Archbishop Ryan and LaSalle alum Bill Ricchini has earned praise from Rolling Stone to NPR’s World Café to Vogue for his brand of wistful, thoughtful pop. With this week’s release of Himalaya, his second record under the moniker Summer Fiction, Ricchini says his material is “more fully realized and ballsier, not afraid to be eccentric.” We caught up in advance of his record-release show this Saturday at Boot & Saddle to discuss the new tracks, recording in England and stalking Morrissey.
Last night was my first Taylor Swift concert, and I learned a Taylor Swift concert is many things. There are costume changes—10 by my count, over the course of two and a half hours—and each one will involve sequins or rhinestones or fringe, perhaps leather or thigh-high boots, and almost always an exposed midriff (though never, ever navel). There are Fitbit-like wristbands for each concertgoer that flash and flicker, creating a mesmerizing light show across the crowd. There are surprises, and for anyone attending tonight’s second sold-out show, beware of potential spoilers ahead. There is excessive pandering to the hometown, though most of the assembled will consider it bonding, and weirdly, I sort of did, too. And you will become a part of a 50,000-strong group therapy session. There is also music.
Halestorm has performed drunk exactly once. As frontwoman Lzzy Hale tells it, the show was in 2005, at what was then called Whiskey Dix, next door to the Electric Factory. The rockers from Red Lion had just signed a deal with Atlantic Records, and one celebratory shot led to five. The end of their set faded into a blur. “Our bass player’s dad said, ‘You know that rule you have about not drinking before a show? You might want to stick to that,’” Hale recalls.
Tomorrow night marks the premiere of Showtime’s Iverson, a 90-minute documentary that traces Allen Iverson’s life from his childhood in the mean streets of Newport News to the day the Sixers lifted his #3 jersey to the rafters, through archival footage and a new one-on-one interview. Considering the project is executive produced by Gary Moore, Iverson’s longtime advisor and father figure, it’s also a more balanced view of his career and personal struggles than one might expect. For those who experienced the AI era as Sixers fans, following every game—along with all the controversies—much of the film plays more like a nostalgia trip than a revelation. But even die-hard fans of the Answer will find a few surprises. (And that time he crossed up Jordan!) Read more »
It’s official — Mo’ne Davis is the new James Brown. In addition to (deep breath) pitching for the Taney Dragons, playing high school basketball, schooling Kevin Hart at the NBA All-Star Game, writing a book and pardoning the Bloomsburg University baseball player who talked trash about her on Twitter, the hardest working 13-year-old on the planet is both a sneaker mogul and a humanitarian. Read more »
It sounds like the title of a ’70s action flick starring Pam Grier, set to an Isaac Hayes soundtrack: Asshole Brown and SuperBitch. As it turns out, these are real people. One is a husband fallen on hard financial times; the other is a 63-year-old woman. Neither is related to Whore Julia, or to Dummy. But all four have one thing in common — they’re customers whose names were changed on their Comcast cable accounts, by Comcast employees. Read more »
Mitch Williams was, until recently, known for two things — throwing a baseball and talking baseball. He’s doing the latter here in a cramped studio in Collingswood, New Jersey. It’s home to Wildfire Radio, an online station that’s hoping to attract attention with Unleashed, a baseball chat show hosted by former Phillies reliever Mitch “Wild Thing” Williams. On a cold night in January, Mitch is flanked by two co-hosts and a special guest — his son, Declan. “I want people at home to know the depth of the knowledge of kids that are watching our game today,” Mitch explains, in case listeners are wondering why his 10-year-old is sitting in tonight. “It’s amazing. He amazes me on a daily basis.” Read more »
Early one Friday morning last January, I was surrounded by roughly 20,000 screaming fans, an army of half-naked women, and an effigy of Ruben Amaro. High above on the scoreboard video screen, a clip played on repeat. The image: a guy projectile vomiting. On the same floor where Allen Iverson once thrilled, where the Flyers nearly won their third Stanley Cup just five years ago, a bunch of dudes (and one very intimidating woman) were shoving chicken wings down their pie-holes as fast as they could. The crowd cheered, mostly in hopeful anticipation of someone puking.
INTERVIEW: Andy Cohen On Teresa Giudice, the Passing of Joan Rivers and How His Dog Opened Him Up to Dating
Andy Cohen, host of Bravo’s Watch What Happens: Live and maestro of the “Real Housewives” franchises, releases his second book today, cheekily titled The Andy Cohen Diaries: A Deep Look at a Shallow Year. We rang him up to chat about his latest literary effort, his emotional bond with soon-to-be-jailed Teresa Giudice, dealing with big egos and rumors of a possible “Housewives” series set in Philadelphia.
“I wish you were going to Vegas,” says the girl in the bright orange tank top. There’s something both infuriating and admirable about her tone. The way her declarative statements bend upward in pitch, as if she’s asking a question, reminds me of Valley Girls in the ’80s, and Paris Hilton. But this hot mess clearly doesn’t care what anyone around her thinks. If she were on a reality TV show, I’d say good for you — be yourself, screw the haters. But we’re on a SEPTA train bound for the ’burbs sometime around 6 p.m., and just seconds ago, the conductor made an announcement that we’re sitting in what’s known as the QuietRide car. Even if you’re not a regional-rail regular, you can probably figure out what that’s supposed to mean. Orange Tank Top and her male companion — who, in clear violation of some hipster-slacker ethos, is rocking both a backpack and a messenger bag — drone on, oblivious to both the friendly reminder and to the fact that no one in the entire car is talking except for them.
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