Word: nasalized
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...late Noel Coward will not lack for centenary celebrations. This off-Broadway revue-cum-memoir, about his friendship and collaboration with Gertrude Lawrence (The King and I), musters nearly 20 of his songs and is utterly charming. As Lawrence, '60s supermodel Twiggy is bright and bubbly (if overly nasal). As Coward, Harry Groener simply captivates. He wisely avoids mimicry, but his panache is pure Coward, and his renditions of Mad Dogs and Englishmen and other Coward specialties are dazzling...
They give us life, we give them soap-on-a-rope. Yep, Father's Day is here again. Brookstone, which purveys titanium ear-hair trimmers and anti-snore nasal dilators, among other innovative gifts, commemorated this year by ranking sitcom pops' earning power. The company used the most recent salary data from the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics and human-resource firms to determine the yearly salaries (in 1999 dollars) of 25 of America's TV breadwinners. The Top 5 and Bottom...
MOLD-FASHIONED Belgian designer Martin Margiela seems intent on triggering acute nasal distress in those who view his latest creations. Margiela is unveiling a line of mold-covered garments Monday at the Brooklyn Anchorage gallery in New York City. The clothes were dipped in agar and treated with mold, bacteria and yeast; they were then left to develop new colors and textures (the smell is a bonus). Ideal accessory: that fuzzy fruit in the back of the fridge...
...improbable chain of events that led Alexander Fleming to discover penicillin in 1928 is the stuff of which scientific myths are made. Fleming, a young Scottish research scientist with a profitable side practice treating the syphilis infections of prominent London artists, was pursuing his pet theory--that his own nasal mucus had antibacterial effects--when he left a culture plate smeared with Staphylococcus bacteria on his lab bench while he went on a two-week holiday...
There is nothing noteworthy about this band's sound except that they are following the pack of clones who imitate superbands like U2, Nirvana and the Cranberries. Lead singer Jo Lloyd manages to merely mimic Dolores O'Riordan's vocal stylings from "Zombie," that frantic, slightly nasal guttural pitch. Backed by random noise fillers consisting of drums and guitar, each song is a blur of blah and blech. Forgettable lyrics of the usual uber-topic, love, in all its iterations nicely round out this disappointing disc. With the rise of this new crop of artificially-flavored pop bands, the music...