Word: rustic
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Nathan P. Carleton '51. one of many owners of 1929 Model A Fords, admits his plain black job "doesn't have much character; it's just a darn good car." Lacking the rustic qualities of a Model T or the urbane class of a Rolls, the car amazed its owner recently by apparently running 10 miles on an empty gas tank and coming to a dead stop before a gas station...
...everything except Olivier's Orlando, the movie suffers in comparison to this performance. The songs, the incidental music, the short by-plots--like Touchstone's love-making--all add the necessary rustic flavor that make the play so English. The two shepherd boys who are so deeply in love are really giddy, and thereby funny in the play; in the movie, they merely filled in the loose strings at the end of the main plots. The movie missed, too, on the character of Jaques. The uncommon melancholy which Thesiger puts into his part set up perfectly the profound lines that...
Baron Ochs, the clumsy gallant of Der Rosenkavalier, Strauss thought was consistently misunderstood and misplayed. Instead of "a vulgar monster with a horrible make-up and proletarian manners," as most bassos represented him, Strauss intended him as "a rustic beau, a Don Juan of some 35 years, but nevertheless a nobleman . . . Inwardly he is gross (ein Schmutzian), but outwardly he remains quite presentable . . . Above all, his first scene in the bedroom must be played with extreme delicacy and discretion, it must not be repulsive ... In short, Viennese comedy, not Berlin farce...
...more a song cycle of 14 poems, from Spenser and Milton to W. H. Auden, to be sung by soloists and choruses, in various combinations and with a full orchestra. Britten had given the strings comparatively little to do; most of the burden fell on blaring brasses, on rustic horns and bucolic woodwinds. It was rich with unusual effects: while Soprano Frances Yéend sang John Clare's The Driving Boy, the chorus whistled an accompaniment. Even though Britten had barely fussed at all with bridges between song poems, his symphony had a unity of spirit. Fresh, melodic...
Amid the gossipy birthday crowds strolling last week across the imperial gardens at Tokyo, a frayed, rustic-looking little man stopped, doffed his hat and made a low bow toward the palace. In the middle of this gesture, once compulsory but now archaic, the little man suddenly became aware that his more modern-minded countrymen were staring at him. Deeply embarrassed, he checked himself in mid-bow, pretended that he was merely scratching his head, and put his hat back on. Then he shyly disappeared into the crowd...