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Haim's new album gives vivid shape to a hard-to-define phase

Haim's new album gives vivid shape to a hard-to-define phase

Haim's 'I Quit' is not quite a breakup album and not quite a moving-on album; rather, the fourth LP by this beloved Los Angeles sister trio lands somewhere between those tried-and-true schemes: Its title inspired, the Haims have said, by a third-act mic drop in the cult-fave 1996 movie 'That Thing You Do!,' 'I Quit' is about looking back from the middle distance on a relationship that didn't work and assessing what you learned (and what you didn't) from the experience.
'Can I have your attention, please, for the last time before I leave?' Danielle Haim sings over a trembling acoustic guitar riff to open the album with 'Gone.' Then: 'On second thought, I changed my mind.' In 'All Over Me,' she's exulting in the erotic thrill of a new situationship — 'Take off your clothes / Unlock your door / 'Cause when I come over / You're gonna get some' — while warning the guy not to get out over his skis as any kind of partner. Este Haim takes over lead vocals for 'Cry,' in which she's unsure of her place in the seven stages of grief: 'I'm past the anger, past the rage, but the hurt ain't gone.'
How to musicalize such a state of transition? On 'I Quit,' which Danielle co-produced with Rostam Batmanglij, the sisters do it with songs that go in multiple directions at once, as in 'Relationships,' which sounds like 'Funky Divas' meets 'Tango in the Night,' and 'Everybody's Trying to Figure Me Out,' a deconstructed blues strut that bursts into psych-pop color in the chorus. They do it by trying new things, as in the shoegazing 'Lucky Stars' and 'Spinning,' which has Alana Haim cooing breathily over a shuffling disco beat. (In some ways, 'I Quit' feels closely aligned with the newly sexed-up 'Sable, Fable' by Bon Iver, whose Justin Vernon was involved in a couple of songs on this album.)
The Haims also do it, of course, by revisiting familiar comforts: 'Gone' samples George Michael's 'Freedom! '90'; 'Down to Be Wrong' evokes the blistered euphoria of peak Sheryl Crow; 'Now It's Time,' for some goofy reason, borrows the industrial-funk groove from U2's 'Numb.'
Nostalgia figures into the lyrics too, but it's all very sharply drawn, as in 'Take Me Back,' a caffeinated folk-rock shimmy where Danielle is thinking about the people she used to know in the Valley — 'David only wants to do what David wants / Had a bald spot, now it's a parking lot' — and how much easier things were when she'd cruise Kling Street 'looking for a place to park in an empty parking lot just so you can feel me up.' (Great guitar solo in this one.) In 'Down to Be Wrong,' she looks out from her window seat on a flight to somewhere and sees 'the street where we used to sleep' — a reference, one presumes, to her ex Ariel Rechtshaid, who helped produce Haim's first three albums and whose presence looms here like a phantom.
Case in point: ''We want to see you smiling,' said my mother on the hill,' Danielle sings in the loping country ballad 'The Farm,' 'But the distance keeps widening between what I let myself say and what I feel.' Oof. Yet on an album about choosing who to leave behind and who to collide with for the first time, 'The Farm's' emotional climax comes in a touching verse where one of Danielle's sisters tells her she's welcome to crash 'if you need a place to calm down till you get back on your feet.' The upheaval won't last; family is forever.
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The Science of Why Humans are Obsessed with Stadium Concerts
The Science of Why Humans are Obsessed with Stadium Concerts

Time​ Magazine

time20 hours ago

  • Time​ Magazine

The Science of Why Humans are Obsessed with Stadium Concerts

August 15, 2025 marks the 60th anniversary of a pivotal moment in live music history: The Beatles' infamous performance at Shea Stadium. What began as an unprecedented attempt to accommodate the Fab Four's overwhelming popularity has evolved into a touchstone of pop culture—the modern stadium tour. Today's stadium concerts are more than just supersized live shows; they have become cultural phenomena and socio-economic markers. Perhaps most intriguingly—at least to me—they are also neuroscientific experiments in mass synchronization. In 1965, pop music's demographic was dominated by teenagers with disposable income and a desire to break the self-imposed boundaries of their post-Depression-era parents. The Beatles' audience at Shea was overwhelmingly young, predominantly female, and distinctly American. In the decades since, stadium audiences have expanded in every conceivable way. Through the '80s and '90s artists like U2, Madonna, and Michael Jackson drew increasingly global, multi-generational crowds. Today, truly global music acts like BLACKPINK and Bad Bunny play to stadium audiences worldwide, reflecting the increasing multicultural appeal of contemporary music. And touring artists like Bruce Springsteen, Paul McCartney, Cyndi Lauper, and The Rolling Stones now draw in new followers aside lifelong fans, with three generations of family members often attending together. Fandom itself has transformed. Where fans once relied on the vagaries of radio play and magazine spreads to engage with their favorite artists, today's fans form tightknit communities on social media platforms like TikTok and Discord. Through these digital spaces, enthusiasts exchange theories, share memes, decode Easter eggs, and coordinate elaborate travel plans and ticket-buying strategies months in advance. The shift from passive consumption to active participation has transformed how fans engage with pop music, turning concerts into global events that have expanded well beyond geography and generations. Yet this evolution has created new challenges, chief among them, the skyrocketing cost of being part of the experience. We've gone from $5.10 to see the Beatles at Shea Stadium to Eras Tour tickets with face values ranging from $49 to $449 reselling for up to $20,000 on StubHub and SeatGeek. When my mother wanted to surprise me with tickets to Bryan Adams' Waking Up The Neighbours Tour in 1992, she lined up at the physical box office hours before opening with other eager fans. She forked over $42.50 for two, side-view seats in the lower bowl. Compare that to last year when I battled bots and refreshed my browser every few milliseconds in the hope of scoring four tickets to Olivia Rodrigo's GUTS World Tour before they soared to mortgage-level proportions. By some miracle, I was able to take my three teenage daughters to their first arena show for a relatively low $600. They're now saving their babysitting money and diligently tracking price trends for Benson Boone's American Heart Tour while I'm (half) considering dipping into their college fund to see Bryan Adams again this fall. At what point does the price of admission outweigh the joy of participation? When it came to the Eras Tour, like many other disappointed Swifties, we had to settle for movie screenings and grainy live feeds. Swift didn't stop in our hometown of Montreal. We considered travelling to Toronto, Boston, New York, or Philadelphia. When calculating the costs—tickets, travel, accommodations, meals—our cheapest option turned out to be Lisbon, Portugal. That three-day excursion would have set us back about $6,000 CAD. While that was substantially less than the resale tickets in any nearby city, the financial cost and complicated logistics of participation were too great. Economists often argue that high ticket prices are simply a reflection of market forces—artists, and resellers, can charge more because demand far outstrips supply. Sociologists counter that this trend deepens cultural divides, turning concerts into exclusive experiences for the financially privileged. Despite the costs, stadiums continue to sell out at record speed, raising the question: what is it about live music that makes us willing to pay such a premium? Is it the music itself, the sense of community, or something even more basic? For 30 years, our lab has been exploring why music moves us—literally and figuratively. Many of our studies focus on memory for music, demonstrating that people have a remarkable ability to recall melodies, pitch, tempo, and loudness with surprising accuracy, even without formal music training, suggesting that musical memory operates differently from other forms of memory. We conducted some of the first neuroimaging studies to map the brain's response to music—showing how it lights up the brain, engaging areas responsible for hearing, memory, movement, and emotion all at once. This is why a song can transport you back to a specific moment in time, evoking vivid memories and emotions. Our studies show that when people listen to music they love, it activates brain regions associated with pleasure and reward, helping to explain why a favorite song can feel as satisfying as a good meal or a warm hug. Music's ability to give you chills and make you feel euphoric is tied to the release of natural opioids in the brain, the same chemicals that help relieve pain. Years ago, our lab showed in brain scans that listening to the same piece of music caused people's brain waves to synchronize. Recent studies conducted in real-time, in concert halls, demonstrate that people enjoy music more when the performance is live and experienced as part of a group. Live music triggers stronger emotional responses than recorded music due to the dynamic relationship between the audience and the performers. The visual cues, collective energy, and real-time responsiveness of live music engage more sensory and emotional systems than listening alone, deepening our visceral connection to the experience. Attending a concert is associated with increases in oxytocin, a bonding hormone, enhancing our sense of social connection. When we move together to music—clapping, swaying, or singing in sync—we engage neural circuits involved in motor coordination, empathy, and social prediction, reinforcing our sense of being part of a group. We're literally on the same brainwave! What ties all this together is the simple but profound idea that music is more than just entertainment. From the joy of discovering a new banger to the comfort of an old, familiar tune, music may well be a biological necessity, a fundamental part of being human, wired into our brains and bodies in ways that shape how we think, feel, and connect with one another. Our innate desire for connection might also, in part, explain why a friendship bracelet exchange (inspired by Swift's You're On Your Own Kid) is trending at modern stadium shows: the simple act of swapping beaded bracelets cultivates a microcosm of human connection within a macro-scale experience. It's a ritual that transforms a crowd of thousands into an intimate community, where strangers become momentary friends, bound by shared enthusiasm and a tangible token of group membership. It's a small, tactile gesture that taps into our deep-seated need to bond, to feel seen, and to belong. In a world where digital interactions often replace physical ones, these trinkets are a reminder of the power of touch, of giving, and of creating memories that extend beyond the concert itself. Music has always been a social glue, a way for humans to synchronize their emotions and movements, whether around a Neanderthal campfire or in a packed stadium. And in an era of increasing isolation, these moments of connection feel more vital than ever. Making friendship bracelets to share with your fellow Swifties may be part of the solution. But today's stadium shows aren't just about emotional connection or even entirely about the music—it's also a masterclass in sensory stimulation. The Beatles may have pioneered the stadium format, but their setup was quaint by today's standards. Early stadium shows featured little more than musicians standing in front of a static backdrop, struggling to project their sound through subpar sound systems designed for sports announcers, not music. By the 1980s, technological advancements had changed the game. Pink Floyd's The Wall Tour in 1980 set a new standard for large-scale stage production, with elaborate sets, visual projections, and theatrical storytelling. U2's Zoo TV Tour in 1992 introduced multimedia screens that transformed the stage into a digital playground. More recently, Taylor Swift's Eras Tour involved 70,000 wristbands pulsing in unison, and stage sets transforming from slithering snakes to whimsical fairy-tale forests to cinematic cityscapes. And Beyoncé's 2023 Renaissance Tour incorporated cutting-edge robotics and high-fashion couture, proving that stadium concerts can be as much about visual effects as they are about the music. While many fans view these advances as improvements, others argue that the intimacy and simplicity of early stadium shows have faded, and been replaced by a commercialized, high-stakes industry. The Outlaws Roadshow stadium tour in 2012 left me feeling as though I had overpaid for a lights and lasers show that happened to include the Counting Crows phoning it in somewhere in the background. In the pursuit of grandeur, has some of the raw, unfiltered magic of live music been diluted? And what does all this mean for the future of live music? If the past 60 years of stadium shows (and tens of thousands of years of human music-making) have taught us anything, it's that music, at its core, is about shared experience. We crave the pulse of the bass beneath our feet, the collective chant of a catchy chorus or killer bridge, the unspoken understanding between strangers who, for just one night, are part of something bigger than themselves. As technology continues to evolve and fan communities grow more interconnected, one thing is certain: the stadium concert will remain a space where we come together, not just to listen, but to belong.

Danielle Jonas, 38, Stuns in String Bikini While Revisiting ‘Place Where Our Story Began'
Danielle Jonas, 38, Stuns in String Bikini While Revisiting ‘Place Where Our Story Began'

Yahoo

time2 days ago

  • Yahoo

Danielle Jonas, 38, Stuns in String Bikini While Revisiting ‘Place Where Our Story Began'

Danielle Jonas, 38, Stuns in String Bikini While Revisiting 'Place Where Our Story Began' originally appeared on Parade. Danielle Jonas, 38, the stunning wife of Kevin Jonas—he's one-third of the Jonas Brothers trio alongside brothers Joe and Nick—gave fans a glimpse inside the couple's summer vacation to the Bahamas. The mom of two absolutely stunned in an itsy-bitsy bikini, showing off her seriously toned abs while revisiting the Bahamas, where the couple first met in 2007. Fans loved tagging along on Kevin and Danielle Jonas' vacation and witnessing their continued adoration for each other, 17 years after first locking a series of photos and videos shared to Instagram, captioned "Greetings from the place where our story began," Danielle looked luminous and happy alongside her pop star husband. The couple spent time yachting around the Bahamas, relaxing on stunning beaches, and sharing a stylish outfit-of-the-day moment before a night out. One fan even compared Danielle to Meghan Markle, writing in the comments, "You look a lot like Meghan. Prince Harry's wife." While fans couldn't get enough of Danielle's post-baby body (seriously, girl—tell us your secret) or the romantic sentiment of returning to the spot where their love story began, what struck many most was how Kevin looks at Danielle. The still-smitten rocker gave fans a major dose of romance inspiration."Get someone who looks at you the way Kevin looks at Danielle," one fan wrote. And just like that, Danielle and Kevin Jonas are keeping the spark alive. 🎬SIGN UP for Parade's Daily newsletter to get the latest pop culture news & celebrity interviews delivered right to your inbox🎬 Danielle Jonas, 38, Stuns in String Bikini While Revisiting 'Place Where Our Story Began' first appeared on Parade on Aug 10, 2025 This story was originally reported by Parade on Aug 10, 2025, where it first appeared. Solve the daily Crossword

Danielle Spencer, who played little sister Dee on ‘What's Happening!!,' dies at 60
Danielle Spencer, who played little sister Dee on ‘What's Happening!!,' dies at 60

CNN

time4 days ago

  • CNN

Danielle Spencer, who played little sister Dee on ‘What's Happening!!,' dies at 60

ObituariesFacebookTweetLink Follow Danielle Spencer, who played the wisecracking and tattling little sister Dee Thomas on the 1970s sitcom 'What's Happening!!' has died. Spencer died Monday at age 60 after a yearslong battle with cancer, family spokesperson Sandra Jones said. As Dee, Spencer was the smarter, more serious younger sister who offered a steady stream of deadpan roasts of big brother Roger 'Raj' Thomas and his friends Dwayne Nelson and Freddie 'Rerun' Stubbs. 'Ooh, I'm gonna tell mama,' would become Dee's catchphrase. The show, set in the Los Angeles neighborhood of Watts and among the first on television to focus on the lives of Black teenagers, was based on the movie 'Cooley High' and ran on ABC from 1976 to 1979. It had a long legacy thanks to its memorable characters, including the geeky Raj, the catchphrase-spouting Dwayne, the red-bereted dancing phenom Rerun, and Dee with her eyerolls and icy stare. Early in the production of the show's first season, Spencer, then 12, was in a major car accident on the Pacific Coast Highway in Malibu, California, that left her in a coma for three weeks and killed her stepfather, Tim Pelt. She would have spinal and neurological problems that would require multiple surgeries in the years afterward. In 2018, she had emergency surgery for a bleeding hematoma, which stemmed from that 1977 car crash. In the immediate aftermath, a family spokesperson said she could only speak slightly and had to use crutches to walk. She had been suffering symptoms from at least 2004, when she had to use a wheelchair and relearn how to walk. In 2014, she was diagnosed with breast cancer and had a double mastectomy. Spencer also appeared on a mid-1980s reboot of the show, 'What's Happening Now!!,' which ran for three seasons. She went on to become a veterinarian and advocate for animals. She attended the University of California, Davis, and UCLA, and got a doctorate in veterinary medicine from Tuskegee University in 1993. Spencer continued to dabble in acting, including an appearance as a veterinarian in the 1997 Jack Nicholson film 'As Good as it Gets.'

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