by KATHARINE SCHWAB
Josh Coronado does not consider himself a musician. He doesn’t like to think of himself as an artist either. “I didn’t like art or the idea of art for the longest time. It can be parodied—being weird just to be weird,” Coronado said. “It wasn’t until I found an emotional connection that I got interested.”
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by LAWRENCE NEIL
Volunteer critics listen to an album in its entirety while discussing music and life.
Sobriety is optional.
This week: Late Registration by Kanye West
The Red Couch Project is a student-run production collective that captures the stories and performances of independent artists. Founded three years ago and currently directed by Danny Smith ‘13, the Red Couch Project shines a spotlight on the vibrant artists that keep this campus singing, dancing and creating. We’re down for the cause.
by LAWRENCE NEIL
Do you ever realize that you haven’t breathed in a while, and then you feel like you’re about to die because you need air?
This was actually meant literally, but then I thought about it metaphorically, and my mind started to slowly unravel and my friend asked if I was okay.
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by KATHARINE SCHWAB
The first time I saw Lizzie Quinlan and Hannah Martinson play, I was sitting on a couch in the Enchanted Broccoli Forest. Quinlan, with dreadlocks and nose ring, had an instrument I’d never seen: a miniature harp that rested on the tops of her thighs. Martinson, blonde and dressed in an oversized sweater, began to sing in an angelic, clear voice. When the two first harmonized, they gave me goose bumps.
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by LAWRENCE NEIL
Volunteer critics listen to an album in its entirety while discussing music and life.
Sobriety is optional.
This week: Voodoo by D’Angelo
by KATHARINE SCHWAB
“We believe in the freaks, in their voices and stories and visions and spirit.
We believe in art that is fresh and intimate and fearless and weird.
We believe in art that is accessible to everyone.
We believe in art that accesses everyone.
We believe that art can be made with loose change and friends and tough fucking hustler heart.
We believe that without art there is nothing.
We believe that nothingness is not an option.”
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by CHI LING CHAN
[A review of the Stanford Shakespeare Co.’s preview on 21 May 2013]
It’s Party at Phi-Psi, Shakespeare-style.
For the next couple nights, the front lawn of Phi Kappa Psi - usually calm and still as a millpond (for real fratboy action, go indoors)- will be turned into a battlefield to a dangerous sport. The game is love. Not the tragic, tear-jerking romeo-and-juliet kind that this company had previously proved so adept in - but the sort that hurtles testosterone-charged teenagers to the ground. No one leaves the field uninjured, nor without hilarious mudslinging. And for the audience, expect an evening clotted with wordplay that will bowl you over.
by LAWRENCE NEIL
Wiley Webb is a freshman progressive house DJ from Malibu who was born with a stage name. His common app essay began “At my first rave” and his two latest singles, ‘Humour’ and ‘Ambrosia’, dropped in April.
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by KATHARINE SCHWAB
Kenny Leung, resident pianist of Larkin in Stern Hall, can’t read music. Instead, he can play any song he knows by ear. He’s known for his adaptive medley—listeners shout out a song while he is playing and he transitions into it effortlessly. When I sat down in the Larkin lounge with him and asked for a demonstration, Leung transitioned from Macklemore’s “Thrift Shop,” to frat party fav “Get Low,” to “Radioactive” by Imagine Dragons.
