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Kurt Vile Finds Inspiration in Philadelphia

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Kurt Vile Finds Inspiration in Philadelphia

Late at night, after his wife and his two teenage daughters go to bed, Kurt Vile heads down to the recording studio he built in the basement of his house in Philadelphia. He calls it OKV Central — “OKV” stands for Overnite Kurt Vile — and he rolls with the flow from midnight to 3 a.m.

“I get a lot of my KV world and my KV mind together around then,” Vile said as he showed me around the rooms stuffed with analog audio gear, instruments, amplifiers, effects pedals, stacks of cassettes and paperback biographies of his musical heroes. “I’ll be staying up late listening to whatever, you know. Recording loops on the fly. Songs come to me.”

Vile, 46, is the slacker poet of modern indie rock, with a clean guitar sound and conversational lyrics. He is a shy man who, until recently, had a habit of hiding himself from concert audiences behind his long mop of hair. On a warm afternoon in May, he seemed to be doing his best to be outgoing in the hours we spent together.

He started out more than 25 years ago, making bedroom recordings and passing out his homemade CD-Rs to fellow music nerds. In the 2010s, he graduated to professional recording studios, releasing low-key underground hits like “Pretty Pimpin’” and an offbeat album of duets with the Australian singer Courtney Barnett. He earned favorable comparisons to older artists like Neil Young and gained fans among younger artists like Role Model.

Vile’s new album, “Philadelphia’s been good to me” (Verve Records), which comes out May 29, was largely made here in the basement with his band, the Violators. The bassist, Adam Langellotti, set up the equipment, including a vintage mixing board Vile scored from the R.E.M. producer Mitch Easter.

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“I’m really coasting at home, self-producing, hanging out with my friends,” he said.

Though not quite a concept album, “Philadelphia’s been good to me” is full of lyrical references to his home city. “I wanted to call out Philly as my town, put it in writing,” Vile said. He grew up in nearby Lansdowne. Except for a stint in Boston, where he followed his girlfriend (now wife) as she attended college, he has spent his adult life here.

In addition to this two-story fieldstone house in the Mt. Airy neighborhood that he shares with his wife, Suzanne Lang, and their daughters, Vile has KV chill zones in a warehouse in nearby Germantown and a rowhouse in Northern Liberties. He has shot several music videos around town, including one for his latest single, “Chance to Bleed,” which was filmed in Fishtown, at the music venue Kung Fu Necktie.

“The older I get,” Vile said, “the more I know every nook and cranny of the city.”

The love flows both ways. The city honored him by declaring Aug. 28, 2013, Kurt Vile Day. The Philadelphia-born street artist Stephen Powers, who goes by ESPO, painted a Kurt Vile mural in Fishtown. (It became a local scandal when someone defaced it.)

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The release of his Philadelphia-centric album seemed like a good enough excuse to bump around town together. Vile was dressed in jeans, purple sneakers and a Waylon Jennings T-shirt — his meet-the-press outfit. He had done some laundry the night before so he would have options for a photo shoot scheduled for later that day.

“My quote-unquote style is whatever’s at the top of the pile,” Vile said, letting loose a quick, loud whoop of a laugh.

Around 2 p.m., he suggested we take a ride to Northern Liberties, where he spent his formative years. “Lotta friendly ghosts there,” he said. He mentioned that we could stop in for lunch at one of his favorite places, Honey’s Sit ’n Eat.

He stepped outside, into the sunshine, and slid behind the wheel of his car, a 2012 Prius with road rash and a bumper sticker that reads “Blow up your TV” — a John Prine lyric. These days, he said, he is often behind the wheel of the Prius as he chauffeurs his daughters to their many activities. “What it’s got is a CD player, which is priceless,” Vile said.

He cued up a mix he had burned. The song that came on was “Red Apples” by Smog. “We’re going to take Lincoln Drive to Kelly Drive,” he said, noting that the route would takes us along the Schuylkill River. “That’s the beauty. That gets you set.”

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Vile sings about this particular drive on “Zoom 97,” the new album’s opening track. Like a lot of his best songs, it is delivered in a mellow drawl over reverb-soaked guitars and electronic sounds. Hearing it, you feel light enough to float away.

Jump in my whip

My engine whines

Zigzag my way

Down Lincoln Drive

His lyrics have a funny specificity. Elsewhere on the album, on the song “99 BPM,” he sings: “It was 2012, but it felt like 2014.”

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We drove past the Philadelphia Museum of Art and the Rocky Balboa statue, toward Spring Garden Street. “Spring Garden,” he said. “This was always my main hub.”

For more than a decade, starting in the early 2000s, Vile and his wife lived in this part of town. He built a fan base while working as a forklift driver for the Philadelphia Brewing Company. He left the job in 2009, the same year he signed with Matador Records. The couple left the neighborhood for practical reasons: They had kids, and it was impossible to find parking. Now, the area is filled with newly built condos and trendy restaurants.

“Northern Liberties back in ’03 was beautiful,” Vile said. “It was bombed out. It looked like a Rauschenberg painting. I didn’t think it would be built up.”

He pulled up outside Honey’s Sit ’n Eat. When he stepped toward the entrance, he seemed befuddled. The door was locked, and the windows were dark. Closing time was 2 p.m., according to a sign in the window.

“Oh, man, I could have used a secretary,” he said, embarrassed.

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It was a short drive to Johnny Brenda’s, a bar and rock club that has long served as the canteen for the city’s indie musicians and their fans. “I think I played the first show ever here,” Vile said, taking a booth by the window. Other local acts in the early 2000s included the War on Drugs and Dr. Dog. “It might have been the last organic music scene,” Vile said. “Until things got sucked into the phone.”

Vile, who said he had quit drinking and become a vegetarian, ordered a veggie burger and pierogies. He mentioned that, when he’s on tour, he subsists on pistachios.

I asked him about his childhood and upbringing. His father, an engineer for SEPTA, the commuter railroad, was a bluegrass fan and gave him a banjo at age 12. Skateboarding was an early obsession. “It was my religion,” he said. When music took over, he would ride the trolley from Lansdowne to 69th Street and find his way to the Philadelphia Record Exchange on South Street.

I asked him what he missed most about Philly when he was on tour. He answered a different question, explaining that, when he’s away from home, he doesn’t feel the need to take a city by storm. He’s content to chill on the tour bus.

While we sat face to face in the close quarters of the restaurant booth, Vile’s anxiety was more apparent. He seemed like a wild bird who had been brought indoors. It was time to get the check and bounce to a more KV-friendly environment.

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The Record Exchange had moved to a location a few blocks away. “This is Frankford Ave.,” Vile said. “If you keep going, you’ll hit the brewery where I used to work. I loaded boxes and bottled beer, Laverne-and-Shirley style.”

He stepped into the record store. There were greetings of “Dude!” all around.

“I missed Bill Callahan,” Vile said to the clerk behind the counter, referring to an in-store concert by the former singer of Smog. He sounded supremely bummed.

“Bill was rad,” the clerk said. “We sold a ton of records.”

Vile rifled through the racks and came out with a 12-inch by Le Tigre and a copy of “Their Satanic Majesties Request” by the Rolling Stones with the rare 3-D cover.

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It was late afternoon. We hopped in the Prius and headed back to Mt. Airy, where my car was parked. The windows were down. A breeze filled the car. The streets already had that hot-weather energy, everyone outside.

“I love summer nights in Philly,” Vile said. “The summer vibes are everywhere you turn.”

“Red Apples” came back around on the car stereo. He turned it up. Then my phone buzzed — a message from bummerland. It was a text from someone on Vile’s team, who said he needed to be somewhere. The photo shoot was about to happen.

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NPR staffers share their favorite fiction reads of 2026 so far

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NPR staffers share their favorite fiction reads of 2026 so far

Facts by day, fiction by night! At the end of a long day in the newsroom, many of our journalists head home and escape into novels of all types. We asked our NPR colleagues what fiction they’ve enjoyed reading so far this year, and these are the titles they shared. (You can also check out their nonfiction picks here; and sign up for our Books newsletter for weekly recommendations.)

A Bad, Bad Place by Frances Crawford

A Bad, Bad Place by Frances Crawford

The opening chapter of A Bad, Bad Place is delivered in a short burst. We are presented with three characters — Janey, her nana, Sid Vicious (the rescue dog) — and one heck of a predicament. As 12-year-old Janey states: “It’s Sid’s fault that I found the dead body.” It becomes her job to unwind the mystery of her discovery in her rough neighborhood in 1979 Glasgow, Scotland. Recalling what she saw (and admitting what she didn’t tell police) is key. Frances Crawford shapes this world with such care and love, even in tough circumstances. Read this book. — Shannon Rhoades, supervising senior editor, Weekend Edition

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A Perfect Hand by Ayelet Waldman

A Perfect Hand by Ayelet Waldman

The hero of A Perfect Hand is Miss Alice Lockey, lady’s maid to Lady Jemima Alderwick. Alice falls in love with Charlie Wells, who is the valet to the eccentric Lord Wynstowe, but for the two to be together, they must devise a plot to bring about an unlikely romantic union between their employers, who, naturally, hate each other. What starts as a classic marriage plot, though, evolves into a very different, more complex story. Alice, you see, has been reading about the burgeoning women’s rights movement in her 19th-century England. And maybe, just maybe, she has begun to imagine a future for herself that — gasp! — might not involve marriage after all. — Samantha Balaban, senior producer, Weekend Edition

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Cherry Baby: A Novel by Rainbow Rowell

Cherry Baby by Rainbow Rowell

This is the first novel I’ve read that asks: How do you navigate being fat in a GLP-1-crazed world? And on top of unwanted fame and changing marital expectations? Fortunately, Cherry, Rainbow Rowell’s hero, is proudly fat and fierce, which helps when her husband, Tom, creates a semi-autobiographical comic with a character who looks so much like Cherry (double chin and all) that strangers recognize her. It becomes a hit, and Tom goes to Hollywood, leaving Cherry behind with the dog. But she refuses to stay downtrodden — I found Cherry’s spirit irresistible. — Emiko Tamagawa, senior producer, Here & Now

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Cry Havoc: A Novel by Rebecca Wait

Cry Havoc by Rebecca Wait

There’s a whole genre of books set in quaint British boarding schools (the Harry Potter series, Tom Brown’s School Days, etc.). Cry Havoc is nothing like any of them. Set in a dilapidated, fifth-rate girls school in the 1980s, this dark and hilarious novel follows a teenage student, Ida Campbell, as she eats inedible school dinners, rooms with a hostile and self-destructive roommate and grapples with a bizarre epidemic that causes members of the student body to jerk their arms and legs uncontrollably. The book also contains one of the most brilliant, side-splitting scenes set at a school play ever written. — Chloe Veltman, correspondent, Society & Culture Desk

Dear Monica Lewinsky: A Novel

Dear Monica Lewinsky by Julia Langbein

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This is the only novel of the hundreds I have read where I reread the ending three times: It was that satisfying! Julia Langbein’s comic romp takes us through the summer of 1998, when a college student is out of her depth in a study abroad program surveying the iconography of minor medieval French churches. She’s also out of her head with desire for one of her teachers, mirroring a certain political scandal erupting in the U.S. Who’s she gonna call on decades later when the teacher’s retirement sends her into a middle-aged tailspin? Saint Monica Lewinsky, of course! Insightful, hilarious and, in the end, everybody gets exactly what they deserve. — Melissa Gray, senior producer, Weekend Edition

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What’s the deal with … microdosing Ozempic?

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What’s the deal with … microdosing Ozempic?

It doesn’t take much these days to fall down a GLP-1 rabbit hole on the internet. TikTok, Instagram, Facebook and Reddit all feature streams of testimonials from people touting the miracle — and warning of the risks — of GLP-1 drugs like Ozempic and Wegovy.

In recent years, microdosing — taking smaller doses than what’s generally prescribed for obesity and diabetes — has also cultivated a cult-like following online. Microdosing advocates claim it can help with weight loss by reducing cravings, better metabolic health, reduce inflammation, enhance mood and cognitive function, and even potentially improve longevity, all while coming with less side effects and being more affordable than larger doses.

Microdosing GLP-1s began emerging as a trend after Wegovy, an Ozempic competitor, was approved by the FDA for obesity in 2021. (Previously, Ozempic was being used for weight loss, but had only been approved for diabetes.) In the years following approval, a growing number of household names from Oprah to Elon Musk spoke publicly about their positive experiences using GLP-1s for weight loss. This fueled an exponential growth in interest among the public, but not everyone qualifies for GLP-1s through their insurance or can afford them, even if they do.

All of the major brand-name medications people currently use for weight loss are based on one of two molecules: semaglutide or tirzepatide, and most are self-injected weekly. Ozempic and Wegovy contain semaglutide, which works by mimicking a hormone called GLP-1 that helps regulate appetite and blood sugar. Mounjaro and Zepbound contain tirzepatide, which targets that hormone plus another one involved in metabolism.

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The price of weight loss

Brand name GLP-1s cost around $10,000 per year or more if paid for out of pocket, and around $300 to $1,200 per year if covered by insurance. Many insurance plans, however, will only pay for GLP-1s if a person has a diagnosis of diabetes, not obesity. On top of that, one of the biggest complaints about GLP-1s, when taken according to the standard doses approved by the FDA — is that they cause side effects such as nausea, diarrhea and fatigue. Influencers, everyday people and even some medical professionals online now recommend microdosing as a potential solution.

“In three weeks, I have lost 7 pounds and [have] very few side effects. Before now I was terrified of them. They put my husband on [a] standard dose for diabetes and he was just so sick,” reads a Reddit post by MenloShark25, who says they’re receiving their prescription through telehealth provider Midi.

“I’m microdosing. I’m on week 4 of [semaglutide] and my mind is blown,” reads another Reddit post by palenesslitethesky. “I feel so much better than I expected to. The microdosing is great for me because I was super scared about getting constipated. I am down 9 pounds and my tastes changed. I was addicted to sugar!! Addicted. Now I hardly want sugar.”

The DIY injections boom

In 2025, following the surge of anecdotal reports online about microdosing, a number of telehealth companies such as Fridays, Noom and Found Health started offering GLP-1 protocols at lower doses and lower costs. Previously, people who were taking smaller doses of GLP-1s were either getting them “off label” from a physician — which means they were prescribed, but not based on the protocols approved by the FDA — or getting them illegally online and figuring out how to take them on their own. One controversial aspect of microdosing GLP-1s is that, when they’re taken in smaller doses, they often come from compounding pharmacies that make their own versions of FDA-approved drugs. This allows for dose customization but isn’t subject to the same reviews for safety, efficacy or consistency, and may carry added risks related to quality control, potency variation or contamination.

For people like Monika Awadalla, however, they feel they have no choice but to find GLP-1s on their own, unable to afford the cost of treatment through a physician. Awadalla, a 31-year-old caretaker living in Huntington Beach, has been buying a compounded tirzepatide from an illegal manufacturer in China that she connected with through a Facebook group about a year and a half ago. In that time, she’s gone from 245 pounds to 140 pounds.

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“I’m extremely happy now,” she says. “I don’t need to stay home, I’m not embarrassed, I’m already looking forward to summer. Everything is just in its right place.” The manufacturer, who communicates on encrypted messaging boards such as Telegram and Signal, charges $290 for 10 vials of compounded tirzepatide, which will last Awadalla about a year.

Based on stories like Awadalla’s, it’s no wonder so many people are curious about microdosing GLP-1s through their doctor, telehealth companies and illegal suppliers. But do we have enough information yet on the benefits and risks? Here’s the deal.

A doctor’s take

For now, there’s no scientific studies looking at the efficacy and safety of microdosing GLP-1s. Dr. Shauna Levy, medical director for the Tulane Weight Loss Center, says that doesn’t mean it doesn’t work, but that the medical community just doesn’t know. Even if it does cause weight loss or a reduction in inflammation, she says, it’s unclear whether those results will persist long-term or whether the practice causes harm.

One of the biggest problems with the term “microdosing,” as it pertains to GLP-1s, Levy says, is that it’s “vague,” and there’s no consensus on what it’s referring to. “Microdosing GLP-1s is almost becoming this buzz word that carries inconsistent meaning. I think there are many people who are using it as a marketing tool because they want people to think you’re not on a full dose of a GLP-1,” she says. “But if we’re really talking about treating obesity, those microdosing doses are not going to be effective for most people, and so I worry people are going to pay for it cause it’s cheaper and then it’s not going to work for them and they’re going to think ‘here’s one more thing that’s not working for me.’”

Levy says GLP-1s, when prescribed correctly, are “fantastic” for treating obesity. In her patients, gastrointestinal effects are common but generally tolerable. She also believes that it’s important to expand the criteria for obesity so that more people qualify for these drugs through the proper channels, but says it’s crucial that patients receive ongoing care from a medical professional who has been licensed by the American Board of Obesity Medicine. “A lot of GLP-1s are being prescribed by untrained in obesity professionals,” Levy says. “My No. 1 issue is who is prescribing it.”

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Dr. Sara Siavoshi, a board-certified obesity, neurology and headache specialist, treats about 5,000 patients in her practice. She estimates 30 to 40% of them are microdosing either tirzepatide or semaglutide. Siavoshi defines a microdose as “the lowest dose of a GLP-1 that lowers food noise without causing any significant weight loss.” Food noise, a term used in obesity medicine, refers to chronic unwanted thoughts that make healthful choices (both about how much to eat and what to eat) difficult. If the GLP-1 dosage leads to more weight loss than 3 or 4 pounds, she says, then she doesn’t define it as a microdose. She says most people seem to think a microdose means an amount that’s lower than what’s commercially available, but in her practice, she hasn’t seen it benefit most of her patients when doing that. Generally, she’s found success in putting people on the lowest commercially available dose of a GLP-1. “I’ll tell you the patient satisfaction rate is extremely high and patients are very, very happy on these meds,” Siavoshi says. In addition to reducing food noise, her primary goal is to lower inflammation in patients with autoimmune conditions.

Siavoshi emphasizes the importance of working with someone who has been trained in obesity medicine, pointing to the American Board of Obesity Medicine’s website, where patients can look up their providers and make sure that they’re certified. She’s not opposed, she said, to all online platforms providing care, but says it’s essential to be getting consistent support from someone who can put together a treatment plan and be there throughout the process.

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Did you know? Alan Greenspan and Ayn Rand were close friends

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Did you know? Alan Greenspan and Ayn Rand were close friends

Alan Greenspan and Ayn Rand are pictured in the Oval Office on Sept. 4, 1974, after Greenspan’s swearing in as Chairman of the Council of Economic Advisors.

David Hume Kennerly/Getty Images/Hulton Archive


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David Hume Kennerly/Getty Images/Hulton Archive

One of the most important intellectual relationships in the life of Alan Greenspan, the prominent former central banker who died Monday, was with author Ayn Rand, whose 1957 novel Atlas Shrugged has become a perennial favorite among conservatives and which the Library of Congress named as one of the books that has shaped America.

The two first met when he was in his mid-twenties and she was in her forties, and already well-established via her 1943 novel The Fountainhead, which had been a best-seller. They were introduced through Greenspan’s then-wife, the Canadian art historian Joan Mitchell. Mitchell was a close friend of the wife of Nathaniel Branden. Branden was Rand’s protege and longtime lover.

Greenspan and Mitchell wed in 1952, but divorced within a year. By contrast, Greenspan’s relationship with Rand was far more lasting: they remained friends until her death in 1982.

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Through the Branden connection, Greenspan joined Rand’s “Collective,” a small group of friends and thinkers who would gather regularly at Rand’s midtown Manhattan apartment to discuss politics, world events and ideas. He became a Collective regular.

According to Greenspan’s 2007 memoir, The Age of Turbulence: Adventures in a New World, Rand nicknamed Greenspan “the undertaker” early on in their friendship, thanks to his penchant for dark suits and his sober demeanor.

His dour reputation was at odds with his early artistic pursuits. He was a talented musician. Before pursuing an economics degree at New York University, he enrolled at Juilliard to study clarinet, and as a teenager played in a swing band alongside jazz legend-to-be Stan Getz. His musical tastes were just as conservative as his politics, however: in his memoir, he dismissed almost every form of post-big band popular music as “on the edge of noise.”

Greenspan wrote for Rand’s magazine, The Objectivist, including contributing an influential essay on the gold standard in 1966 that was later reprinted in her book Capitalism: The Unknown Ideal. When he was sworn in as chairman of the Council of Economic Advisers during the Ford administration, it was Rand who stood with him, along with Rand’s husband, Frank O’Connor, and Greenspan’s mother Rose Goldsmith.

“Ayn Rand became a stabilizing force in my life,” he wrote in his memoir. “She was a wholly original thinker, sharply analytical, strong-willed, highly principled, and very insistent on rationality as the highest value. In that regard, our values were congruent – we agreed on the importance of mathematics and intellectual rigor.”

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