THE STANFORD ARTS REVIEW

Features Opinions
Perspectives Art

an open love letter to Annie Clark

image

by SOPHIA LAURENZI

Everyone has a crush on Annie.

Anxiously anticipating the encore of her March 22 concert, the audience rattled the floors of Fox Theater in Oakland with chants of “Annie! Annie! Annie!” A newcomer to her music would never guess that the snowy-haired, electric-guitar-playing space princess known as St. Vincent was the stage name of the reserved, down-to-earth Annie Clark, but this was an audience that called her name like she was a familiar friend.

Read More

Clap Your Hands Say Yeah and the meaning of Unplugged

image

by SHIMON TANAKA

A couple of months ago I received a Bandsintown alert about tickets going on sale for a Clap Your Hands Say Yeah concert advertised as a Living Room Show.  Five minutes after the alert, SF and Oakland shows had sold out.  The remaining available show was in Hayward, at an undisclosed location that would be emailed to me if I purchased the tickets.  

Read More

like spiders up and down the frets: Band of Horses at the Palace of Fine Arts

by RACHEL GRAU

"This one’s for all the dead people out there."

That was how I spent my Valentine’s Day: in the dark, rustic, corridors of San Francisco’s Palace of Fine Arts, listening to Band of Horses’s lead singer Ben Bridwell morbid attempt at a joke before the band launched into their most famous single, “The Funeral.”

Read More

Action Bronson at Slim’s: A True or False Quiz

image

by CHUCK ALLEN and LAWRENCE NEIL

Many things happened at the absurd spectacle that was the recent Action Bronson show in San Francisco.  In order to distinguish between fact and fiction, myth and reality, we will present the events in the form of a fun and easy True or False quiz.  (Hint: They are all true.  Guess true on all of them.)

Read More

words cut. words save. words revive, or: dan le sac vs Scroobius Pip at O2 Academy Oxford

image

by JENNIFER SCHAFFER

In the bathroom of the O2 Academy, I squinted at myself in the mirror and thought about who I was when I first heard of dan le sac vs. Scroobius Pip. I was 15. It was spring in Boston and I had bleached my hair and then dyed it dark again but the strawberry blonde kept peeking through like it was who I really was. (In the mirror now my hair and skin look like they’re set to high contrast.) It was the last year of my life that I wasn’t in love with anyone or anything. On the wall of my bedroom at Andover I had OXFORD written across six post-it notes, in capital letters. (Life’s like that. Pay attention. Your future’s probably written on a post-it note right now.)

Read More

fugue state, sunroof open: Washed Out at The Fillmore

image

by LIAM KINNEY

“Are you serious? That’s it?” my friend complained loudly, as the last treble note faded away. Clocking in at one hour, the concert felt like a dream that had ended far too soon. It was one of those evenings during which you keep turning to your friend and asking “is this really happening?” The smoky, stuffy, baby blue backdrop of San Francisco’s Fillmore Auditorium sedated the other senses, while Washed Out’s chill-out sound had you pinching yourself to make sure you were awake. If you don’t want to spend thirty dollars, go ahead and take a nap, but if you want to dream like you never have before, attend a Washed Out concert.

Read More

The Night I Saw 12 Men with Beards and 1 Man Who Could Sing Straight into my Soul: The Poet Johnny Flynn Made me Vulnerable and Long-Winded

image

BY JUSTINE BEED

Johnny Flynn at the Rickshaw Stop: just a man and his guitar in a venue with a foosball table and skee-ball lanes.

He said about two words, something along the lines of a mumbled British “Hello” and then went straight into the rich ballad: The Ghost of O’Donahue.

Read More

the time i was totally uncool, and my spirit guide, or: Alesso on NYE in NYC

image

by ALEXANDRA GRAY

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” – Charles Dickens

The date was Tuesday, December 31, 2013.  It was late evening. I arrived at Pier 94 on the lower West side of Manhattan with some Stanford folk, eager to listen to the musical styling of the Swedish DJ, Alesso. Having seen him over the summer at Electric Zoo on Randall’s island, I had high hopes for another great show. Security was tighter than I was used to, and my wait in the cold came to a close with the most intrusive pat down of my life. Ignoring my purse that I opened for her, the security officer jumped right into some second-base action. I didn’t even know her first name.

Read More

Tate Modern x Disclosure: Or, Why Apollo and Dionysus Might (Not) Get Along

image

by JAKE FRIEDLER

The bus from Oxford to London takes about an hour and a half and reminds me of the Knight Bus from Harry Potter: it’s a double-decker bus, piloted by cheeky drivers with English accents, which rescues its passengers from quotidian existence and whisks them off to a place where magic happens in the streets.

Read More

Pretty Lights: A Love Story

image

by MARIAH OXLEY

Act One: Odesza

The Players:

Stout Boy

D.U.G. (Distinctly Unlikeable Girl)

Lanky Boy

A group of bros, undoubtedly reveling in their sophomore status—CAN YOU SAY DRIVER’S LICENSE?— has rolled in. They came here to party. They also came here with D.U.G.

Read More