Word: facelessly
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...some of country music’s old-hands. Unfortunately, the transplant doesn’t take. It appears that Ms. Marshall was meant to be a city kitty, not a country cousin. Instead of her previous idiosyncratic and intensely appealing emotional girl-chants, here she turns in some faceless performances. Sweet, yes, but far too discreet. There’s little passion in her voice, and as a result, the tracks float by without distinguishing themselves. Part of the problem is Marshall’s slightly husky baritone. Within the structure of her higher-pitched and more rock-like...
...best anthology of the year only promises to get better as the biannual book-sized series continues to nurture some of the medium's most interesting young talent. The series perfectly balances the more avante garde works of an artist like Anders Nilsen whose faceless characters pose against photographic backgrounds while musing on the nature of reality, with more straightforward work like Andrice Arp's delightful adaptation of Japanese folktales. Where most anthologies have, at best, a 50/50 hit/miss ratio, Mome manages to be all-hit, don't miss...
Whether or not students care enough to pay attention to the machinations of our university in the communities of others, one day these tenants will either be our next-door neighbors—or faceless families we’ve just displaced from their homes. And many of them are saying they’re not willing to just pack up and go somewhere else at Harvard’s bidding...
...both his literary and cinematic forebears: Frank Bascombe in “The Sportswriter”’ and Lester Burnham in “American Beauty”’ both come to mind. Unlike these men, however, whose alienation stems in part from being faceless strangers in the crowd, Spritz is a celebrity. Like any average Joe, he’s constantly screwing up with his kids and wife, but these mistakes are all the more pathetic in light of his glib on-camera persona. Though the depressive aspect of Cage’s character risks...
Hilles Library I loved. That palace of glass, that heirloom of Radcliffe, eyrie of learning, bastion of browsing, birthdom of our memories, is now left decimated by the faceless hordes of Harvard College, tomes torn up for fancy résumés and paper airplanes. Dark Age gargoyles, awful epigones: Weep, you undergraduates, if you have tears to spill...