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A few months ago, my dad and I watched an old recording of The Beatles playing “Revolution” live. The performance was dynamic, impassioned, and electric; they went ballistic.
In the millisecond following the announcement of Sabrina Carpenter's deluxe album, pure excitement overcame any sort of logical thinking, with fans asking, "What exactly is a deluxe album, exactly, and why was I forced to wait two months for it?" With nearly every top album entailing a deluxe companion, reactions are well rehearsed.
There’s a problem with modern movies. Well, there are a lot of problems—terrible CGI, a general lack of trust in the audience, an unwillingness to take bold chances. There’s a lot that Hollywood needs to improve. There is, however, one problem that stands out above them all. One problem that makes older movies tower above the modern sensibility: Today’s directors have a fear of earnestness.
It’s below 20 degrees and my toes are freezing. Grey, the small guard kitty, sits outside the Fletcher Street Urban Riding Club stables of Strawberry Mansion, next to a bag of carrots dropped off that morning for the horses. There’s hay on the ground, horses shuffling in their stalls, and Jake, the club’s new pony–sized puppy, is bolting around the property.
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.
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.
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.
Every year, artisans and creatives gather to sell crafts and enjoy the holiday spirit at the West Holiday Craft Fest. Vendors displaying their handcrafted goods and families excitedly shopping for unique holiday gifts fill the Rotunda, a performing arts space utilized by community members and students.
The year 2024 was an eclectic year for music, from the rise (no fall) of a midwest princess to “that me espresso” to the unfortunate loss of rap legend Drake (he didn’t die, but it really was not his year). From the year’s dynamic and exciting musical landscape, a few artists stood out above the rest and won the top titles at the 67th Annual Grammy Awards. Though a tad predictable, the Recording Academy’s decisions accurately depicted the dominant musicians of the year with only a few popular artists left in the dust. But are the night’s losers really “losers” at all? Is the Recording Academy just trying to appease the stan Twitter gods? Regardless, these are the musicians who were rightfully recognized (and unrecognized) for shaping the musical pandemonium of 2024.
If you ask a K–Pop stan about the biggest groups currently on the scene, there’s a good chance that the girl group IVE will be among their top answers. Hailing from Starship Entertainment, the six–member band is one of the most popular groups in Korea, in part due to the popularity of IZ*ONE alums Jang Won–young and An Yu–jin. The group also boasts many hits of their own, with songs like “LOVE DIVE” and “I AM” boasting over 300 million streams on Spotify, reaching number one on Korean music charts, and hitting top 30 on the Billboard Global 200.
The bright hues emanating from your laptop light up your dark living room, casting highlights across your face. After ten minutes of browsing Netflix, you finally choose a new show to binge–watch over the weekend. As you cozy into the couch, your phone vibrates. A Snapchat notification pops up and as you start to reply to your friends, a two–minute distraction slowly transforms into four episodes’ worth of scrolling, replying, and messaging. But the catch? You haven’t missed anything that is happening on the show.
On Tuesday, Jan. 28, ICE agents seized seven employees from their workplace, a North Philadelphia car wash. They are currently being held at a detention center in Clearfield County, halfway across the state from their homes and families. One has already been deported, severing him from his young daughter.
Abel Tesfaye has spent the last five years making highly thematic albums, revealing to us the inner workings of his hedonistic, dark The Weeknd persona. His last two projects—After Hours and Dawn FM—contained highly visual, conceptual imagery, and leaned into this focus, featuring cinema–inspired narratives that slowly depicted The Weeknd's inevitable descent into madness. Regarding After Hours, The Weeknd’s costume designer Patrick Henry, more popularly known as “Fresh,” told Billboard, “When he did this, it wasn’t just Abel anymore. He created a persona and took this guy through a whole experience.” Dawn FM picked up where After Hours left off—inserting The Weeknd into a state of purgatory, followed by a journey towards escape. Hurry Up Tomorrow is the light at the end of this tunnel, offering the same immersive experience. Announcing this album as his last as The Weeknd, Tesfaye lets this infamous persona take his last breaths in Hurry Up Tomorrow. But one question remains: Just how great of a finale is this?
“Weeeeelcome to Philly, the best blue collar fighting city in the world,” the announcer’s voice echoes across Wells Fargo Center. We were just two of the 17,762 fans in attendance on Jan. 25 for Knucklemania V, Pennsylvania’s first ever state–sanctioned Bare Knuckle Fighting Championship.
Last month kicked the year off in a panic: political conflict ripped into our screens, threatening to upheave TikTok, Gen Z’s most cherished marketplace of brainrot. Disregarding the staged melodrama of Donald Trump and CEO Shou Chew’s back–and–forth, TikTok went into meltdown mode; creators delivered teary–eyed goodbyes, reminisced on the app’s quarantine days, and made desperate last–ditch efforts to learn Chinese. But one worry stood out to me in particular: “Where will I find new music?”
Solutions by The State News