Word: whining
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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Most relentless Atonalist was gloomy, bald-headed Arnold Schöberg, who in his time influenced at least half the younger composers of Europe. Other eminent Atonalists, all Schöberg disciples: Anton von Webern, who wrote orchestral pieces like the slight whine of a determined mosquito; the late Alban Berg, who wrote the atrabilious opera Wozzeck; Ernest Krenek, who once relapsed so far into cheerfulness as to write an imitation jazz opera called Johnny Spielt...
Shrewder with his sound effects this time, Poet MacLeish has added to his impelling verse imperative noises. A woman sings a scale and the scale is parodied by the warning siren, the whine of the raiding planes. It is echoed in a boy's voice calling, is converted into an agonized scream to end the play. Oddity of Air Raid is that, in spite of the fact that the situation is a straight projection of last month's Czechoslovakian crisis, when a man listened for war at his loudspeaker like a frightened bellboy at a murderer...
...outboard body builder (Jacoby Flyaway), Driver Jacoby has no peer among the fast-growing fraternity of rough riders who spend their summers bumping around U. S. waterways, kneeling in little, flat-bottomed boats they call flying shingles-with life preservers round their necks and a yapping whine in their ears. Professional Jacoby's total of 25,897 points† (in 20 regattas) this season was 10,000 more than his nearest rival (amateur or professional), and his feat of outscoring all other drivers this year for the third time in four years established a record unparalleled...
...Speaking of purges, I've been thoroughly purged. In Congress in 1924 I was taken off all my committees, but I didn't whine about it. I told Nick Longworth that if he wouldn't let me attend his caucuses I wouldn't let him attend mine, and I'd hold mine in a telephone booth. " His standard crack whenever Presidential 1940 was mentioned: "I couldn't even rate a gallery seat in either party convention...
...speed-two glimpses of land through the clouds, a brief flurry when his mask went askew. Not until he saw the long furrows of the Alleghenies did Flyer Hughes slant down in a long power dive to Newark. There, no one was aware of his coming until the crescendoing whine of his racing engine jerked heads aloft. Like an angry dragonfly, the little ship buzzed across the field, spiraled up in a chandelle. In the control tower an official timer clicked his watch. After circling a while to let a transport take off, at 1103 p. m. tired Racer Hughes...