Word: pleasant
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...What links Nine Dragons and Ashekian's case is Chungking Mansions, which a character in Connelly's novel describes as a "post-modern Casablanca - all in one building." Built in 1961, the building holds about 1,000 cheap guesthouse rooms, some with deceptively pleasant names like the New Hawaii and the Happy Guest House that mask the more typical reality of dingy rooms barely large enough for a bed. At any given time, there are some 4,000 residents living in 15 floors of apartments and 10,000 others passing through the complex's restaurants and dimly lit bazaar, which...
...going left and right in the dark.” He brings a familiar tone of an unapologetic malcontent to “Ludlow Street,” which features a bizarre sitar introduction before transitioning into a boozy, demented waltz. Over a skipping drum machine and pleasant guitar strumming, Casablancas’ wistfully praises common street musicians while condemning the “yuppie expansion.” “Everything seems to go wrong once I stop drinking,” he bashfully declares at the song’s opening. He?...
...modern R&B greats like Usher and John Legend. In “Never Gonna Break Up,” the first track, Leslie makes evident these weaknesses. The chorus is sung nearly an octave higher than the verses, in a breathy falsetto, but his voice is merely pleasant and its intensity remains stagnant. “Never Gonna Break Up,” however, is polished, and showcasing Leslie’s skills as a producer. The phrases are expertly timed and coordinated; everything seems diligently planned. But this adds less then it subtracts, since it makes the album...
While “Almost Let You In” shows Molina & Johnson pushing their genre to pleasant effect, the tracks that stay comfortably within the genre and play it with an authentic familiarity have just as much merit. Songs like “Twenty Cycles to the Ground” and “Each Star Marks a Day,” while doing nothing to transcend or reinvigorate the genre, are a testament to the preeminent mastery of alt-country exhibited by Molina & Johnson...
After taking my temperature and learning of my symptoms, the pleasant UHS nurse and physician informed me that I was not well enough to interact with my healthier peers. Armed with four facemasks, two Tylenol tablets, one PowerAde, two saltine crackers, and numerous well-wishes, I was sent off to quarantine. As I sat in my swine shuttle on the way from UHS, I fretted over my dilemma. Would I be relegated to a concrete prison in Mather? Or worse, would I serve my illness-fated sentence in the hinterlands of the Quad...