Word: clangor
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Before the Communists took over, the public lounged at performances, eating, chatting over the clangor of the orchestra, nursing their young, knowing the plots by heart...
...forces began relentlessly to hammer Avery with questions from the floor. Desperately, the Ward group tried to shield the old man by putting the chair in the hands of Corporation Secretary John Barr. But Wolfson stockholders insisted on answers from Avery himself, and the old man, lost in the clangor of shareholders' cowbells and the booming of loudspeakers, seemed confused, often crying out, "I can't hear...
...eventually his moment comes. An assistant director with a voice like a backfield coach bawls: "Keep it quiet now, boys. Quiet. Quiet, if you please!" A gong bangs with doomlike clangor. A horrid silence falls. "Speed," mutters the man in the bucket seat of the huge Mitchell camera, peering through its eyepieces as if appalled. Then, while the 50 hairy ones look on in a sort of belligerent despair, while the tourists stand on tiptoes, while the director and servitors of the camera lean close enough to breathe on him, the actor kneels beside a chaise longue in the awful...
Moscow applauded the Seventh Symphony at the world premiere last fall, and Pravda itself stamped it doctrinally O.K. Philadelphia's dignified matinee audience, which had half expected to be buffeted and assaulted by modernist clangor, had a pleasant enough half hour, called Conductor Ormandy back for four bows. Sergei Prokofiev had done what he had been told to do: his symphony could be understood by almost anybody on a single hearing. A Philadelphia matron summed up his last work in a sentence. "It sounds," she sighed happily, "just like Gilbert & Sullivan." For Sergei Prokofiev, the composer who once seemed...
Soon after their marriage, Wayne became a producer at Republic (two Wayne productions: The Angel and the Badman, The Bullfighter and the Lady), and the work and the talk increased proportionately. Pacing the floor of his executive's office, amid the constant clangor of telephone bells and interoffice squawkers, his quick temper frequently boils over. After one of these outbursts, he broods for a while, then seeks out his victim in contrition. "I'm always apologizing to somebody," he says. He has acquired that final badge of executive success, a gastric ulcer. In 1950, after finishing Jet Pilot...