THE STANFORD ARTS REVIEW

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.

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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.

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by ALEC ARCENEAUX

Axe and Palm, light of my late-nights, fire of my bowels. My sin, my meal plan dollars. Axe and Palm: the tongue making me take a trip of three steps down Lomita to TAP, at two a.m., while tipsy. Axe. And. Palm.

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by KATHARINE SCHWAB

When listening to Alex Clare’s The Lateness of the Hour on repeat for the past several months, I pictured Clare as dark, handsome, and brooding, a man whose soul poured like liquid from his throat. When I arrived at the Regency Ballroom on April 23^rd for his concert, Clare turned out to be a rather short British redhead, complete with full beard and knitted beret, with an endearing awkwardness and a smile only slightly less jolly than Santa Claus.

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Winner of the Stanford Story Slam

by SOPHIA WESTWOOD and SARAH STERMAN

I was chained to the rack. Prisoners stretched to my right and left, no room to lie down even if that cursed bolt hadn’t forced me upright in the chill night.

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by T. DOYLE

This profile is third of three in support of the Lane Lecture Series. T.C. Boyle reads in Cemex Auditorium on Monday, May 6th at 8pm.

“I want to be taken away to a different place every time.”

 -T.C. Boyle, in an interview with Peter Wild

Tom Coraghessan Boyle’s twenty-four books of fiction—fourteen of them novels, ten of them short story collections—include the novel World’s End (1987), winner of the PEN Faulkner Prize; The Tortilla Curtain (1995), a national Book Award Finalist; and “T. C. Boyle Stories” (1998), winner of the PEN Malamud Prize.

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