Word: bleatingly
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Seventeen-minute opener “The Sun” sets the tone for the rest of the album, working gradually from silence into frantic tribal beating that is suddenly interrupted by Elvrum’s acapella bleat. Abrasive feedback makes the transition into “Solar System,” only to morph into the welcome sounds of a running river and melodic, lightly strummed guitar. The album’s climax hits with the title track, where layers of dramatic vocals mix with jarring drum loops in an almost sacred blend that recalls Radiohead?...
...carrot stick, whip her curly hair over her shoulder and issue a modest decree. It is worth paying attention to these pronouncements, even though Twain, who is Canadian and thus constitutionally averse to star trips, never quite means what she says. On a brisk October night, with the bleat of Paris traffic in her ears, the Twain fiat is this: she is going to stop singing in public. "I never burned to perform, and I don't care if I ever perform again," she says. "I have no need to do that...
...their own hands. Few ever expected a Republican Administration to make global poverty reduction a priority. Europeans like to think better of themselves. But ask the French and Germans for more foreign aid, and they will reply that budgets are tight. Ask the British, and they will bleat that they have this terrific new "Marshall Plan" to reduce poverty but that Washington will not endorse it. Ask Europeans to open their markets to farm products from the developing world, and they will make you weep with tales of the miseries their own farmers endure...
...their own hands. Few ever expected a Republican Administration to make global poverty reduction a priority. Europeans like to think better of themselves. But ask the French and Germans for more foreign aid, and they will reply that budgets are tight. Ask the British, and they will bleat that they have this terrific new "Marshall Plan" to reduce poverty but that Washington will not endorse it. Ask Europeans to open their markets to farm products from the developing world, and they will make you weep with tales of the miseries their own farmers endure...
...It’s not simply a matter of laziness or apathy: I like playing Casanova, and half the fun is planning a surprise. And it has nothing to do with the injustice Valentine’s Day inflicts upon poor singles, left to commiserate with one another and bleat ceaselessly about their wretched condition. Please, spare me the self-pity...