It's not Sylvester Stallone any more, it's "Sly".
It's sly, brainy music, encompassing very different approaches to jazz.
It's sly and smart, but the words I carried away from the show were ones I found in a gallery news release.
It's got the best bass line ever, and it's Sly Stone at his peak; it's just a great, emotional piece of music.
At first, it's sly; Mr. Gutierrez strips to black boots and dances like a go-go boy while Connor Voss (wearing gray underwear, and more a beautiful prop than another performer) faces the stage holding a mirror.
Style -- that ineffable something or other -- has never seemed farther from a flick of tulle around a wrist; increasingly, it's sly reference woven into sly reference, something overthought, overwrought and overbought.
It's sly by being reticent, as if you had walked into a natural history museum or an exhibition of late 20th-century machines without the wall labels to explain.
Knausgaard is capable of writing sharp, essayistic sentences: Memory is pragmatic, it is sly and artful, but not in any hostile or malicious way; on the contrary, it does everything it can to keep its host satisfied.
But it is sly to lay it on customers at the very last moment, once they have reached the checkout and are about to pay (bear in mind, this is not a straightforward process: to get to the payment page they will already have ploughed through many screens of offers on hire cars, suitcases, priority boarding and the like).
