Word: rasps
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It’s a husky mix of smoker’s rasp and the phone sex operator next door. Reid is ten months shy of her thirtieth birthday, but her voice evokes the world-weariness of a woman beyond her years. Speaking to reporters over the phone from New York, Reid didn’t volunteer her exact location, but one couldn’t help but imagine her perched on a barstool, throwing back shots of whiskey and lamenting life’s betrayals. It’s sexy, in an intimidating way—perhaps the very...
...airport, Bennett struggles to remember where he's going--Memphis, Tenn.--while an assistant preps him on the local vernacular. ("Y'all is singular. All y'all is plural.") Once on the scene, though, the Slasher--a wiry, nervous guy, like Billy Bob Thornton with Tom Waits' rasp--thrums like a racing engine. "This is a show to me," he says, "not a sale." He struts around the lot wielding a toy chainsaw. There are pretty showgirls, a DJ and the "$88 car." (Find that unmarked beater, discounted from $1,695, and you get to take it home for fourscore...
...country's lush Eastern Highlands. In Queen's Hall, the revelers dance across a floor sticky with spilled lager, lost in the thump of the drums, the brassy blare of the horns and the hypnotic spell of the lyrics. Listen. What you hear isn't just Mapfumo's rasp through an amplifier. Mapfumo is the amplifier. "He is the voice of the people," says Ephraim, a businessman. Despite the police, who watch, arms folded, the onlookers sing - no, shout - things they wouldn't dare say. The biggest singalong moment comes in Marima Nzara, a lament about a man with...
...very start of his career. On Summer Days, a track from Love and Theft, he sings, "She says, 'You can't repeat the past.' I say, 'You can't? What do you mean, you can't? Of course you can!'" Dylan talks like he sings, in that ancient lilting rasp, stressing unexpected syllables, mesmerizing with folky cadences, loping along somewhere between conversation and caterwauling. All the compositions on Love and Theft are autobiographical, he says. "Yeah, all of 'em. Every single one, every line. It's completely autobiographical, as most of my stuff usually is on one level or another...
...stood in a room off the state senate chamber and presided over a press conference with a virtuosity news cameras hadn't seen since General Norman Schwarzkopf's famous briefing at the end of the Gulf War. As Boies carefully articulated the Vice President's positions in a Midwestern rasp--he grew up in small-town Illinois--his hands, a foot or so apart, moved as if he were gently shaking a box to see what was inside...