For a brief period, I was Watertown Middle School’s biggest Green Day fan. But 2004’s American Idiot came out while I was in seventh grade, and I couldn’t get into it. Its mock-political premise was different from the snotty pop-punk Green Day, the band I initially fell in love with. The inherent schmaltz of ubiquitous radio smash “Boulevard Of Broken Dreams” didn’t sit well with my budding music identity.
Poetry, as the great 20th century poet Robert Hayden once said, remains a mysterious thing, and our increasingly pragmatic and fast-paced world is often lacking in mystery. When I encounter a truly great poem, I feel that I am in the presence of something larger than myself.
Carrie Rudzinski took a notebook to her senior prom. She took a notebook to a friend’s wedding. She takes a notebook with her everywhere.
Sophomore Michael Levine, the play's director, said he wanted the show to provide hope for kids who may be struggling with their lives at home.
On Tuesday afternoon, there was a gaggle of seven young men tuning instruments and perfecting harmonies in the lobby of Little Building. Their dress wasn’t distinctive, at least not at Emerson; there was a mix of peacoats, flannel, boat shoes, and ratty sweaters. More than half of them were wearing beanies. At a glance, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
Vivian Maier, who worked as a nanny, used a variety of different pseudonyms in her lifetime: V. Smith, V. Meyer, V. Mayer. She spoke in a French accent that may or may not have been fake. She moved around a lot, and each room that she stayed in was reportedly padlocked.
When critics and magazine columnists compile a list of the greatest film comedians, the answers are always the same: Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, the Marx Brothers, maybe Robin Williams or Bill Murray. But there’s one name you almost never see: Jacques Tati.
Sophomore Rebecca Crandall was supposed to write a story for her fiction workshop class, but she had no idea what to write about.
Senior Chris Gillespie is exploring the unconventional interplay between music and comedy by refining his own version of B-sides: unseen sketches.
Zach Stetson & Company started as one student mixing experimental tracks in the privacy of his dorm room and has evolved into a conceptual comedy performance involving masked dancers and audience-centered shenanigans.
Tristan Sharps does not display his visual art in galleries. He does not screen his films in theaters, direct plays on a stage, or build installation pieces for museums. Sharps inhabits abandoned spaces with dynamic multimedia work, resulting in an audience-centered, interactive approach to contemporary art.
When Nyla Wissa arrived at Emerson from the Boston Arts Academy, an arts-focused high school, she was surprised to find a lack of people of color in the performing arts department.
“They don’t make ’em like they used to.” That chestnut is trotted out to remind us of the supposed halcyon days of manufacturing—a pointed questioning of the authenticity of modern industry. When applied to music trends, it remains equally problematic, but despite this there’s a longstanding movement based on that very same premise of misinformed nostalgia. This trend, which outright rejects all things contemporary, even has its own term: rockism.
In the first scene of Jennifer Haigh’s short story “Sublimation,” a mother and son sit down to watch Jeopardy!. As he sips on his drink, the son leaves lipstick on the rim of his glass. His mother says nothing.
George Clinton is known for a few things about his performances throughout the 1970s: donning flamboyant costumes made of flags and diapers, tripping on acid, and of course, bringing the funk.