampling was already about who could find the most unique records and mix together the newest sounds. But by the '80s and '90s, production was a whole different game. Wu–Tang Clan started sampling kung–fu films, MF DOOM sampled Marvel villains, and Eric B. and Rakim put out "Seven Minutes of Madness," one of the craziest sampling compositions ever released.
Nestled between the restaurants and shops along 40th street between Locust and Walnut, sits the Last Word Bookshop. Passersby can look through the big window in the front to see impressive stacks of books surrounding customers browsing around the different towering sections. It has become a popular spot among Penn students and community members alike, with people coming in at all times of day. You’ll see the shop busy early in the afternoons of a weekday or late at night—even past midnight—on weekends.