Penn Student Bands Make Good Grooves Easy to Find
A little fire is lit in the courtyard behind Van Pelt.
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A little fire is lit in the courtyard behind Van Pelt.
How does a horror film that doesn’t deliver its scares until the last 30 minutes succeed?
The poet Cesar Cruz once said: “art should comfort the disturbed.” Likewise, when October arrives at Penn, something disturbs everyone—whether it be midterms season, 50–degree temperatures, or scrambling to find the perfect Halloween costume. Last week, I became victim to all these irksome conditions, so what better way to seek comfort than by observing art? Specifically, in the (quite literal) sanctuary of Iron Gate Theatre, while watching The Mask and Wig Club’s fall production: Legally Bond.
For the last few months, I felt like one of the only people left in the damn world who actually got BRAT.
The West Philly Tool Library is anything but a “typical” library. With stacks of scrap wood, animal traps, sewing machines, and carpentry tools in an open–door garage, it looks more like a hoarder’s warehouse. When I walk inside through the unlatched garage door, it feels like I am invading someone’s personal workspace.
Valeria Bonomie Piñerua (C’25) is hilarious. That was a given—she is chair of Bloomers Comedy—but during our conversation in Kelly Writers House, Vale’s colorful recollections of her experiences at Penn brightened my day. I laughed just remembering the interview while writing up this transcript, and seriously, I wish everyone could hear the audio. But Vale’s not just notable for her incredible sense of humor. Throughout her time at Penn, she has found a passion for the humanistic side of public health, aspiring to become an epidemiologist. She says she’s been described as “very HSOC,” a trait she wears proudly.
Bows. Kisses. Hearts. Repeat. There's no other way to describe every other visitor of the Wells Fargo Center on the evening of Oct. 8, when child–actress–turned–superstar Sabrina Carpenter returned home to Philly. As the stadium gradually filled with Carpenter's fans sporting pre–ordered merchandised t–shirts or sparkling corsets, singer Amaarae prepared the audience for the evening show. Performing with just one dancer and a small group of musicians, she played 13 songs that leaned more toward TikTok–core than the light, girly pop of the event’s headliner. Still, hearing Travis Scott's “FE!N” at Carpenter’s concert was a pleasant surprise.
“Thank god it’s Friday” is a phrase I was saying a lot this past weekend. Sure, Fridays are great because the weekend is coming, people can go out and socialize, and I get to have my chicken–over–rice from a halal cart as a reward for making it through the week. However, this Friday was extra special—we were blessed with the debut album Glorious from Memphis rapper GloRilla, featuring the hit single “TGIF." Her most recent mixtape, Ehhthang Ehhthang, was released earlier this year, and the new direction her music has taken in just six months is remarkable.
From high–end furniture to animation, to minimalist design and interior aesthetics, Japanese influence can be found all over the West. But that wasn’t always the case.
Although TikTok is known for its niche circles, one of the up–and–coming sides contains a particularly curious duo: a giant bowl of tteokbokki and a discussion of the violent crimes of the world’s most infamous serial killers. If your little heart desires further mind–numbing content to drown out a turbulent midterm season, switch tabs to YouTube for an ASMR–whispered rendition of a murder case that is tagged “very disturbing!!!” to lull you to sleep. As absurd as it sounds, this is what’s come to define the Internet’s evolving true–crime scene.
Have you experienced “eusexua”? That is the sensation FKA Twigs is striving to evoke in The Eleven, a performance art show she debuted at Sotheby’s in September 2024. It marks the English singer, actress, and dancer’s first foray into the fine art world.
What started in Taiwan as a simple combination of local desserts, milk tea, and fen yuan, has evolved into a global phenomenon: boba. At Penn, it’s a quick pick–me–up before class, a coffee chat accessory, and even a savvy marketing ploy down Locust Walk. Most recently, it’s been touted as trendy, sugary, its contents unknown, and definitely, decidedly, no longer "ethnical". This is the perspective of two white Canadian entrepreneurs on an episode of Dragon’s Den, when they pitched their brand Bobba, a take on Taiwanese boba, to the panel of dragons.
On my tenth birthday, I received ownership of my first Apple product: a sixth–generation iPod Touch. Having spent months co–filming videos for my friends’ social media accounts, I yearned for a device to create my own portfolios. Immediately after activating this device, I proceeded to download every social networking app I knew of: Snapchat, Vine, Musical.ly, X, YouTube, and Instagram. I viewed all these applications as essential towards launching my content creation journey, ignoring the excessive storage my “SM!” folder consumed.
Picture a packed club, maybe a wild night in the basement of some indistinct fraternity. The lights flicker with the pounding of scattered footsteps. There’s almost no space to breathe—just a crush of people and movement, all blending together in air thick with the heat of too many people crammed into too small a space.
In the 1976 film Taxi Driver, Travis Bickle shields his eyes watching pornography in a theater while feigning a sense of righteous power over New York City. His smallness is palpable, his horniness is devastating, and he doesn’t know what the hell to do about it. Almost fifty years later, he’s rightfully regarded as the OG film incel, embodying a charmingly pre–internet brand of male awkwardness—obviously not socialized enough to engage in romance, but without a grifter–saturated manosphere to multiply its misogyny. So what remains for the trope today, besides some awful pickup lines and prostitutes? Let’s ask the grimy, miserable, and equally theatrical protagonist of Geordie Greep’s The New Sound:
Today, Bitcoin hit 100,000. But long before crypto bros were salivating on Reddit, Neal Stephenson’s was imagining a blockchain future in his 1999 novel Cryptonomicon. Over the course of its 900–plus pages, the storyline spans half a century, ranges from the barren islands north of Great Britain to the jungles of Southeast Asia to the depths of the Atlantic Ocean, and features real–life historical characters such as Alan Turing alongside concepts which were ahead of mainstream society by the turn of the millennium.
Three weeks ago, Penn football opened its season with a game against Colgate, but strangely, I knew only three people who attended the game—two of whom left during halftime. They didn’t leave because Penn was losing—in fact, by halftime, the Quakers had a significant lead—the problem was there was no excitement around the game and no sense of energy in the crowd, especially among current students.
Despite the album’s incredible success and booming popularity, after four weeks in the No. 1 spot, Sabrina Carpenter’s Short n’ Sweet was bumped to second on the Billboard 200 chart by Travis Scott’s mixtape Days Before Rodeo.
With the evolution of American pop culture, dressing up for Halloween has taken on new meaning from its Pagan roots. More specifically, the once sacred Pagan holiday, previously known as All Hallows' Eve, has become a pop culture–infused night that is most closely associated with cheap costumes, candy, and—for college students in the United States—an excuse to consume copious amounts of alcohol on a weeknight.
On Sept. 11, Kendrick Lamar began a funeral procession. Through a lowkey post on his Instagram account, he released the five–minute track “watch the party die,” where he mourns over the “death” of the hip–hop industry.