Review
Wes Montgomery and Joe Pass are master jazz guitarists who sound nothing alike.
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Anybody at Tuesday’s show who thought the members of Kraftwerk were just punching buttons at their static posts while audiovisuals surged automatically would be mistaken.
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Through it all, Deanna Raybourn’s quartet of females rely on the acuity and resourcefulness that has made the author’s other series characters both so memorable and beloved.
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Navigating the clash between tradition and experimentation — they are often two vastly different artistic worlds — requires bold programming.
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Ron Padgett’s “Pink Dust” proves that W.H. Auden was wrong — the nothing of poetry contains everything required to make a good (even heroic) life happen.
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The sheepishly affable Trey Anastasio wisely focused on music, allowing him to play a broader representation of his repertoire across two hours and 25 minutes.
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“Eephus” could’ve become a piece of conservative-leaning nostalgia but, to its credit, it refrains from making small-town sports great again.
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Larry Robin is to Philadelphia what Allen Ginsberg is to Paterson, New Jersey. In short, he is beloved, far and wide.
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Two astonishing books about the lives of Polish Jews who survived the Second World War or were born after the war.
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The five performers with Down syndrome danced along with three professionally trained dancers without disabilities — and they all looked wonderful.
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