Michael Tedder

"I wrote this song 14 years ago,” says Ted Leo, gazing at his tiny audience. “There would be nights that I would look at the setlist and think, ‘I can’t believe I have to do this fucking song again.'” He grimaces. “And then I do, and I think, ‘I’m glad I kept it on the set list.'”

On November 9, while you were nursing your Election Day hangover, Elisabeth Moss was up at 6:00 a.m. to shoot an episode of The Handmaid's Tale, Hulu's dystopian—and eerily prescient—fable of patriarchy run rampant, and one of the most anticipated TV events of the year.

Stan Lee, legendary comic writer and co-creator of iconic Marvel superheroes such as Spider-Man, X-Men, Iron Man and the Incredible Hulk, is a spry 94 years old, and he’s still trying to outdo himself career-wise.

It had been a tough couple of years for Chris Elliott and Adam Resnick when they sat down at the Fox office. As far as they knew, no one even watched their show, Get a Life. But, somehow, the meeting went better than expected.

In the summer of 2015, a few days after the Supreme Court made legal same-sex marriage the law of the land, the ever-progressive David Byrne hosted an event called “Contemporary Color” at Brooklyn’s Barclays Center.

We come here today to praise brevity, concision and getting to the point already. So in the spirit of this enterprise, let us dispense with any further preamble and get right to the point: in this age of streaming-service bloat and seemingly endless albums, artists need to remember that the platonic ideal for a release is eight songs.

It’s a frigid Saturday night in mid-March, and some of the most popular and beloved figures to ever emerge from the Boston alternative rock music scene — including Belly, Juliana Hatfield, Lemonheads frontman Evan Dando, and Buffalo Tom’s Bill Janovitz — are all under the same roof for the first time in decades to play a fundraiser for the American Civil Liberties Union.

The Stranger Things breakout opens up (and hops in the tub) on the eve of his first—and certainly not last—stint as a mainstream leading man

What happens when comedy's biggest loser finally starts winning?​

I got married a few years ago. As part of my bachelor party, my kind and thoughtful friends paraded me around the Williamsburg, Brooklyn area — where at the time I lived, and which since 2000 has had the reputation of being the epicenter of the American hipster — while wearing the following lovingly assembled uniform that my friends had gone to great length to purchase from eBay: camouflage parachute pants with tiny America flags emblazoned upon them; a baseball cap sporting the Black Eyed Peas logo; and, the piece de resistance, a 2009 Nickelback tour T-shirt.

There's a small plastic turtle on the dashboard of Cayetana's old blue van. Her name is Tracy. She wears red glasses and does a little side-to-side dance. The van's name is "Fast Car," after the Tracy Chapman hit that the band cranks every time they head out to the next...

While growing up in the small Texas town of Temple, the man who wrote “Don’t Make Me a Target” often felt like had a bullseye on his back.

Earlier this year, 57% of Disney shareholders approved a compensation package for CEO Bob Iger that will be worth as much as $35 million. That’s for one year’s worth of work, mind you.

At the beginning of 1991, the Replacements were in a bad place. The beloved Midwestern punks were weathering a mixed reception for their most recent album All Shook Down, they had recently fired drummer Chris Mars and were in the protracted process of breaking up.

In 2015, Charly Bliss had self-released a three-song EP called Soft Serve and were more than content to play tiny Brooklyn venues whenever the opportunity arose. “We were crushing it,” says drummer Sam Hendricks. “Spike Hill on a Tuesday.”