Word: chord
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Downbeat. In Springfield, Ill., Symphony Conductor Constantine Johns, raising his arms for the opening chord of Faust, dislocated his back, spent the next six weeks in the hospital...
...describe this fustian piece: "It is he, the Hero, and he has been drinking again. He is in E flat, and his cuffs are soiled by numerous dissonances . . . Four plain-clothes detectives come in on a sharp glissando, and, seizing the Hero, throw over his head a dark-tasting chord . . ." Performance: good. Suite from Der Rosenkavalier (Philadelphia Orchestra, Eugene Ormandy conducting; Columbia, 6 sides). Some of the pleasantest music Richard Strauss ever wrote, pleasingly played. Recordings: good...
With the final chord of the Prelude to Die Meister singer, the courtly figure on the podium put down his baton, bowed elegantly to his audience, and strode from the stage. The orchestra and audience remained in their seats, but Serge Koussevitzky did not return. In his place, amid a sudden hush, gold-spectacled Henry Cabot, president of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, slowly mounted the stage. The word had already gotten out that Harry Cabot had a very special announcement to make, and most of the audience had a good idea of what...
...common chord struck in all the stories-sex not as sensual experience but as a disturbing drive that leads people to behavior they can hardly control and but dimly understand. In one beautiful tale, The Babes in the Wood, O'Connor enters the shadow-world of painfully solemn, almost preternatural children who suffer from their elders' illicit affairs. O'Connor's bitterest stories are implicit denunciations of the sexual attitudes-or lack of them-of the prim, provincial and pious sort of Irishwoman. When a husband, desperately annoyed with his wife's unwifely reliance...
...doubt The Common Chord will be belittled by those who mistake lugubriousness for seriousness and who dismiss O'Connor as a minor writer unworthy of his master, Joyce. But to write a work of minor stature as well as O'Connor does is in itself a kind of triumph all too rare...