London Handwritten lyrics to John Lennon’s Give Peace a Chance are expected to fetch 300,000 at auction with some of the proceeds going to a charity that helps children harmed by war.
Death Cab for Cutie’s songs exist, first and foremost, so that Ben Gibbard’s lyrics can be heard. That’s a good thing. As introspective singer-songwriters go, Gibbard is smarter than most. And his sharply observed, sad-eyed accounts of shipwrecked romances and lost opportunities rarely resolve the messes of real life into too-tidily tied-up three-minute solutions.
To Koh Kud island. These lyrics, adapted from the song This Land, could explain what army chief Gen Anupong Paojinda had in mind when the government came up with a new policy to take some land under the State Property Bureau back from its clients.
Six of the Incline Choraliers singers belt out some lyrics earlier this year at practice. Front row, from left, is Hannah Laurie, Aimee Dougherty and McKenna Hoff. Back row, from left is Elle Maralia, Allison Ahlstrom and Lauren Wodarsky.
DEMOPOLIS Taking the lyrics of Elvis and the plot of William Shakespeares Twelfth Night, the Canebrake Players have a new production in the works for this summer.
Takara Tomy has developed what it claims is the world’s smallest karaoke system, the 7-cm cube Hi-kara.
I figured maybe “Fortunate Son”’s rebellious tone had gotten his attention. But it was something more… my nephew was asking questions about its political lyrics and theme.
The melodies gleam, the arrangements are grand, and the sales figures soar through the roof. And the lyrics? Super-sensitive, banal, cloying. “Lights will guide you home, and ignite your bones,” Chris Martin rhymed, ickily, on Coldplay’s 2005 album X&Y, which moved a mere 10 million copies. “And I will try / To fix you.”
SEBRING It wasn’t like finding a horse’s head at the foot of the bed, like in “The Godfather” movie, but finding a dead deer on the hood of your mom’s car parked in your driveway could be just as unnerving. “Weird,” was how Sebring Police Lt. Bruce Crum put it Monday. Next to the deer’s body and held down by a silver dollar was a poem Sunday morning on a torn slip of paper. The lyrics were …
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