Word: hatter
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...already thrilled audiences in more than half a dozen U.S. cities. Last week at New York City's Carnegie Hall, the Philadelphia Orchestra showed off Alice as a fantastical and captivating musical Wonderland, a patchwork of warm, catchy tunes and blaring dissonances as crazily charming as the Mad Hatter...
...weird, spacey sound not with the complex experimental music that he was then making but with funk and rhythm-and-blues. It turned into Head Hunters, made up of more conventional music that "a lot of people liked." Corea went roughly the same route. His recent Mad Hatter album, a lush blend of strings that borders on background music, has already sold 160,000 copies. "I used to hear rock 'n' roll and go 'Yech!' " says Corea. "But now I really dig Stevie Wonder and how he uses rhythm...
...struck out--on the Red Line--for a place called The Mad Hatter. Got off at South Station; got lost. Walked around through back alleys and along wharves--believe me-- wharves. Finally got to this big, flat place, nestled inside a big, flat parking...
...cent beers and Southie camaraderie are the hallmarks of this non-disco disco. The management says that since the recent institution of a dress code ("no jeans, no T-shirts, no work clothes, no sneakers, no work boots, no...."), Mad Hatter crowds have been a great deal more manageable than in the past. "If a guy's wearing a 25-dollar shirt, he's not gonna wanna get it all messed up in a fight," explains a friendly bouncer...
Most of the time, Joan Foster is the quietly unremarkable wife of a humorless student radical. In odd stolen hours, she plays mistress to an avant-garde artist who serves as a kind of latter-day Mad Hatter. From both husband and lover, Joan cleverly hides two secret shames: the fact that she produces feverishly romantic gothic novels and her pre-diet-pill memories of a miserably obese childhood. Both are telltale signs of a temperament too florid to suit the doctrinaire, modernist tastes of the men now in her life. One day, seized by a fit of automatic writing...