Word: kettledrumming
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...turns into a wisp of smoke." Not since Maude Adams has a famous actress cherished such a private private life. She and her husband. Stage Manager Manning Gurian. manage to live in midtown Manhattan, not ten blocks off Broadway, as quietly as two deaf theater mice in a kettledrum. They seldom go out, seldom entertain. Julie does the housework when she doesn't have a play, and takes care of the baby, Peter, who is four months old; Manning does a fair share of the cooking. "I'd like to lead a glamorous life," she says...
Making fun of everything around them, the Dadaists printed weird books and magazines with nonsense titles such as The Blind Man and Rongwrong. There was an ear-splitting kettledrum music to which devotees shrieked verses in gibberish; they built powerfully useless machines, wrote ridiculous "chemical" and "static" poems. Their art was a lunatic satire on all advance-guard art: "modern" pictures of women with matchstick faces, cut-out heads filled with grinding gears and cogs. And when they held an exhibition, they were likely to walk around with white gloves but without ties, meow like cats, carefully count the pearls...
...stork. Purists will be interested to know that two immortal lines have been exorcised. Jack Beutel once said at one point. "Don't move or I'll rip your blouse," and Jane Russell mumbles later on, "I'll keep him warm." Also missing are four lusty wallops on the kettledrum and two choruses of the first movement of Tchaikovsky's Sixth Symphony...
Arising with Drums. In the early 1900s, on every Easter morning, an orchestra hired for the occasion would roll into a kettledrum crescendo which just about lifted the roof off the Middletown (Conn.) Holy Trinity Church. It was Gounod's St. Cecilia Mass. The choir chanted: "I believe in one God . . ." Anda skinny little substitute crucifer, home from boarding school, would tell himself tremblingly: "Boy, I sure...
...bass. The feature acts, a good old square dance and the numbers the boys in the band clowned up in trick hats and phony mustaches, were strictly corny. But last week, while many another U.S. nightclub with tonier entertainment was as empty as the inside of a kettledrum, Chicago's old standby, the Blackhawk Restaurant, couldn't find room for all the customers who wanted it straight...