Word: leapings
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...Unlike his earlier albums, the focus in Low is on environment rather than melody, on synthesized effects rather than traditional rock arrangements. The recording is impressive: textures are clear and sharply defined, bass tones are rich and highs are scintillating. Sound loses itself in the infinity of space. A leap of imagination and one could be transported past the Pleiades, meditating on some barren asteroid and watching the comets streak by. The synthetic mode lends itself, as Bowie has proven in the past, to evoking the outer space reality in which much of his music dwells. Low is an unexpected...
Holly Stevens is no Elliott Roosevelt, leaping in where Freud would fear to tread. But she does not shun legitimate speculation: Stevens' oblique, sensuous references and metaphors "bear deeply on a sexual relationship that may have some resemblance to that of my par ents, regardless of whatever literary connotations may be brought to it." Miss Stevens is at her best describing the physical and intellectual ventures of her father - the failed newspaper reporter, the awkward courtier, the relentless reader and overheated connoisseur of painting and music. As for the public burgher, he too is shown in seedling form...
...official execration. A veteran of the Long March, he had an early, meteoric rise as a close comrade of Mao's, but eventually tangled with the Chairman over agricultural policy. As party general secretary in the 1960s, Teng began backing away from Mao's disastrous Great Leap Forward, and presided over a moderate program of economic reform. His gruff, authoritarian style as well as his pragmatic approach annoyed the Chairman, who once complained that Teng treated him "like a dead ancestor...
...game drew to a close Lou made his move. Streaking for the banner he dodged all obstacles with cat-like agility. He climbed the stadium wall in one leap, fearlessly risking life and limb. He pulled at the banner, so close to victory his heart was pounding furiously. With one last heroic effort he freed the last corner and bolted from the stadium one step ahead of the authorities...
...stop for another compass bearing; the needle takes an agonizingly long time to settle, then finally points north. We sight through the trees 45° where our hill−and the checkpoint−should be. No hill. Trusting the compass, we dash off again, leap a fallen birch, catch a sapling in the face. Still no hill. We stop, listen. Nothing but our pounding hearts and labored panting. Retrace our steps and go back to the swamp? No, we'll crash blindly ahead on our bearing. Now the ground begins to rise: a hill. We sprint up it. Suddenly...