Word: bohemianized
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...that stands out on Butterfly-and not just because so much of the album is monotonous tripe-is a jazzy novelty called "The Roof," essentially a narrative description of a late night rendezvous above a city sky-line. Like Badu, D'Angelo and other artists in the rising Black Bohemian movement, Mariah shows a willingness to glide through her whole vocal range, layer her melodies and isolate a specific moment of romantic rapture. The idiosyncratic rhymes and loose rhythm track help make the song as unique and attention-getting as most of the other songs are plastic and disposable...
...pinch you can do this with a kazoo and a bullhorn) and some rock-climbing gear. Climb to the roof of your building and have a roommate lower you down to a position just outside your upstairs neighbors' window while they are sleeping. Then play and sing Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody ("Galileo! Galileo! Galileo! Figaro!" -that one) until the police come. Do this every morning until your neighbors buy a firearm, and your problem will be solved: You will soon be enrolled at another college or a state-run institution...
...from its last pile of ashes. Two of the key organizers quit last year after one young man died in the chaos and dust storm churned up by thousands of vehicles driving every which way on the roadless flats of Black Rock Desert. The karma of mayoring such a bohemian city was more than they bargained for. But Larry Harvey, a visionary in the classic sense of the word, is undaunted. "They told us it would fall apart at 1,000 people," he says. "Then at 5,000. But we could have a million people and still make...
...challenging not only by virtue of its grand themes but also because of its schizoid scenes and violent characters. Baal is the name of a fertility god, but this play, full of images of rotting food and flesh, charts the progression of an over-ripe and destructive appetite. The bohemian poet, Baal (Daniel Sussner '00), is an enormously charismatic man who desires to eat, fuck, experience and be everything, ultimately even death itself. He is forever yearning for the infinite "purple sky" and the "dark river" as he hurls himself through life. He despises the world of unctuous critics...
Writer Robert Clark was nothing I expected. The amiable man dressed in khaki cords, a trendy blue Henley, and a wholesome brown bomber jacket walking toward me was not the image I had formed from reading his introspective first novel, In the Deep Midwinter. Here was no disturbed bohemian artist or shy quirky man with a stammer, Robert Clark was startlingly normal...