Word: rocks
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Dates: during 2000-2009
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...Other silhouettes, including multi-colored feathered boleros and dramatic black evening gowns finished off with a graphic swoosh of lime satin, had a rock and roll feeling that Armani said was indiretly inspired by David Bowie. Surely some of the sharp black tuxedos with bright satin shirts and topped off by jeweled trilby hats will look right at the Spice Girls' reunion next winter...
...Labour leader never kept a diary, unintentionally casting Campbell as his acerbic Boswell. Campbell's journals, edited from over two million words to a thick tome of 350,000, reveal their serial encounters with Presidents and Premiers, royals and rock stars, lawmen and faith leaders, press barons and members of the public. It's to that last category, "people outside the Westminster bubble," he tells TIME, that the author is appealing, over the heads of a media both he and his former boss have come to regard as irredeemably hostile...
...unanimity is a turnoff but because it tends to be conferred on the educational or exotic. Spoon's sixth album, unfortunately titled Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga (out July 10), has no sitars or harps, no qawwali singing or convoluted metanarratives. It's just 36 minutes of taut, minimalist rock played mostly on guitar and piano and sung by Britt Daniel, a reedy Texan with a dry, been-around-a-bit voice. It's exotic like Clint Eastwood--and just about as direct...
...quiet inside. That's one reason the new 328i convertible is BMW's hottest U.S. model (base price: $44,000). Quiet and convertible don't normally travel together, but BMW tamped the noise with a hard-shell top and what it calls tortional stiffness--this car is a rock. That's important when you're cruising on the highway at 120 m.p.h. (We tested the car in Europe.) On the winding back roads in the beautiful Argonne area of France, the ride was tight and sporty yet still luxe, at least in the front seats. The interior also features heat...
...There have been no photo shoots at the Statue of Liberty; no Coney Island weekend jaunts; no brassy Broadway musicals; no Fifth Avenue shopping sprees; no bar-hopping, no galleries; nary an Indie rock show. I haven’t even set foot in the hallowed Met—though not for lack of trying: the guard wouldn’t let me through because I was carrying the remnants of a Central Park picnic. (He sifted through my bag: “Brie? Apple cider? What else do you have in here?” Me, sheepishly...