A posse of Dublin Metropolitan police superintended by the Chief Commissioner in person maintained order in the vast throng for whom the York Street brass and reed band whiled away the intervening time by admirably rendering on their blackdraped instruments the matchless melody endeared to us from the cradle by Speranza’s plaintive muse.
The audience was a mix of grey hair and green hair, the now-older kids who remember Thunders from back in the day, and the actual kids who (in some cases) weren’t even born yet when the record came out.
(Caryn Rose, ‘Revisiting Johnny Thunders and the Heartbreakers’ ‘L.A.M.F.” Live at Bowery Electric’, Noisey)
A tall, thin man with a serious demeanor, Dr Bainton resembled a boiled egg in an ill-fitting suit with a face like the back of a sandshoe verging on the color beetroot. When Miss Pope opened the door for me to walk into the death chamber, he glanced up from the lamp’s glow on the green baize felt of her card table where AMEB documents had been placed with geometric precision.
(Roger Woodward, Beyond Black and White 2)
She studied the violin locally with Mr Davidson, and then at the Conservatorium with Hoogie—Professor Florent Hoogstoel from Flanders—who wore baggy clothes, had a ruddy complexion, reddish nose and reeked of garlic.
(Roger Woodward, Beyond Black and White 1)