The song charges and clatters forward, suffused with gospel's ecstasy.
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The ball rips through your defense and clatters into the stumps.
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Busting out, Hummels clatters a Mexican and he, too, get a yellow.
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A tortoise clatters across a wooden floor in pursuit of a purple ball.
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As he passes under the cloud once more, hail clatters off his windshield.
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A subway train clatters out of sight, into the gullet of a tunnel.
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That beat, its absurdly heavy bass drum a statement of its own, clatters into the room.
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It kind of clatters in there and maybe half the time goes straight onto the hidden USB-C connector.
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Hacking and audio art are the jingling keys; even the artist's name, "Jean Tinguely," heterogeneously clinks, clatters, and clunks.
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As the bench clatters into the pan, The Spiller fulfills his title and spills the water all over The Hitter.
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As their set clatters to a triumphant close, Ade's looking pale under her light freckles and unsteady on her feet.
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The story takes in dancehall as easily as it does Jersey club, ghetto house, and the subterranean clatters of UK grime.
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Projecting a gracious playfulness no matter the mood, she clatters and skids through the aural space, hanging on tightly to her guitar.
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Brittle, staccato electronic sounds and filtered voices ricochet around him; a reggaeton beat appears and vanishes amid clatters, ratchets and finger snaps.
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The noisy diesel-powered machine clatters around the clock for several days until the drill strikes water, generally about 260 feet (80 meters) down.
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It stars the frontman's daughters, Violet and and Harper, who read the song's lyrics from a dusty book while the band clatters around on the roof.
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Every weapon, melee or projectile, clatters and thumps with absolute clarity—lord knows what went into getting the plastic bag kills to sound how they do.
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"Half Manne Half Cocaine" is the brightest moment of their return—it clatters like some of Madlib's best work while Freddie Gibbs packs in the references.
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At the center's plant, laborers wearing protective aprons and work gloves sort through a grimy procession of metal and glass refuse that clatters along a conveyor belt.
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As its name promises, "Assault" is a relentless barrage of acid-indebted clatters and squelches, just a BPM or two behind Aphex Twin's contemporaneous analog experiments as AFX.
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Metropolitan Diary Dear Diary: Thank you for not speaking to meexcept with your eyesthat blink once in cold acknowledgmentthen move up to the next adas the A train clatters oninto darkness.
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The album's full, blocky sonic template imbues the band's brittle intensity with Eno's mystic, romantic delight in physical sound, constructing a spry, lithe, metallic music machine that clatters and jitters over a bedrock of sturdy, flowing rhythm.
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Creepy bassline, clangy distorted drums, angular clatters of guitar noise, and whooshy synth zooms simmer and stomp while Flowers gets increasingly hysterical over a "motherless child," commanding said child to "be of good cheer," making grand untenable promises.
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The song explodes into a whirl of clatters and thwacks and knocks—Zedd is known for often very loud EDM—but the moments that really sell "The Middle" are the quietest ones; at times, the song is stripped back to just Morris and that constant click.
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He remembers the Sixth Avenue El, which crossed 53rd Street to connect with the Ninth Avenue El ("nothing grinds, squeals and clatters louder than an el"), and attending Public School 69 on 54th Street (where exercise was limited to walking in a circle slowly for fear of injury).
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However closely the representation succeeds — however unmistakably this music showers and clatters and descends in a calm misty haze — it can't be a concept album "about" precipitation because "about" is an inappropriate preposition for instrumental electronic music, whose charm as a medium lies in being open-ended; it needn't conjure specific referents.
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When I think of Katharine Hepburn's Jo, in George Cukor's delectable "Little Women" of 1933, what I remember is not her chatter, as raucous as a raven, but her impromptu fencing match in a drawing room, or the galumphing rumpus she makes when, at her mother's call, she clatters down the stairs.
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"Enigma" clatters and springs as snippets of human shouts ring out over the track, both interrupting and interrupted by the drums; "Kyanite" deploys similarly spliced shrieks and buzzes, like a quartet of air-raid sirens out of tune, over a drum track so acutely polymorphous it's as much Indian classical as Detroit techno.
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Placed atop it one or two at a time, like a series of cultures added to identical Petri dishes, are faster rhythms — plinks, hisses, clatters, typewriter-like clicks — calculated to move in and out of phase with the unswerving beat, merging with it and tugging against it, making each millisecond a reconsideration of timbre and momentum.
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The knife clatters to the floor as Butterfly staggers from behind the screen with a scarf around her neck. She kisses her child and collapses. From outside, Pinkerton cries, "Butterfly!" and rushes in – but it is too late: Butterfly is dead.
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Living Fields was generally positively received on its release. It was listed as one of Mojo magazine's top 10 electronica albums of 2015. Several reviewers highlighted the album's atmosphere and textures. The Line of Best Fit wrote that with its "Bleeding sounds so that instruments never quite feel entirely synthetic nor material, it's a very British electronic record, with its echoing clatters and restless lack of pattern to tracks [...] brooding throughout, dark by its production and vocals, and its messages".
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An example of a German candle clock A candle clock is a thin candle with consistently spaced marking that when burned, indicate the passage of periods of time. While no longer used today, candle clocks provided an effective way to tell time indoors, at night, or on a cloudy day. A candle clock could be easily transformed into a timer by sticking a heavy nail into the candle at the mark indicating the desired interval. When the wax surrounding the nail melts, the nail clatters onto a plate below.
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The first track, "Opening Sky", contains the didg pairs up with Roach’s ambient guitar. The second track, “Ancestral Passage”, features the eerie muted radio voices, giving way to rolls of thunder and desert-wind pads. In the third track, "Serpent Gulch", contains driving, percussion-fed downward charge with a rhythm built on analog-synth lines, clay pots, drums and Parnham’s curling, insistently chanting didg. The fourth track "Somewhere Between" consists of ritualistic rhythms, featuring the tones of a waterphone vying with sharp metallic clanks and clatters, the patterns coming out like a makeshift invocation, Parnham’s hypnotic drones stirring the mix.
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There is no sound, unless a > horseman clatters over the loose planks of the bridge. As the 19th century lengthened, Brattle Street continued to attract wealthy families who built houses in the newest architectural styles, such as Greek Revival (#112 built in 1846), Stick style (#92, built in 1881), and Colonial Revival (#115, built in 1887). The Shingle style Mary Fiske Stoughton House at 90 Brattle Street has been called "the best suburban wooden house in America ... comparable only to the finest of Frank Lloyd Wright's."Henry-Russell Hitchcock, as quoted in Arnold Lewis, American Country Houses of the Gilded Age (New York: Dover Publications, Inc.
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On Rotten Tomatoes, the film has an approval rating of 59% based on 73 reviews, with an average rating of 6.14/10. The site's critical consensus reads, "Die Hard With a Vengeance gets off to a fast start and benefits from Bruce Willis and Samuel L. Jackson's barbed interplay, but clatters to a bombastic finish in a vain effort to cover for an overall lack of fresh ideas." On Metacritic, the film has a score of 58 out of 100, based on 19 critics, indicating "mixed or average reviews". Audiences polled by CinemaScore gave the film an average grade of "A–" on an A+ to F scale.
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Illustration by Walter Crane from Household Stories by the Brothers Grimm (1886) The name Rumpelstilzchen in German (IPA: ) means literally "little rattle stilt", a stilt being a post or pole that provides support for a structure. A rumpelstilt or rumpelstilz was consequently the name of a type of goblin, also called a pophart or poppart, that makes noises by rattling posts and rapping on planks. The meaning is similar to rumpelgeist ("rattle ghost") or poltergeist, a mischievous spirit that clatters and moves household objects. (Other related concepts are mummarts or boggarts and hobs, which are mischievous household spirits that disguise themselves.) The ending -chen is a German diminutive cognate to English -kin.
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Sir Gawain complies and, as the giant leans down towards the knight invitingly, Sir Gawain casts the spear. It clatters against the wall behind the Carle, sending sparks ‘as though from a flint’. Whether it has passed straight through the Carle's head or whether Sir Gawain has (uncharacteristically) missed, the listener is not told; although in the 17th-century version, the Carle ducks. Seemingly uninjured by this spear, the Carle and his guests finish their meal; although Sir Gawain has become enamoured of the Carle's beautiful wife and eats little. Following a dinner in which the Carle appears to demonstrate an ability to read his guests’ thoughts, and then a recital upon the harp by the Carle's beautiful daughter, they all retire to bed.
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Forgetting the trap he has set, Daffy runs to the closet and opens the door, whereupon everything clatters down onto him. Another has him sawing a hole in the floor and covering it with a rug, only to fall down it himself, and replacing a candle with a stick of dynamite (though why such a thing would be in Porky's home is unknown) which results in the explosion sending him flying through the roof. Ultimately, Porky is convinced that his home is indeed full of hazards, and he agrees to take out the insurance policy. Daffy soon reveals the fine print, according to which the $1 million will be paid only for a black eye incurred in the course of a stampede of wild elephants in his house between 3:55 and 4:00 pm on the Fourth of July during a hailstorm.
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This is a book full of vaporous, French-intellectual prose that > makes Teilhard de Chardin sound like Ernest Hemingway by comparison; but > that is not a criticism, because the author likes that sort of prose and has > taken lessons in how to write it, and she thinks that plain, homely speech > is part of a conspiracy to oppress the poor. This is a book that clatters > around in a dark closet of irrelevancies for 450 pages before it bumps > accidentally into its index and stops; but that is not a criticism, either, > because its author finds it gratifying and refreshing to bang unrelated > facts together as a rebuke to stuffy minds. This book infuriated me; but > that is not a defect in it, because it is supposed to infuriate people like > me, and the author would have been happier still if I had blown out an > artery. In short, this book is flawless, because all its deficiencies are > deliberate products of art.
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However, Collins observed that this was "quickly subsumed into the granular storm as the layers gather and tempi increase", concluding that, notwithstanding audience consensus that "the overload last[ed] too long in the middle … It might cautiously be claimed that Mr. Stockhausen achieved a controversial success, and created a work that has reinvigorated his electronic music". Collins shared his shorthand notes, which he scribbled in the dark during the performance: > violent spasms of space, serial recurrences, a Copernican asylum, over- > literal crashes, rushing more and more beyond sense, like being inside > Stockhausen’s mind as he composes, a battle of enraged keyboardists in a > tempo war, granular roars, bass pedals and clatters, gurgling granules > accelerate, pushing the boundary of information, tapes spooling mercilessly, > a labyrinth of tone pulses, a multiplicity of collisions in an organ > factory, even poor synthesis can’t ruin this controlled chaos, wider and > wider dynamics and layering, building to the synchronies of planets, raging > layers, raging presets in a keyboard shop war, a fight at an audio > convention. Describing the UK premiere at the BBC Proms, Nick Emberley felt that "the Albert Hall sounded like a mighty beast woken from slumber".Emberley, Nick.
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