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Get out there and hear some live music. It’s the best gift you can give to your ears.
The caliber of Richard Thompson’s voice is undiminished. His always expressive, frequently soothing timbre was perfectly intact.
The pandemic clouds over the Boston / Cambridge jazz scene are breaking up – not completely by any means – but at last you have a broad menu of live music here to pull you away from your TV bingeing.
Move over Patrick Bateman, there’s a new axe-wielding psychopath for impressionable young cinephiles to project themselves onto in town.
Reviews of three new documentaries at TIFF: My Imaginary Country, To Kill a Tiger, and Miucha: The Voice of Bossa Nova.
As the age of Covid-19 more or less wanes, Arts Fuse critics supply a guide to film, dance, visual art, theater, author readings, and music. More offerings will be added as they come in.
In their recent films two disparate documentarians – Abigail Disney, the scion of the legendary Hollywood mogul, and Patricio Guzmán, exiled Chilean socialist – investigate the past, present, and future of their nations’ essential illusions.
Sometimes Pharoah Sanders came back and played like a primordial saxophone deity, cutting into the rhythm section like an act of penetration.
Jessie Montgomery’s Rounds is a testament to her impressive compositional chops. Let’s have more from her here, and often.
Crucially, Blonde lacks a sense of joy. As Marilyn Monroe crumbles into an alcohol and drug haze, this expressionistic version of her life disintegrates into a succession of discomforting, sometimes laughable, scenarios.
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