newyorker.com
Bikram yoga is not a cult. But the story of its charismatic, and now disgraced, founder has cultish contours.
over 5 years ago
newyorker.com
There are few things as nourishing as the human voice, especially during a quarantine.
almost 4 years ago
newyorker.com
For Adams, Tuesday included a momentous vote, a P.R. gaffe, and a promise to bring New York together.
about 2 years ago
newyorker.com
The star of Sundance TV’s “State of the Union” chats over Jack-and-gingers about her crush on Brendan Gleeson, improvising with Stanley Tucci, and never getting married—or divorced.
almost 2 years ago
newyorker.com
Short reviews of recent releases.
almost 2 years ago
newyorker.com
The new podcast from Serial Productions is a careful, moving investigation of a British scandal. But it’s also the story of its own making.
almost 2 years ago
newyorker.com
The garden-wide installation “For the Birds” features site-specific birdhouses made by thirty-three artists, including a cloudlike construction by the Indian-born, New York-based designer Sourabh Gupta.
over 1 year ago
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After the death of the Velvet Underground front man, two archivists and his widow, Laurie Anderson, discovered a mysterious sealed package from 1965. Inside was treasure: never-before-heard, folky versions of “Heroin” and other classics.
over 1 year ago
newyorker.com
A collection of articles about 11 from The New Yorker, including news, in-depth reporting, commentary, and analysis.
4 months ago
newyorker.com
We’ve been reminded of late night’s value a few times in recent years: first, circa the post-Letterman, post-Leno, post-Conan, post-Jon Stewart “Daily Show” changing of the guard, then during the Trump Administration, the pandemic, and then the strike. In the midst of a crisis, great late-night TV can feel like catharsis, even a kind of lifeline. The W.G.A. and SAG-AFTRA strikes, though not a pandemic-level crisis, have been a public reckoning with inequality and the economics of the digital age…
4 months ago
newyorker.com
“We didn’t know we were poor,” Manilow, a youthful-looking eighty, said. He wore a black coat, spoke in a quiet, raspy voice, and took occasional drags from a vape pen. He waved it toward a young Orthodox woman who was opening the front door of a bustling prewar building where his family had lived. “The Mayflower—that’s where I hung out most of the time.” (He released “Here at the Mayflower,” an album imagining the lives of the building’s residents, in 2001.) He lived in an apartment with his gr…
3 months ago