Word: languidly
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...fall for the song’s classic melody. “Dondante,” the closer, is one of the best songs that MMJ has ever written. Eight minutes long, it has an inherent majesty that initially expresses itself in the song’s languid tempo. Reminiscent of Icelandic dronesters Sigur Ros in its grandeur, “Dondante” builds until James’ voice drops out and a guitar plays a mellow riff-based solo. At the 3:29 mark, light drum hits set up a truly breath-taking vocalization of deceptively simple words...
...stars like Ustad Sultan Khan and tabla supremo Zakir Hussain. The production is still as clean as computer code and the tracks retain a dance feel, but they are more measured and the beats are as likely to be hammered out by hand as manufactured on a synthesizer. The languid Raanjhan is the definitive track here. Saathi, featuring the voice and sarangi of Khan, will please purists old enough to remember Ravi Shankar at Woodstock while fitting right alongside Buddha Bar in their teenage sons' collections...
...former husband Bobby Jack (Brian Kerwin), who represents bad values as plainly and as boringly as they represent good ones. But Director Martin Ritt seems to labor under the delusion that Murphy's Romance requires patient and delicate explication. Or maybe he is a city slicker seduced by the languid rhythms of bucolic life. For his camera just hunkers down, awhittlin' and aspittin' and oafishly gawking at these less than astonishing goings-on. Field is perky, Garner is wry in their familiar ways, but the film is basically a bottle of January molasses, running slow. And sticky. --By Richard Schickel...
...Sunday Morning, Brandon Straub soberly surveyed the bodies draped across the sofas in his fraternity house at Indiana University. Two girls cuddled and exchanged a languid kiss. One's breast popped out of her low-cut top. "Aaaawesome," drawled one of Straub's frat brothers. Straub could only muster an awkward half-smile. "I'd be lying if I didn't say that seeing some of these scenes makes me sad," he said. "How will they feel when they wake up in the morning...
Although no one in the group sang, two members of the band occasionally interrupted the languid, drawn-out notes of the violin and base with readings of passages of Italo Calvino’s book, Invisible Cities. Perhaps too obscurely poetic to be fully grasped or even enjoyed, the band’s bizarre music, nevertheless, had a calming, almost hypnotic quality, which sadly was periodically obliterated by intentionally jarring outbursts of radio static. There is no need to say that the band continuously kept its audience guessing for what would come next...