Word: tree
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...Tree of Sound. The Boston Symphony has hit upon a likely solution. As in every orchestra, many of the Boston musicians have tried to balance their heavy symphonic diet with doses of chamber music, slipping off like addicts in need of a fix to play where and however they can. The progressive Boston management decided that rather than discourage the practice, as some orchestras have done, it would cultivate it. The result is the Boston Symphony Chamber Players ("The Boschaps"), organized a year ago and made up of the orchestra's first-desk players. It is the first such...
...oboe's sober solo; Francis Poulenc's sprightly Sonata for Horn, Trumpet and Trombone was charmingly carried off like the playful banterings of back-fence gossips. The evening's major piece, Schubert's String Quintet in C, grew out of the stage like a tree of sound, alive and shapely in every line. The musicians played as it is seldom possible in full orchestra: with all the color and nuance their instruments could yield, with their hearts in their hands...
...when he toured the Hawaiian Islands, Mark Twain planted a monkeypod tree which lived to a great age and developed to enormous proportions. What he did for the tree he also did for his career. When Twain sailed for Honolulu as a South Pacific correspondent for the powerful, popular Sacramento Union, his literary reputation rested uncertainly on one widely read newspaper story: "The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County." When he returned to California four months later, his newsy and engaging letters from Hawaii had made him "the best-known honest man on the Pacific Coast...
Comedians and novelists alike attested tirelessly to the aromatic glories of the Brighton Beach Express and the Gowanus Canal, the beery, cheery heartland of dock-wallopers and sailors' broads and Yiddishe mammas, the wasteland of peeling tenements where a Tree Grew. Brooklyn was where every uprooted native from Al Capone to Barbra Streisand was congratulated on being from...
Across Creation. Huia is not crudely awakened to sex. A flower passes under her nose, and "a child is clutched by primeval rapture to which she knows but one answer: turning to a shaggy tree trunk she embraces it passionately. She presses her slight person against its bulk and kisses it with ardor until, flung so carelessly on the storm of instinct, she swings into fantastic dancing, calling to the others, 'The marriage ceremonial, the marriage ceremonial. See me dance at my marriage ceremonial.' Never up, down or across creation could there be a lovelier sight." An unobtrusive...