Word: gutting
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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...many years stocky, shock-headed Metropolitan Tenor Giovanni Martinelli nursed a secret ambition to sing Tristan, most glamorous, most gut-busting of German opera roles. But in the days when Martinelli's voice was at its sweetest, Metropolitan directors always chose a throatier Teuton for the job. Last week at the Chicago Opera, 54-year-old Veteran Martinelli finally got his chance. Playing opposite buxom Kirsten Flagstad's bosom, his white hair covered with a blond wig, Tenor Martinelli sang his part without a misplaced guttural. But between towering Soprano Flagstad and the booming orchestra led by Flagstad...
...close to shore that it was deemed by the British unthinkably dangerous and not worth mining or netting. But his own account of the adventure pointed most strongly to the eastern entrance of Scapa Flow, through narrow Holm Sound, where rocks and wrecks block all but a narrow gut close up to the main Orkney Island of Pomona...
Like sopranos, unlike basses and baritones, tenor voices go to seed early. When golden-voiced Enrico Caruso died at 48, he had passed his prime. Jean de Reszke and gut-busting Francesco Tamagno retired at 51. But not yet retired is Giovanni Martinelli, 53, robust, white-mopped tenor who made his debut at Manhattan's Metropolitan Opera the year before the War. Never the undisputed best of the Metropolitan's chandelier-jigglers, Martinelli has been a dependable artist in an enormous repertory (57 roles). In two operas, Verdi's Otello and Halevy's La Juive, critics...
...pastel tint, they lay, deepening the bollows to a hunter emerald. So she made garden throughout the morning, busy with tulip and dahlia tubers, hollybook plants to draw the bees, and the bitter tansy. The grocery boy came by with news of a herring run down at the Gut. He sniffed. "Seems like it's spring, I guess." "Ayea," game her noncommittal assent from, the kitchen door...
...Nova Scotia coast. To Seaman Fred Bourque, on the bow watch, the fog seemed to thicken as dawn came. Suddenly, 20 feet dead ahead, a great silhouette showed. Fred Bourque shouted a warning to Billy Oilman at the wheel, ran aft. In less time than it takes to gut a cod the Isabelle Parker had piled halfway through the Gloucesterman Edith C. Rose, southbound with her hold stuffed with catch from Brown's Bank. The watch below came tumbling up in undershirts. They saw that it was over for both ships...