Word: tunefully
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...noticed that one of the posse had grabbed a victim by the boot and was hauling him out from under the bed. Paying me no attention, the vigilantes did their man in with no mercy at all. He was riddled with at least a hundred bullets to the tune of "bang . . . bang . . . bang ... I gotcha ... I gotcha ..." I thought the cowboy had been finished off, but he staggered to his feet, jerked loose and dashed for the stairs and freedom in the backyard. The chase was on again - this time outside...
...Paris, specializing in bankruptcy cases, and became known as the "amiable liquidator." He believes that the French political system is more to blame than the men who try to run it, and once remarked: "It's a pity to shoot the pianist when the piano is out of tune." Socialist Vincent Auriol, the outgoing President, had hardly been better known when he was elected seven years ago, but he has been, by common consent, an excellent President...
...London, Princess Margaret, who usually plays the field in picking her escorts, excited Mayfair society by dating Mark Bonham-Carter, British army hero of World War II, three evenings in a row. What intrigued the self-appointed matchmakers even more was the tune which, by request, a cabaret singer kept repeating: Let's Do It ("Let's fall in love"). On a later evening, Margaret deserted Mark to attend a benefit ice show at London's Empress Hall, was snapped by a photographer as she entered, smiling but without escort...
...Woman (Rosemary Clooney Ferrer and José Ferrer; Columbia). Semi-philosophical maunderings about the nature of each. (Sample: "A woman, a woman, / Oh what can she be? / Whatever she is, she's necessaree.") It has a catchy tune, but is too hoked up to be funny...
...Each tune, e.g., The Surrey with the Fringe on Top, began with a fast, straightforward version of the melody, then, after a few' bars, swung into Peterson's impromptu variations - interlaced arabesques, rhythmical counterpoints, stream-of-consciousness insertions from other tunes-then back to the original melody. Throughout, Pianist Peterson accompanied himself with his own scat-singing, in the pauses mopped his sweating brow with his handkerchief. Throughout, for all his jet-propelled tempos, his fingers frisked the keys with the precision of a hell-bent Horowitz...