blaring

A radio was blaring down the street and faint wisps of what it was blurting floated to Mr. Chambers.

The old-time soldier had his red coat and his bands, blaring encouragingly.

From Norhala came a single cry—resonant, blaring like a wrathful, golden trumpet.

Through the tumult, the blaring horns thrilled like pulse-beats.

Swing music was blaring from the radio set in the mess when Stan Wilson entered.

Bell looked over his instruments, examined the gas in the tank, and began to work over his maps in the blaring sunlight.

The band was blaring, and five thousand half-swacked voices were roaring accompaniment.

The clatter of the train trucks had dimmed, but a whistle up ahead was blaring an alarm.

Unheard were the blaring of bands, and the raucous cry of the "Hot-Dog man," and the riot and roar of the rabble.

Then, in a minute or two, the blaring resolved itself into a connected effort at melody, with drums throbbing away in it.