Word: echoeing
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...just simple and not very interesting and never more than John singing and playing either guitar or piano (on which he is barely competent), backed by bass and drums. Once again, Phil Spector is listed as producer, but Lennon seems to have wisely restricted him to adding echo and nothing else, giving the whole album the sound of "Instant Karma." All the songs are intensely personal, some of them resembling the feeling of "Julia." (One cut. "Look at Me," uses almost the same melody.) More interesting, however, is that half the songs have some kind of political content, which implies...
...enough when you're dealing with styles- and that is what Wolfe claims to be dealing with- but it's a pretty inadequate method of dealing with what must be recognized as a social problem. True enough, the oppression the Panthers encounter can only be heard as a distant echo within the Bernstein duplex. There is something funny in the Bernsteins' noblesse oblige. But to treat the Panthers' predicament as equally amusing- "Lenny reaches up from out of the depths of the easy chair and hands him [Don Cox] a mint . . . a puffed mint, an after-dinner mint...
...will know Blitzstein only for his adaptation and translation of the Brecht-Weill "Threepenny Opera." Few others will catch the similarities in "I've Got the Tune" between pretentious Mme. Arbutus (the advocate here of art-for-art's-sake) and Blitzstein's mother-in-law or hear the echo of his wife's suicide when, at Mr. Musiker's most despairing moment, a character jumps out the window to her death. Elite indeed will be the group that sees physical resemblance between Blitzstein and Lehrman, who has cut his hair in order to look like...
...society. Collectively, they lack the glamour of their famous predecessors, and their personal motives are different: the expatriates of the 1920s left America looking for art and excitement, while the new expatriates are avoiding the pressures and problems of American life today (see ESSAY, next page). In an unconscious echo of James, one of them-Reginald Rose, a television playwright now living in London-calls the U.S. "uncomfortable, unloving and unreal...
...Words have been my only love," says Beckett. This show is abundant proof of that. The word as dance, as flame, as dirge, as echo, as whip, as caress, as cosmic howl-they are all here, and MacGowran catches every cadence perfectly...