Word: delights
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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Commissar's Delight. Composer Khachaturian's music is the kind that goes over well with commissars-because it also goes over well with the crowds. It has, like Tchaikovsky's music, melody, bounce and color-and basically banal themes. Khachaturian's life in a bureaucracy is therefore not as complicated as that of his musical betters, Prokofiev, the sophisticated ex-exile, or jittery Dmitri Shostakovich, whose musical talents are wrenched by ideology. In the most recent sampling of Russian musical tastes, Khachaturian works proved to be the second most frequently performed in the U.S.S.R. (first, Prokofiev...
...high spot of vocal gymnastics spoke most strongly for the Princeton Club. Barely any "falling apart" or less of unison accompanied the tricky arpeggios in Beethoven's "Oh, What Delight," the Prisoners Chorus from "Fidelio," "Maiden Fair" suffered from the basses and "My Lovely Celia" from the inarticulate delivery of the lyric...
...September Henry R. Shepley '10 had turned over in behalf of his firm a tentative set of blueprints based on the Council's suggestions. The plans sent cold shivers of quizzical delight up the spines of those boosters who got a look. Shepley's fertile imagination had produced sketches of a six-story high main building connecting to a 2000-capacity theater wing. It was all wonderful, but like peace, how could it be realized...
...Lipsett, Inc. sent Big Jim to Pittsburgh to help clear away the wreckage of the Pittsburgh & West Virginia Railway's old Wabash Station, which had been swept by an $8,000,000 fire in 1946. With his 40-ton crane and his wrecking ball, Big Jim was the delight of Pittsburgh's sidewalk superintendents. Every day, hundreds of people gathered to watch him work. The Pittsburgh Press ran a Sunday feature story about Big Jim. The story said that he was "the best free show in town...
...departure." Instead of honor and recognition, his Fleurs du Mal brought him ignominy, and a court order suppressing six of the poems as obscene. Five years later came the crisis in his long descent towards damnation; on Jan. 23, 1862, he wrote, "I have cultivated my hysteria with delight and terror . . . and today I have received a singular warning. I have felt the wind of the wing of madness pass over me." Baudelaire was dying slowly of syphilis...