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|S. A. An-sky||Indiana University Press||ePub|
THE SMALL ROOM was filled with people. They sat on beds and benches, the floor, and in each other’s laps. A samovar was boiling on the table. They took turns drinking tea from the only two glasses they had. The guests, first one, then another, ran out for provisions: soon loaves of bread, sausage, even pastries began to appear on the table. Thick tobacco smoke hung in the room; lively conversation was taking place, and the sound of young laughter could be heard.
“Gentlemen, let’s read something!” cried Geverman.
“No, it would be better to sing!” Kapluner said, trying to outshout him.
“Read! Read Pisarev!” insisted Geverman.
But the public was not in a serious-enough mood for reading Pisarev. Protests arouse.
“No, Pisarev next time! Now we must sing something!”
The young man in a frock coat with long flaps who’d greedily reached for a Russian cigarette, without waiting for an invitation, began singing a popular Jewish song in a low voice:See All Chapters
|Music, SHER||Sher Music||ePub|
The process you use to practice Forward Motion exercises is crucial to changing the way you hear. It’s not only what you practice that is important, it’s how you practice, because, as a performance tool, you bring to the bandstand the process itself, not the musical ideas you practiced.
Practicing is external behavior that affects internal processes that in turn affects external behavior, i.e. performance. The three functions interact.
Taking this idea to it’s logical extreme, playing a musical instrument is, fundamentally, a process of “mind over matter.”
“The imagination can manipulate ivory, felt, steel and spruce to sublime ends. Evans called it putting emotion into the piano and he proved that it can be done...” from BILL EVANS (Yale): How My Heart Sings By Peter Pettinger.
Most students give primary consideration to the external, technical and mechanical aspects of study: notation, theory, the instrument, mechanical technique, all those aspects of playing music that are visible to the naked eye. Your instrument, whichever one it may be, IS NOT THE INSTRUMENT. It just looks that way. The external aspects are an illusion.See All Chapters
|David P. Neumeyer||Indiana University Press||ePub|
A simple, typical example of sound practice in the Hollywood studio era (roughly 1930–60) may be found in a few moments from The Dark Corner (1946), an A-level film noir obviously meant as a stand-alone sequel to Laura (1944). An evening party at the lavish home of Hardy Cathcart (Clifton Webb) includes a dance sequence that begins with a straight-on view of members of Eddie Heywood’s band (figure 1.1a), followed by a pan across the dancing couples to Cathcart and his wife, Mari (Cathy Downs, figure 1.1b). The sound level of the band is maintained during the pan but drops a little as Webb’s voice enters at the original, higher sound level; the band is now offscreen and in the sonic background. The couple, in medium shot, are seen at a very modest angle (to emphasize the dance), but on the reverse to Mari (figure 1.1c), a standard shot / reverse shot with an eyeline match is used, confirming the priority (and, with the tighter framing, also the privacy) of their conversation.1 The backgrounding of the music serves narrative clarity and happens in collusion with the camera: the pan charts distance covered, but no attention is paid to a drop in volume for the physical circumstances of the room (in other words, the band actually should be louder as Cathcart and Mari talk). Music begins as performance, but it leads before long to the voice.2See All Chapters
|Pro Ecclesia||Rowman & Littlefield Publishers||ePub|
Signa Unitatis : Communion and Scriptural Exegesis in the Thought of Geoffrey Wainwright
They said, “You have a blue guitar,
You do not play things as they are.”
The man replied, “Things as they are
Are changed upon the blue guitar.”
And they said then, “But play, you must,
A tune beyond us, yet ourselves,
A tune upon the blue guitar
Of things exactly as they are.”
—Wallace Stevens, “The Man with the Blue Guitar”
The long ecumenical twentieth century saw voices both Catholic and Protestant calling for a return to Scripture as the book of the church. “Before greater visible unity can be achieved,” wrote John Paul II in the justly famous encyclical Ut Unum Sint, “fuller study” must be done on “the relationship between Sacred Scripture, as the highest authority in matters of faith, and Sacred Tradition, as indispensable to the interpretation of the Word of God.”1 These words both expressed the Roman Church’s irrevocable commitment to ecumenism in general and diagnosed quite a large pothole in the road toward it.2 Along similar lines, then cardinal Joseph Ratzinger observed and applauded in Vatican II’s reflection upon the Scriptures a “hermeneutic of unity” (Hermeneutik der Einheit), made possible in our own day by “new understanding” of the Scriptures in the light of biblical criticism, and necessitated by the ecumenical agenda if “apparently irreconcilable elements” are to “be fused together into the wholeness of the one truth.”3 By applauding such a hermeneutical development, Ratzinger implicitly suggests a problem of incompleteness in the absence of it. Interpretation of the Scriptures, however carefully done in the case of a divided church, was discovered to be (at best) the shining up of some element in the whole that remains to be put together. The Catholic Church has come to recognize the need for a fusion of hermeneutical horizons. And from the Protestant side, in answer to that summons, Geoffrey Wainwright has advanced a powerful, as yet largely unnoticed proposal on just how the Scriptures might be read together across traditions. Specifically, he appropriates medieval exegesis (traditionally shunned in many Protestant circles) via a powerful argument about the liturgical origins and nature of scriptural text, allowing exegesis of this kind to sidestep Protestant suspicion while receiving into itself many of the most powerful insights of modern (mostly Protestant) critical methodologies. The multiple senses of Scripture, it will be seen, open hermeneutical space in which disagreeing ecclesial communities can articulate worthwhile differences while remaining connected to one another as worshippers of God and receivers, in their common worship, of His Word.See All Chapters
|Ray Lischner||O'Reilly Media||ePub|
Interactive development environments are great, but don’t throw away that command line yet. Compiling a big project is often easier using the command-line compiler than compiling the same project in the IDE. This chapter tells you how to use the command-line compiler and other tools effectively.
dcc32.exe is Delphi’s command-line compiler. It uses the same compiler as the IDE, but you run the program from a command prompt. To control the compiler, you must supply options on the command line or in a configuration (.cfg ) file. The IDE automatically creates a configuration file for every project, so it is easy to compile a project or unit from the command line using the same options you use in the IDE.
You can mix options and filenames in any order on the command line. The compiler reads all the options before it starts to compile any of the files. The filenames can be any program, library, unit, or package source files. Unlike the IDE, with the command-line compiler, you can compile a single unit (.pas) source file. If a filename is that of a project, library, or package, the compiler also links the necessary units into the final .exe, .dll, or .bpl file. If you omit the extension from a source filename, Delphi tries .pas, then .dpr. To compile a package, you must supply the .dpk extension.See All Chapters
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