Word: rhythms
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Dates: during 1990-1999
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...blankness, which Jarmusch describes as "respiration," also serve to showcase Neil Young's virtuoso soundtrack. Young has created a raw, wiry sonic complement to the film, as compelling as the visual elements and the plot. Jarmusch described Young's goal as creating a "melody" to go along with the rhythm of the movie itself. Relying predominantly on guitar with very little accompaniment, Young's composition is like the voice of another character, eloquently commenting on the story and perhaps upstaging the actors themselves...
...point is, rock 'n' roll is an art form that was created by blacks. "It started out as rhythm and blues," says Little Richard, the flamboyant rock pioneer who saw such tumultuous songs of his as Tutti Frutti and Long Tall Sally taken to the charts in white-bread "cover" versions by the likes of Pat Boone. "There wasn't nobody playing it at the time but black people--myself, Fats Domino, Chuck Berry. White kids started paying more attention to this music, white girls were going over to this music, they needed somebody to come in there--like Elvis...
Pico Iyer in his praise of changing seasons displayed a deep fascination for nature and an understanding so lacking in modern life [ESSAY, April 1]. Oh, how has modern man lost the imagination to capture the awesome rhythm of the seasons, of night and day, light and darkness, sun and moon? It's a poor existence indeed if we cannot find the time to stand and stare at all the loveliness and mystery, small and great, that surrounds us--like the coming of spring. GRAY PHOMBEAH London...
DIED. LARRY LAPRISE, 83, songwriter; in Boise, Idaho. LaPrise was playing ski lodges when he co-concocted the ideal entertainment for hyperactive children and rhythm-impaired adults: The Hokey Pokey (1949), which had a nation putting various extremities in, out and about. Big-band and heavy-metal versions followed--as LaPrise was hokey-pokeyed out of a fortune. Having sold his rights for a song, he became a postal worker...
...leaves. For seasons release us from time and space, and usher us into an order higher than ourselves, or nation, or ideology; not so much a collective religion, perhaps, as a religion of collectivism. And seasons rescue us from private winters and admit us to a larger rhythm as unanswerable as the dawn...