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I’m one of the first to arrive. The room is stuffy but bearable. I set my bag and skateboard down and get ready to learn something new. Homages–in–painting, rudimentary audio equipment, and loose pieces of furniture fill the room. Two dancers across the room are stretching to warm up. As more people stream in, the energy lifts. Practice eventually starts, and from the get go, I realize I will not be able to keep up. So I watch.
Casual conversation fills the air in an audience of thousands. Excitement grows, anticipation roots among showgoers as curated playlists and light cues subtly tease toward the performance. Suddenly, the pop rock rhythm and guitar riffs from “Obsessed” break through, accompanied by the sounds of screams. From the relatable, angsty teenage lyricism of “Good 4 U” and “Brutal” to the heartbreaking ballads that are “Lacy” and “Enough For You,” it is evident to anyone who has seen Olivia Rodrigo perform (whether that be in person or online) the amount of sheer talent and passion she has for her craft. At just 22, the artist has reached extraordinary milestones: winning three Grammy Awards, selling out venues for her albums SOUR and GUTS, releasing a documentary with Disney+, writing a song for the major movie franchise The Hunger Games, and visiting the White House. Despite all her success, Rodrigo never fails to honor the musical giants who shaped her sound, spotlighting icons like David Byrne and Ed Sheeran for fans both new and old.
It’s hard to miss him on your TikTok feed—half–tucked into a glitter jumpsuit, leaping off a piano mid–ballad, or staring wistfully into a camera while the sound of his own breathy falsetto plays in the background. Benson Boone, the 22–year–old pop crooner whose music seems genetically engineered for Spotify’s Today’s Top Hits playlist, has become something of a walking paradox. He is both a phenomenon and a punchline, and it’s something he is all too aware of.
What does it mean to be a virgin when your body has never truly been yours?
It seems that some rappers are called to the art of streaming. Of course, there have always been guest appearances—like Nicki Minaj on Kai Cenat’s stream—but others have taken it further, launching entire streaming careers alongside their musical ones. With Snoop Dogg, T–Pain, DDG, and Soulja Boy, this career path is looking to become more and more relevant. While some see it as downtime, others use it as another platform to share their music or promote other parts of their brand. And for fans, it’s a uniquely fun and casual phenomenon that allows for more casual, accessible interactions with their favorite artists.
If you had told someone five years ago that the best pop album of the summer would come from Addison Rae, you would have been laughed out of the room. Rae has undergone quite the evolution since her TikTok days. Initially gaining traction for her dance videos, 2021 saw her become the second most followed person on the entire platform. Addison Rae’s extremely quick rise to fame landed her a golden ticket from her hometown in Louisiana straight to the glitz and glamor of the Hype House in Los Angeles.
On Saturday, May 31—one day before the official start of Pride Month—Center City was filled with queer energy. It’s the day of the Philadelphia Dyke March, and it’s impossible to miss. Attendees decked out in leather and glitter turn Kahn Park into a colorful oasis of community, and from the revving of motorcycle engines to the drumming that helps keep the rhythm of a variety of chants, they insist on being seen as well as heard. And as the LGBTQ+ community faces off against an increasingly oppressive world, the march’s mission is more important than ever.
What happens when a pop star commands the economy of a small nation, the allegiance of a cultish fanbase, and the attention of the entire internet?
In more ways than one, this past spring was slow to start. Cloudiness stretched through mid–April, winds were too harsh for comfort, and the sun seemed almost afraid to peek out for good. At a glance, the cover for Eiko Ishibashi’s Antigone reflects this same sentiment: a grayscale mass of fog looms over a city like a specter—an immutable force too far to reach but impossible to ignore.
It starts like this: a flicker of synth, then a bloom of red and pink light. Mica Tenenbaum—one half of synth–pop duo Magdalena Bay—stands alone on a centerstage pedestal, framed by a halo of light and an enormous sunflower headpiece. Or maybe it starts earlier, in a dorm room—Tenenbaum at Penn, Matthew Lewin at Northeastern University—two ex–prog–rock teens trying to rewire their musical instincts into something shinier, more playful.
Throughout her career, Kali Uchis has proven herself adept at pulling out listeners’ every tender emotion through her ethereal vocals and magical storytelling. Her passionate embrace of the unspoken power found in femininity can be heard throughout all of her releases: Uchis’ first studio album, Por Vida, recalls the feeling of heartbreak after a failed relationship, while her most recent Latin album Orquídeas represents all of the beauty and mystique of her empowered femininity.
When KATSEYE dropped their latest single “Gnarly” this summer, the reaction from fans was swift and brutal. The six–member group, formed through the reality competition The Debut: Dream Academy and backed by K–pop powerhouse HYBE, had built their reputation on the soft, accessible sounds of their early tracks “Touch” and “Debut.” Their sudden pivot to hyperpop chaos gave listeners artistic whiplash, with the song's dissonant, industrial sound being a far cry from anything KATSEYE had put out before.
Rays of sunlight embrace nearby trees. Row homes and Victorians line the streets. Lawns flaunt batches of petunias and tulips. Pedestrians sport fishnets, black concert tees, and myriad other grunge accessories, as they walk past children loudly advertising their lemonade stands. The aroma of fresh pastries from Clark Park pervades the air. Long lines snake out the door of every nearby cafe. Typically, one might dismiss these summertime emblems as ordinary. Today, however, they enliven my friend and I as we saunter through West Philly Porchfest—the neighborhood’s beloved grassroots music festival.
Underground Arts—an unassuming concert venue tucked just a few blocks north of Reading Terminal Market—sure lives up to its name. Upon entry, guests head down a stairwell into a music hall. With concrete floors, exposed brick, and hulking structural pillars, the place feels industrial, maybe even drab—but the barebones design provides a blank canvas for creativity. And on this Thursday night in late March, it’s filled with a symphony of sounds and a kaleidoscope of colors.
College kids and elementary school students, brought together by vibrant choreography and a shared creative vision: This is the magic of City Step. A combination of civic engagement and a pedagogy of creative expression is what drives the vision of CityStep and its founder, Sabrina Peck. Beginning on Harvard’s campus over 40 years ago, they’ve since branched out to establish chapters in Columbia, Yale, Princeton, University of Chicago, and of course, Penn. As of today, over 500 Penn undergraduates and more than 2000 local school children have been involved in this dynamic network.
Five people sit in the train car, staring out at the trees, listening to music, reading the newspaper. I sit on the right side of the car, in a two seater three seats back from the very front of the train, homework strung about next to me. This has been my seat for over five years, with countless nights fighting sleep, reading books for school and for pleasure, and laughing with friends engraved into its heat signature. This story was meant to be a love letter to the Chestnut Hill West, the regional rail line that loops from Northwest Philadelphia to Center City, but as of late, it’s seeming more and more like a farewell.
On April 18, 2025, the date of Good Friday in the Christian faith this year, two groups face off at 12th and Locust. Roughly 100 anti–abortion protesters arrive in front of Planned Parenthood Health Center. As they move towards the entrance, however, they are met by the human wall of the Philadelphia Abortion Rights Coalition. The group stands shoulder–to–shoulder defense, keeping the sidewalk in front of Planned Parenthood clear and the entrance accessible for incoming patients.
When Carlee “Lee” Reid (W ‘25)—also known by her stage name carLEEE—came to Penn as a freshman in August 2021, she had never sung in front of an audience before. Though she had a liking for music and songwriting since she was a kid, music was nothing more than a hobby, a distant aspiration. Four years later, after releasing her debut single “chew” alongside a self–produced music video, Lee can hardly believe that her love of music was once confined within her bedroom walls. The singer’s college years have been a whirlwind of musical talent, passion, and discovery, establishing herself as an involved musician within the Penn community. But how did she get here?
Djo had quite the year in 2024—a spike in success spurred by the sudden popularity of “End of Beginning”—a single from his 2022 album DECIDE. It became the alternative, nostalgia–provoking power–ballad of the summer. In a way, Djo proved that you could have it all—a successful acting career starring in one of the biggest shows on Netflix and a top 20 mega–hit to boot. Riding the wave of this success, Djo announced his triumphant return this year with his third studio album, The Crux, a concept album where he details his adventures through the lens of a fictional hotel and its guests. Really, the record has emerged as some kind of performance test for the artist: Will he be able to recapture the hearts of his audience again, or is it … djover?
Are you really a Tate McRae fan if you can’t recall her YouTube days; an image of her playing the keyboard in her bedroom, singing a song from the perspective of an angsty teen butting heads with her parents? What do you know about the Troye Sivan and Tyler Oakley collabs? Have you ever watched meticulously as Conan Gray taught you how to make a five–minute microwave mug cake? What looming connection exists between Joji and chaotic internet persona Filthy Frank? Or maybe you caught a glimpse of Shawn Mendes during his Magcon days? While these may sound like scattered trivia about today's chart–toppers, they point to an awkward truth: many of our favorite artists have their roots in early to late 2010s influencer culture. While today the musical ventures of influencers like Dixie D’amelio and Chase Hudson, also known as Lil Huddy, are frequently dismissed as desperate cash grabs, something just seemed to “click” for past aspiring internet personalities, successful in their transition to “serious” artists. In fact, their unfledged digital footprints have become ignored vestiges to current audiences, who hardly associate these artists with their previous online presence. So, why were they able to ditch the influencer image, while so many current creators seem to be unable to?
Solutions by The State News