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One strength of music that has been the subject of countless guaranteed–A classes, pretentious YouTube videos, and perfunctory discussions is its capacity to serve as a means of cultural transmission. Passed down through generations, songs can become inextricably woven into the fabric of families, communities, and even the world at large, surviving well beyond anyone who would know where they came from.
Tirzah’s trip9love…???, released this past September, is an album shrouded in mystery. The London–based electronic artist gave no press interviews in the lead–up to its release, and dropped the album onto streaming platforms on a Tuesday night with hardly any promotion.
Nirvana—the band famous for its soul–scarred catharsis, cult following, and demonic–looking smiley face plastered on virtually all Newbury Comics merchandise.
The poetics of hip hop have long been Benny the Butcher’s instrument of choice. As part of rap collective Griselda, Benny the Butcher is one of the few artists to represent the songwriting acumen and narrative grit at the intersection of lyrical and coke rap—a blend of skill and realism that has escaped his contemporaries across a number of genres. He first garnered critical acclaim on the hip hop scene with albums like Tana Talk 3, The Plugs I Met, and his previous project Tana Talk 4, which was released two years ago.
In the tumult of midterm season (which is to say, anytime after the second week of classes) Penn students need motivation. What better way to fuel a study session or shift at work than with music pointing toward the ultimate end goal? According to some, it’s not love—Valentine’s Day is over. Not altruism either: “Changing the world” is much harder than your college admissions essays might’ve assumed. The answer is cold, hard cash—but not according to all of these tracks, which provide a variety of outlooks. All that glitters is not gold, but these songs sure are.
If you’re at all keeping up with the ever–vibrant pop punk scene, you may have had the time to listen to all 46 glorious minutes of Green Day’s 14th studio album, Saviors.
“This rap shit done saved my life, and fucked it up at the same time,” raps Danny Brown in the opening line of his sixth studio album, Quaranta. Brown has had a long complicated relationship with rap music. A true student of the game as apparent on his comedy podcast, The Danny Brown Show, the 42–year–old Detroit rapper has an almost encyclopedic knowledge of hip–hop music.
Conan Gray was christened teen pop’s newest patron saint as early as 2018, when his EP Sunset Season was released. Tracks on the project such as “Crush Culture” and “Greek God” displayed dreamy production paired with yearning, sardonic lyrics that resonated with teenagers, his target audience.
Laufey is the savior of jazz.
Since it first reached American readers in 1971, The Bell Jar has become synonymous with feminine sadness. The novel was revolutionary, following a young Esther Greenwood, a misunderstood and depressed girl walking the tightrope between adolescence and adulthood. As she confronts the oppressive norms of femininity, the expectations of womanhood are so taxing as to quite literally drive her crazy.
With the arrival of Valentine’s Day, it’s time to ask: How do you say “I love you”? Well, other than in those words exactly. A box of chocolate–covered strawberries? A handcrafted card? An all–expenses–paid surprise vacation? (Maybe not that last one if you’re a college student.) If you’re lost, there’s even a very popular theory of five “love languages.” For a time, the mixtape was the pinnacle of thoughtfulness and accessibility in gift–giving. Burning a CD or packing a cassette with songs that perfectly described one’s feelings for their loved one was not only inexpensive but also seen as an art form. Nostalgia for this artifact of the past persists; mixtapes feature even in relatively recent films as a symbol of love. With the rise of music streaming services, it seems the art of the mixtape is dead. But Spotify Blends might be the 2020s’ adaptation of a beloved tradition.
As one of the only senior girl groups still active in the K–pop industry, Red Velvet has made a lasting impact on the genre. Title tracks like “Red Flavor,” “Dumb Dumb,” “Zimzalabim,” and “Psycho” display a sample of the group’s wide and expansive sound. No matter if the group showcases its “Red” (the bubbly, colorful pop side) or its “Velvet” (the darker, evocative R&B–influenced side), listeners know that the five–member girl group has one of the most diverse and creative approaches to the K–pop genre.
Bundles of presents under a glistening Christmas tree. Keeping up with decades–old traditions. Quality time with loved ones. For many people, these are the hallmarks of the holiday season. For others, like myself, the staple of post–Thanksgiving holiday cheer is listening to hours upon hours (upon hours!) of Christmas music.
Good grief! As finals season approaches, so does the holiday season. Synonymous with this time of year is a certain franchise: Peanuts. With five feature films and 51 television specials under their belts, Charlie Brown and company are the epitome of consistent cultural presence. Though it seems there’s a 25–minute to hour–long short for every holiday—from Easter to Arbor Day—true Peanuts primetime arises as soon as East Coast temperatures hit the fifties. The best of the best cover the three major American events of the season: Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. Millions have watched these specials air each year for decades (a fact that led to considerable backlash when Apple TV+ acquired them and it appeared the company wouldn’t allow the tradition to carry on). Aside from Charles Schulz’s instantly memorable characters, however, there’s another element that contributes to the Peanuts specials’ charm, and it’s all thanks to Vince Guaraldi.
The year 2023 will always be remembered for music, at least for me. I’ve had personal stakes in many of the albums that have come out this year. The prodigal boys, i.e. boygenius, reunited after five years and put out the film, directed by none other than Kristen Stewart, and Lana saved lives and served (at Waffle House). If these past few years have proven the solid foundation of artists, 2023 is about those artists taking a sledgehammer on that base and reemerging brand new.
MJ Lenderman has had a busy two years. When I first saw him perform in Feb. 2022, he was playing in the loading dock of a bar in North Philadelphia to a crowd of, generously, a couple hundred people. Sharing the stage with three local Philly bands, Lendermen lent his guitar heroics to Florry’s rendition of “Dead Flowers” and watched Hooky and Snoozer alongside the beanie and cargo pants–clad masses with whom he blended in well enough not to draw any attention. He was promoting the forthcoming release of his album Boat Songs, via Philly’s own Dear Life records, itself home to 2nd Grade, Friendship, and other local indie stalwarts.
You might’ve heard some rumbling about a new Beatles song that came out a few weeks ago. Billed as the “last Beatles song,” “Now and Then” features the voices of all four Beatles members, a curious product given the disbanded group had tragically lost two of their members within the last 50 years. However, with the help of artificial intelligence, Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr were able to isolate George Harrison and John Lennon’s vocals from demo versions of the tracks. Adding some additional production and a 2023 revamp, the group decided to release the song, to the shock of their fans, in tandem with a documentary film Now and Then – The Last Beatles Song that describes the process of how the song was made.
R&B singer Mariah the Scientist’s latest album "To Be Eaten Alive," is a testament to her growth and pen as an artist as she tackles her fame, life, and artistry. Released Oct. 27 off of independent label Buckles Laboratories, much of the record’s lyrical content is relevant to Mariah’s experience surrounding her boyfriend Young Thug’s incarceration on May 9, 2022, when Thug and other artists associated with music label and collective YSL were arrested on gang–related Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations (RICO) Act charges, as well as her struggles handling womanhood and the music industry. This album is a step in the right direction, proving that her art can perhaps hold its own alongside generational contemporaries by the likes of SZA and Summer Walker. However, Mariah's work tends to reflect the tried and true motifs first developed by the genre’s predecessors, incorporating a love–letter style of writing and airy production.
There are some who complain that America has gone woke—but when has it not been? The woke mob (Puritans) have been canceling (executing) innocent Americans (“witches”) since our nation’s founding. The original colonizers of New England were among the first to promote a “politically correct” culture in the U.S., rigidly enforcing Puritanical codes of morality and behavior under threat of exile or even death. This unique founding spirit has never really gone away—from the Hays Code to the Satanic Panic to Tipper Gore’s Parents Music Resource Center, the instinct to censor runs deep in American culture. But in recent years, a new outgrowth of this horrifying urge has manifested itself in an entity so cloaked in pizazz and saccharine pop sweetness that it almost defies recognition for the beast that it is. I speak, of course, of that devil Kidz Bop.
Three tracks into Sufjan Stevens’ newest album, Javelin, he asks one of the most simple and honest questions that perhaps anybody can ask: “Will anybody ever love me? For good reasons, without grievance, not for sport?” He isn’t looking for forever, or for massive promises. He just wants someone to be able to “pledge allegiance to my burning heart.” The fittingly titled, “Will Anybody Ever Love Me?” may be one of the best songs of Stevens’ long and varied career.
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