Word: brassed
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...soul, rather than techno. This is why it is so difficult to restrict Fatboy Slim to a certain category or musical genre. Instead, he utilizes every genre in the strangest and most appealing combinations. In "Gangster Tripping," he blends a hip-hop beat and vocals with a big band brass arrangement and a Caribbean steel drum. At times, there are so many diverse elements to a song thatmany of his innovations can only be appreciated ifcarefully heard three or four times. In sharpcontrast, on the very next track, "Build itUp--Tear at Down," cyber distortion combines witha relatively slower beat...
...Harvey's 2,000-mile framework probably demands, but which nonetheless threatens the totality of the record's spell. "The River" in particular suffers from an inertia rare for Harvey. Its loping murmur is appropriate to the title image, and it's fun to hear her tinkering with brass, but a rather rote delivery ("And they came from the river/and they came to the road") and subjective vagueness (who is "they," and why does it become "we"?) make the song tiresome and opaque...
Portrait unveilings tend to be dramatic, brass-band ceremonies held to mark the end of great political careers. So it was a bit odd that a 5-ft.-tall oil painting of Henry Hyde was unveiled two weeks ago in a ceremony off limits to the press--and just as Hyde was facing the defining test of his 40 years in politics. More than 200 people--friends, family and constituents--applauded the presentation of the image: the hulking House Judiciary Committee chairman standing between his "Turkish" leather chair and a bust of Lincoln. The likeness hangs in the committee hearing...
...smile with the sweet clarity of her Honolulu youth (Gus Kahn's 1925 Ukulele Lady). Songs like Laughing Matters, I'm Beautiful and I'm Hip give the album the sassy intimacy of a pep talk from an old friend. But Midler is not aging; those pipes are still brass-bold and silk-smooth. At 52, Bette's still best...
...Street, I never really thought about what "a den of sin" would look like. But after spending more than two hours in Big Al's on a busy Thursday night, I have a pretty good idea. Women dancing on stage wearing nothing more than spiked heels. A big, shiny brass pole. Men--some dressed in neatly pressed khakis and polo shirts, others still talking about the last long shift at the local plant--drinking beer, enjoying lap dances, burying their heads in the dancers' bare chests...