Nick Paumgarten

From the daily newsletter: Nick Paumgarten on saving a species. Plus: the fracturing of conservative Christians; a film-critic legend on the Hollywood slop of the sixties; and this week’s Laugh Lines.

There’s the game itself, and then there are the parties and promotions, a glad-handing orgy for the sports-entertainment complex.

The saxophonist and jazz poet (real name Angus Fairbairn) hit the jujitsu mat at a Wall Street dojo.

In a corner of McSorley’s, the J. Geils Band survivor unspools some tales: sharing pants with Bob Dylan, being David Lynch’s art-school roommate, and putting away a record thirty-seven mugs of beer.

A former community-college sociology professor, who broke into comedy as the Super 70s Sports guy on Twitter, drops by for a spot on “Gutfeld!”

For decades, an obsessive duo of guitar guys has been amassing a definitive collection. The art these objects created changed the world.

The Pavement front man passed through town with his latest project, the Hard Quartet, and showed off his one-handed backhand.

On its first American tour, the British jangle-rock band with a cheeky-dirtbag edge is trying to unite the states, one gig at a time.

Jon Griffith, a filmmaker on his third commission from Meta, has been strapping strangers into V.R. headsets in their living rooms and taking them up, up, and away.

Along with a general rebrand, the Central Park West institution is getting clad in pink granite, found—and quarried by manly men—on a wild island in Maine.