Word: frets
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Dates: during 1990-1999
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...both verse and technology, with Vega's haunting images now pegged to electronic percussion and warped-sounding keyboards. Two of the more raucous songs, Rock in This Pocket and Fat Man and Dancing Girl, are even hot enough to hit the dance circuit. But unvarnished Vega fans need not fret: the album still sports tunes like Blood Sings, in which she breaks from technopop and delivers straight folk with Dylanesque force...
Sinead shifts gears and plays Big Band crooner on "Secret Love" and kicks Harry Connick Jr.'s ass. Unfortunately, she is not as successful with "Black Coffee," a blues/jazz lament. Lines like "Woman's born to weep and fret/ To stay at home and tend her oven/And drown her past regrets in coffee and cigarrettes" are delivered without irony, which is as shame since O'Connor doesn't believe this song and it shows...
...WEEK PAMELA BASU WORRIED about how well her 22-month-old daughter Sarina would adjust to her first day at school. Basu told her supervisor she might be late to work that day, but not to fret: she would just need a little extra time to comfort her daughter and ease the separation. When the day arrived, Basu secured her daughter in the car seat, climbed behind the wheel of her pale gold BMW and drove off, edging to a halt at a nearby stop sign. At that moment, the peaceful town of Savage, Maryland, lost the irony...
...Americans again fret whether the U.S. can survive changes brought by immigration, it is heartening to revisit the songs of Irving Berlin, a Russian Jewish immigrant whose words and music, from God Bless America to White Christmas to There's No Business Like Show Business, prove how readily and deeply he resonated with the spirit of his new nation. His work is gloriously celebrated in SAY IT WITH MUSIC at New York City's ritziest nightclub, Rainbow & Stars, on the 65th story of NBC's building in Rockefeller Center. A cast of seven led by Kaye Ballard performs 47 songs...
...This was the charge of the night brigade. But the trio might as well have been riding into the Valley of Death instead of invading the blustery pasture of America's crankiest ball park. The people who buy the tickets, whose taxes pay for the stadiums, who fantasize and fret over their team like anxious parents -- they are mighty Casey at the bat. All muscle, no magic. Strike three. You're out. Game's over. The fans...