Word: thinly
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Dates: during 1990-1999
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Okay, the appetizers aren't all that phantasmagoric. The chicken and beef satay, sliced nice and thin on skewers, are served with a not-too-mild peanut sauce and a sweet-and-sour cucumber sauce, all quite recommended. Go with the beef if you want the extra flavor, but stick with the chicken (always white meat) if you're one of those sandal-wearing, granola-munching health freaks. The Thai Sticks are a bountiful but bland batch of veggies fried in batter, not worth it unless you're starving. The Tod Mun shrimp and fish cake is kind of chewy...
Publishers indulge the whims of authors who sell hard-cover books in the millions, and it wasn't a lot of trouble to get Atlantic Records to hire some studio musicians and produce a CD. Nothing in it will worry Garth Brooks or Willie Nelson, but Waller's thin voice isn't disgraceful. It is just ordinary and needs some shower-room tile to bulk it up. Somebody is kidding somebody else here: Does Waller realize that the CD is mediocre? If so, does he suppose his fans won't care? Is he simply -- and at any cost, even ridicule...
...Your average power-pop singer would give it one at most. Far from being lush or orchestral, Game Theory's sound is always crisp (there's barely any reverb or delay on this entire CD, and when there is, it's a special effect). No matter how thin you slice the songs--down to a single bass riff, or a single chord progression--almost every unit you come up with is not only something new, but something hummable. More of life gets into this music than could ever get into a simpler pop form...
...Alone," Merrill had written in the early poem "Hourglass," "one can but toy with imagery": maybe the thin narrative here, of Kimon and Seldon and Claude and mother and father and Robert and others, is Merrill's effort at a kind of writing more social, and more transparent, than the elaborated imagery of even his clearest verse. The new clarity of Merrill's prose, unfortunately, often sounds like this: "Yet I couldn't help noticing, alone with Freddy at his visit's end, how much more freely my tongue wagged and my mind worked than they did with Claude...
Nick's pathetic blatherings kept me up all night. I tried to ignore him, but the walls are too thin. His repeated cries of "How did this happen to me? What have I done? I just want a nice house and a family and an orange tree out front. How did this happen to me...?" were unnervingly chilling, and around 6 a.m., I was overcome with gulit and remorse. Nick has no experience with my sort of reality. He thought that the mere fact of his being at Harvard would make everything alright. The only thing that stands between...