What’s New for the 16th of August: Deborah Grabien’s music criticism essays; new Americana and jazz, and some music for the Dog Days of Summer

Fantasies of violence,
Breaking bottles on the wall.
Hungry for the motion, for the action,
For it all.

Cats Laughing

Raspberry divider There is no book section this time, well not really, but rather a selection of the reviews but a look at some of the essays that Deborah Grabien.English folk rock is always a favourite of mine so it’s no surprise that Deborah Grabien‘s Haunted Ballads series is one I really like but many of you might not know that she is also an amazing music critic essayist. The writings by her that I’ve selected are but a few of the ones she has done for us here but they are reasonable sampling of what she’s done here.

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Let’s start off with her ‘Trad Boys, Trad Boys, Whatcha Gonna Do…? in whigh the Liege & Lief remembered essay is perhaps the finest piece done on what was the first true English folk rock album. We then can segue into her look at The Strangelings’ Season of The Witch which has a cover of ‘Matty Groves’ (which I suspect you know is on Liege & Lief) and allows her the opportunity to riff on what a sitar does to the song.

We can now jump over to her ‘Dear Richard, Please Will You Play…? Three shows, three settings, one happy woman’ which nicely keeps the Leif & Leige connection intact. I know there are more fanatical Richard Thompson fans but few if any write as well on the experience of attending his concerts as Deborah does in this essay.

Three related pieces over here finish off my look at her folk rock writings. Maddy Prior, the lead vocalist of folk rockers Steeleye Span, warranted two wonderful pieces by Deborah, …And She Dances which considers Maddy herself and a wonderful interview with her called Comfort and the Unexpected: In Conversation with Maddy Prior as well.

Her look at Steeleye Span’s Back in Line and Lark in the Morning  fishes off these picks as it allows her to touch upon what works and doesn’t work for her as regards this recording.

Raspberry dividerGary here with music. Leading off with some new Americana, I reviewed Sad Daddy’s Ozark Shine (as in moonshine). ‘Sad Daddy is a road-weathered acoustic Americana outfit that’s been making music together for more than a decade and a half now. The worn-in feeling of their fourth studio album Ozark Shine is a testament to their ongoing spirit of collaboration and sense of fun. Their blend of old time country and spirited jug band makes Sad Daddy sound like the best back porch band you’ve ever heard.’

‘I’m getting a lot of enjoyment from this striking album from a somewhat unusual jazz ensemble,’ I note in my review of Elan Mehler’s Renee Said. ‘To the standard trio of piano, bass and drums, composer and pianist Elan Mehler has added a couple of saxophones and a guitarist, as well as a second drummer. Together they blur the lines between straight jazz, ambient, classical and avant garde forms.’

From the Archives, it’s the Dog Days of Summer, so canines seemed an appropriate theme. Cat is a longtime fan of the Scottish band Old Blind Dogs, and he reviewed their 2005 release Play Live. ‘The bottom line is that if you like the Dogs already, you’ll like this recording; if you don’t know the Dogs, it’s a reasonable place to get to know them.’

Dogs are a great metaphor for lots of things, and Frank Zappa used them a lot in his music, including Frank Zappa’s Zappa Picks – by Larry LaLonde of Primus which David reviewed. ‘”Camarillo Brillo,” “Evelyn, a Modified Dog,” “Wild Love,” “Dog Breath,” and many more titles are selected here by LaLonde, and they do provide a snapshot of what Zappa accomplished. No one CD can ever give you a balanced look at the mind and talents of Frank Zappa, but LaLonde has chosen tunes that give the listener a sense of the breadth and scope of Zappa’s work.’

The Handsome Family has incorporated dogs into their work since the beginning, from the mini poodle on the cover of their first album Odessa and the song “3 Legged Dog” on their second, Milk and Scissors. More recently, there’s at least one reference on their last album Hollow, which I wrote about. ‘I’ve reviewed my share of pandemic-inspired albums, but Hollow does as well as any of them at capturing the sense of dislocation, surrealism, and existential dread that we’ve all stared in the face for the past three-plus years. … It opens with a nightmare and a scream, and closes with the Sparkses waving goodbye like rats deserting a sinking ship.’

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Our musical offering is ‘For It All ‘ which is from the Another Way To Travel album by Cats Laughing, used here courtesy of Will Shetterly. We’ve reviewed both of their albums here, of which the Another Way To Travel album is by far the best. Years later after the band was no longer, they came together again and released a CD and DVD, A Long Time Gone: Reunion at MiniCon. The concert’s fun, the rest of the material here is great.

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A Kinrowan Estate story: Midsomer Strangeness

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Nearly Midsummer, and life around the Green Man offices has started getting a little weird. Oh, all right, a little weirder. Zina Lee here, reporting in from Kinrowan Hall on a beautiful warm July day. I’ve been noticing that the young plants in the gardens and window boxes have started hitting their stride and the baskets outside the doors are approaching full speed on the floral display. But there’s other stuff going on. The Midsummer Solstice is our namesake’s time, sure, mischievous nature and all, but this is ridiculous.

Things have been going missing a little more often; one puts something down and it disappears — a week later, one finds it in a totally different room than the room from which it went missing. Poltergeists? The early onset of senile dementia? One of The Cats has developed opposable thumbs? Hmmmm.

Inanimate objects — computers, sound equipment, bicycles, you name it — have started developing what might be called personalities, or perhaps a migration path. Surely that computer desktop was different yesterday when you put it to sleep, but you can’t quite think how. One of Reynard’s taps has gotten cranky (okay, so that’s not all that unusual, but throw it in anyway) down in the Green Man Pub, and the musicians in the Neverending Session have recently started complaining of strings that won’t stay in tune, cracks in previously entirely stable reeds (all right, pipers’ complaints can’t be called unusual either), and rosin going missing.

And don’t get me started on the kitchen staff complaints.

Significantly, there’ve been some magnificent displays put on by lightning bugs in the gardens the last few evenings, and the cats have been very alert indeed.

I suppose you could make a case for overflow of life-force, or biorhythms going off kilter, or just that the midsummer energy has gotten into us all (and Kinrowan Hall). But I’m plumping for a slight rash of fairies.

Mind you, not the tall, Seelie noble-looking fairy or elf of literary and celluloid fame, but the average, household, put-the-milk-out-in-a-saucer-so-we-don’t-end-up-cursed-Mildred kind of fairy, common as measles.

I can’t be the only one who has suspicions. The woman on the flower and herb cart at the corner out front is completely out of St. John’s Wort, rue, forget-me-not, rowan, and rosemary, and someone has risked the wrath of old Augustus, our concertina-playing gardener, by taking clippings off the young morning glory vines on the brick wall outside the kitchen garden. I even noticed a new horseshoe hanging up over the door of Gus’s shed near the old stables the other day; I expect not so much for its luck, but for its iron.

And now I’m wondering if it wasn’t Gus who’s been cleaning up the twigs under the rowan copse on the east side of the grounds.

Mind, one wouldn’t want to rid oneself totally of fairies. Besides the fact that they can be just as capriciously generous and benign as they can be suddenly irritable and malign, there’s the wonder factor; life without them might be a bit too grey and predictable. Anyway, when odds and sods go missing, they make excellent scapegoats.

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A Kinrowan Estate story: Contradances

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Ahh, you noticed the poster for tonight’s event — let me pour you a Banish Misfortune stout while I tell you about it …

We’ve got a new contradance band here on the Estate. Drink Down The Moon is the name they’ve given themselves after the novel by author Charles de Lint. They’re comprised of Catherine on violin and hand drums,  Béla on violin, Finch playing English smallpipes, which I believe are made by the esteemed Julian Goodacre, and Gus or myself as usual on concertina.

Like all contradance bands over the forty odd years that there’ve been such here, they play a lively mix of English tunes, particularly those compositions by John Playford, plus Scottish, French, Irish and Scandinavian material. Béla even has taught them some trad Hungarian dances such as Karikázó (the maiden’s round dance) and Pásztortánc (Herdsmen’s Dances). 

The old Church is where we hold the dances, ironic I know as the Scots Church didn’t like dances at all, but we’ve not had Services there since well before the First World War. It was used as storage ’til the Fifties when it became a space for gatherings such as Eventide meals done buffet style where the dining space was too small for all who were invited, so we do community suppers there. And the stone floors and no seating make it perfect for these dances, so let’s head down that way…

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What’s New for the 26th of July: Witches in fiction, both books and film; an Americana reissue and some music on a smoky theme

The power of a name, that’s old magic.

The Doctor in The Shakespeare Code

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So we’ve got on this warm summer’s day, a bevy on fictional books and films on witches and witchcraft. Some like The Witches of Eastwick film will likely be familiar to you as will Roald Dahl’s now problematic The Witches; Sarah Avery’s Tales of Rugosa Coven perhaps not so much.

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‘Rebecca Reisert’s novel The Third Witch is a re-telling of the “Macbeth” story from the point of view of one of the witches.’ says Andrea in  her review. ‘Reisert brings the world of these impoverished women in 11th century Scotland to dirty, hungry life. As the story begins the three set out to glean — but from a battlefield rather than a wheat field — hoping to find useful or saleable items among the stiffening dead.’

Craig looks at a John Updike novel considered a part of the literary canon: ‘In the end, The Witches of Eastwick is a good novel. Oh It is not a great novel; it is not even a great witch novel. The research is at best minimal and often seems negligible. Nor does it compare favorably with the rest of the Updike canon, certainly not his tetralogy of everyman Harry “Rabbit” Angstrom, whose libido gets him in enough trouble to fill four novels and a novella. The book is not a waste of time, as long as the reader appreciates the above mentioned prose and description style.’

Jennifer read Sarah Avery’s Tales of Rugosa Coven and adored it. The Atlantic Ocean is almost a character in these stories. I could smell the salt breeze and feel the sand in my shoes. Plus, real witches on the Jersey Shore doing real witch stuff, like washing their sneakers, loving each other’s dysfunctions, and disagreeing about, well, everything magical!

Mia looks at the first of two films involving witchcraft: ‘Based on the Alice Hoffman novel of the same name, Practical Magic stars Sandra Bullock and Nicole Kidman as Sally and Gillian Owens, sisters who also happen to be witches. Sally is sweet, sensible, and longs for a normal life. Gillian is lusty and vivacious and uses her witchcraft mostly for the purpose of ensnaring a series of lovers. Sally and Gillian were orphaned and consequently raised by Frances and Jet, their wise, witty, and unconventional aunts.’

Not at all well received among Neo-Pagans is a film reviewed by Michelle: ‘There’s no denying the negative stereotyping in Nicolas Roeg’s The Witches, based on Roald Dahl’s novel of the same name. It’s a guilty pleasure, watching sophisticated women degraded by a little boy whom they’ve turned into a mouse. Adults will have an easier time than the intended young audience in recognizing the satiric elements of the film, but for some viewers that may not make it more tolerable; works of art like this one contribute to the demonization of Pagans and practitioners of folk medicine historically and in our own era.’

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‘I’ve learned that the things you like about a record at first blush quite often change as you listen to it over a couple of decades,’ I note in my new review of a deluxe reissue of The Handsome Family’s 2003 album Singing Bones. ‘That favorite track might no longer top your list of songs from that record, and a song you glossed over has in the meantime revealed deeper layers of meaning for you.’ That’s definitely true of this album, as you’ll see in my review.

From the archives … well, let’s see if you pick up on a theme…

David has reviewed a lot of Americana for us, including the compilation Hoyt Axton’s Flashes of Fire: Hoyt’s Very Best 1962-1990. ‘ “Smoky,” one of only three non-Axton tracks included, is the theme song from a film in which Axton appeared. His version of the song was not included on the soundtrack. It’s a catchy tune, 12-string guitar and harmonica, and Axton’s smoky vocals.’

I really enjoyed Chris Eckman’s Harney County, an indie folk rock album of fictional stories set in a real place, one of Oregon’s high desert locales. ‘Eckman evokes sense-memories in songs like “The Conifer Smoke,” a tale of estranged siblings meeting in some sort of encampment, something to do with “lost causes.” ‘

‘Imagine someone so lost and lonely that her only good dreams are of sharing a bottle in an alley, but she clings to that memory to keep out much worse thoughts,’ I said in my review of Anna Tivel’s excellent Small Believer. ‘Tivel can do more to set a mood with just a few words than many can do in a whole raft of verses, like the opening lines of (“Alleyway”): “Smoke against the window pane / just the semis breathing on the interstate / and the gray upon the gray of October…” ‘

Way back in the day I reviewed a couple of albums from the Illinois Americana trio Dick Smith, including one entitled Smoke Damage. ‘The overall sound draws on Grisman and Garcia’s “dawg music,” with a little of the psychedelic weirdness and irreverence of the Holy Modal Rounders and the down-home corn of Goose Creek Symphony thrown in for good measure.’

I’ve reviewed a lot of albums by the late great Doc Watson, including Doc Watson at Gerdes Folk City, an important historical document from the folk revival. ‘Everybody has to start somewhere, and this brand new CD catches Doc in his first series of public appearances as a solo musician. It’s part of the First Time North Project, which is presenting archival recordings of the earliest urban performances of blues, bluegrass and folk musicians. It was recorded in late 1962 and early ’63 at the eponymous club in New York’s Greenwich Village.’

Christy Moore’s Smoke And Strong Whiskey was a departure of sorts for the Irish folk icon, Richard hsaid in his review. This one has lots of political and social commentary, he noted. ‘The choice of songs, too, is a long way from the traditional repertoire; indeed, there is not one “trad.” in sight, not even a “trad. arr.” Instead we have three of Moore’s own compositions, plus three co-written with other musicians, including Shane McGowan, one of whose own songs is also featured.’

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So lets us finish off with some choice music from Nightnoise, to wit ‘Toys, Not Ties’ which was performed at Teatro Calderón de la Barca, which is a theater in Valladolid, Spain, some thirty years ago. For more on this superb sort of Celtic band, go read our career retrospective here. Nightnoise had its origins in members of the Bothy Band and Skara Brae, august bands indeed, and also included fiddler Johnny Cunningham for a while.

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A Kinrowan Estate story: chicken pot pieces

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Making chicken pies starts with slaughtering enough chickens to feed twenty-five or so hungry folk. A chicken dressed out yields two pounds of meat which is enough for four to six people depending on what else gets added in. All of Iain’s Library Apprentices, the Several Annies, as they’ve been called for centuries, get to be part of the slaughtering as we believe firmly they should know where their food comes from. Only one of the six got sick and vomited, not bad. Of course they also got to dress out the chickens, a filthy bit of work as stripping feathers, beheading, gutting them, and washing them free of blood just isn’t pleasant work.

Most cooks boil their chicken before deboning them for the pie but the tradition here is to bake (bone in) with smoked bacon over them and certain spices (no Estate Head Cook will tell what they are) in the wood stove in covered iron pots ’til the meat fairly falls off the bones.

Next comes the crust, which is a yeast based dough that is allowed to rise overnight before being shaped into the pie pans. It makes a wonderful light crust that, on the bottom, soaks up the oh so tasty juices.

The pie wouldn’t be complete without vegetables. In the summer, it would get fresh baby pea pods, mushrooms, and anything else appropriate to the season. During this colder season, it gets cut up potatoes, carrots, rehydrated mushrooms, and onions. All are chopped fine as is the chicken to give it a uniform consistency for cooking evenly.

It goes in the wood stove on a low heat for several hours with the top crust covered with moistened cheesecloth to keep it from drying out. After baking, the pies sit for an hour to cool down just a bit.

Served along with cider, it’s a meal well worth savouring!

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What’s New for the 19th of July: Charles de Lint’s Ottawa novels with a quote from Drink Down the Moon, Gary’s review of Nordic fiddle music, It’s Michele Walther and Irina Behrendt playing Aaron Copland’s ‘Hoe Down’ from his Rodeo album

Every good fiddler has a distinctive sound. No matter how many play the same tune, each can’t help but play it differently. Some might use an up stroke where another would a down. One might bow a series of quick single notes where another would play them all with one long draw of the bow. Some might play a double stop where others would a single string. If the listener’s ear was good enough, she could tell the difference. But you had to know the tunes, and the players, for the differences were minute. — Fiaina in Charles de Lint’s Drink Down the Moon

Raspberry dividerCat decided as you can see from the quote that we have lead off with  some of the works of Charles de Lint, a much beloved writer around here. He did a number of novels set in the real city of Ottawa where he and his wife, the late artist MaryAnn Harris, lived and had made their home for many decades, so those are the ones you will find here.

Gary reviews a set of Nordic fiddle or fiddle centered albums for us.  One is so true to live music that he says it’s ‘like sitting on the perimeter of an after hours fiddle jam at a Scandinavian folk festival’ and another was a work which ‘follows the reindeer’s annual cycle of birth, searching for food, near constant movement, and graze’. Fascinating reviews all.

We finish off with  some music that I think befits the summer season. It’s Michele Walther and Irina Behrendt playing Aaron Copland’s ‘Hoe Down’  from his Rodeo album.

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His Yarrow: An Autumn Tale gets a loving look by Grey: ‘Cat Midhir has stopped dreaming. People assure her that it isn’t possible, that she just doesn’t remember her dreams, but Cat knows they’re wrong. Where her dreams have been, there is only heaviness and loss. For Cat, this loss means more than it would to most of us, because she is that rarest of all dreamers, a person who returns to the same dream every time she sleeps. In her dream world live her truest friends and her only source of inspiration for the books and stories that have won her acclaim in her waking life…’

Robert has two set there which are Autumnal: ‘Charles de Lint is known as “the godfather of urban fantasy,” and indeed, it’s in that genre that he’s made his mark – he’s never been a writer of heroic fantasy: in a better than thirty year career, very few buckles get swashed, although the two short novels included in Jack of KinrowanJack the Giant Killer and Drink Down the Moon — come close, something of a romp a la Dumas pere — by way of Harold Lloyd, perhaps. Both concern the adventures of Jacky Rowan and Kate Hazel, best friends who find themselves enmeshed in the doings of the land of Faerie that coexists with modern-day Ottawa.’

He also looks at Moonheart, perhaps de Lint’s best loved novel: ‘Moonheart may very well be the first novel by Charles de Lint that I ever read. I can’t really say for sure — it’s been awhile. It certainly is one that I reread periodically, a fixture on my “reread often” list. It contains, in an early form, all the magic that keeps us coming back to de Lint. (And be reminded that Charles de Lint may very well be the creator of what we call “urban fantasy” — he was certainly one of the first to combine contemporary life and the stuff of myth.)’

Spritwalk  he says ‘is a loose sequel to Moonheart, a series of related tales, again centering around Tamson House and including many of the same characters. In fact, the House is even more important as a Place in this group of stories. It begins with a brief discussion of Tamson House from a book by Christy Riddell, whom we will meet again in The Onion Girl and, Widdrrshins followed by a delightful vignette, “Merlin Dreams in the Mondream Wood,” of Sarah Kendell, age seventeen, remembering her childhood “imaginary” playmate, a red-haired boy named Merlin who lived in the oak tree at the center of the garden. It’s a sweet, sad tale of the price of love.’

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‘This album is like sitting on the perimeter of an after hours fiddle jam at a Scandinavian folk festival,’ I say in my review of Hans Kjorstad’s Dålågjel. That’s a good thing, mind you. ‘Five fiddlers sawing away at hoary old Norwegian dance tunes, each of them occasionally swapping out the fiddle for some kind of percussion, a lute or a lyre, a mouth harp or portable pump organ. A couple of times they even break into song, an old Norse hymn about how good it is to love?

Here he reviews  Ilmajousi / Luftstråk, by Maria Kalaniemi and Swedish fiddler Sven Ahlbäck. ‘It’s a remarkable synthesis of sounds, styles and genres. The duo plays nine traditional pieces, most of them arranged by Ahlbäck, and eight contemporary works, six by Ahlbäck, two by Kalaniemi.’

Next he reviews a most unusual album, subject wise, Mirra, from the progressive Norwegian Hardanger fiddler and composer Benedicte Maurseth, whose 2022 album Harr was one of my favorites of that year. ‘This is a deeply immersive work, its themes, motifs and sounds moving in patterns that repeat and modulate. The entire work follows the reindeer’s annual cycle of birth, searching for food, near constant movement, and grazing, and incorporates the grunting and pawing sounds they make as they feed and interact. The titles of the eight pieces that make up this suite reflect this cycle, such as: “Windy Days,” “The Calf Rises,” Hunting March,” “Fresh Snow Over Reindeer Moss,” “A Flock Of Birds Under The Moon.” ‘

The first time he saw or heard the Nordic Fiddlers Bloc was at a superb show called “Far Flung Fiddles” at the Judique Community Center in Judique, Nova Scotia, as part of the 2013 version of Celtic Colours. The show also featured local band Beòlach and American Irish fiddler Liz Carrol. I noted that the Bloc comprises Olav Luksegård Mjelva of Norway, Anders Hall of Sweden and Kevin Henderson of the Shetland Islands. ‘As is typical for an opening act here, they played four suites of tunes that included many jigs and reels but also some polskas and more.’

He wraps off his reviews with  Nils Økland Band’s Kjolvatn. Økland, who plays hardangar fiddle, violin and viola, leads this ensemble in droning, jazz-inflected music informed by Norwegian folk music. ‘Fans of Nordic fiddling should seek out this recording, especially those who are on the adventurous side when it comes to some subtle jazz elements in the music.’

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So I’ve got some music for you that I think fits pretty much any season. It’s Michele Walther and Irina Behrendt playing Aaron Copland’s ‘Hoe Down’from Rodeo. I sourced it off a Smithsonian Institution music archive which has no details where or when it was recorded (which surprised me given how good they usually are at such things), but it may have been around twenty years ago according to other sources.

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A Kinrowan Estate story: Midsomer Odd Things

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Nearly Midsummer, and life around the Green Man offices has started getting a little weird. Oh, all right, a little weirder. Zina Lee here, reporting in from Kinrowan Hall on a beautiful warm June day. I’ve been noticing that the young plants in the gardens and window boxes have started hitting their stride and the baskets outside the doors are approaching full speed on the floral display. But there’s other stuff going on. The Midsummer Solstice is our namesake’s time, sure, mischievous nature and all, but this is ridiculous.

Things have been going missing a little more often; one puts something down and it disappears — a week later, one finds it in a totally different room than the room from which it went missing. Poltergeists? The early onset of senile dementia? One of The Cats has developed opposable thumbs? Hmmmm.

Inanimate objects — computers, sound equipment, bicycles, you name it — have started developing what might be called personalities, or perhaps a migration path. Surely that computer desktop was different yesterday when you put it to sleep, but you can’t quite think how. One of Reynard’s taps has gotten cranky (okay, so that’s not all that unusual, but throw it in anyway) down in the Green Man Pub, and the musicians in the Neverending Session have recently started complaining of strings that won’t stay in tune, cracks in previously entirely stable reeds (all right, pipers’ complaints can’t be called unusual either), and rosin going missing.

And don’t get me started on the kitchen staff complaints.

Significantly, there’ve been some magnificent displays put on by lightning bugs in the gardens the last few evenings, and the cats have been very alert indeed.

I suppose you could make a case for overflow of life-force, or biorhythms going off kilter, or just that the midsummer energy has gotten into us all (and Kinrowan Hall). But I’m plumping for a slight rash of fairies.

Mind you, not the tall, Seelie noble-looking fairy or elf of literary and celluloid fame, but the average, household, put-the-milk-out-in-a-saucer-so-we-don’t-end-up-cursed-Mildred kind of fairy, common as measles.

I can’t be the only one who has suspicions. The woman on the flower and herb cart at the corner out front is completely out of St. John’s Wort, rue, forget-me-not, rowan, and rosemary, and someone has risked the wrath of old Augustus, our concertina-playing gardener, by taking clippings off the young morning glory vines on the brick wall outside the kitchen garden. I even noticed a new horseshoe hanging up over the door of Gus’s shed near the old stables the other day; I expect not so much for its luck, but for its iron.

And now I’m wondering if it wasn’t Gus who’s been cleaning up the twigs under the rowan copse on the east side of the grounds.

Mind, one wouldn’t want to rid oneself totally of fairies. Besides the fact that they can be just as capriciously generous and benign as they can be suddenly irritable and malign, there’s the wonder factor; life without them might be a bit too grey and predictable. Anyway, when odds and sods go missing, they make excellent scapegoats.

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A Kinrowan Estate story: A Library and Its Librarian

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I’m the lead publican here at the Pub, and, if I must say so myself, a damn fine concertina player even though I need to find more time to play these days. I’m also an avid reader, so I’ve made many a visit to the Library here which is why you’re getting this tale today…

The Kinrowan Estate Library is full of dark paneling, with darkly stained walnut shelves up to the ceiling, with an open atrium of several stories, topped by an opaque skylight, with several stories of bookshelves, so that one can look up and see the books, or peer over the wrought iron balcony, over the white marble floors, or see a reader curled up below in a lovely overstuffed, winged armchair. All the shelves have those brass ladders attached to a sliding rail, so that one can climb up and get to the things tucked away on the top shelves. Many of the shelves have sliding glass doors, some with leaded stained glass, so that one is never sure of what might be inside. And some are locked! One must ask the Librarian for the key, if one has a pressing need. There are also study rooms with long tables, with lamps in the middle. And one can ask the assistants to get things from the stacks. Ah, the stacks. Given the nature of the filing system it is difficult to say what might be in there….

As one staffer put it, it has ‘Nooks. Crannies. Things you can hide under…. Capability to find exactly what you are looking for immediately — invaluable for research… Capability to find exactly what you really, really want to be reading right now, whether you knew it or not — invaluable for fun… Ambient lighting that adjusts automatically for print size, strength of bifocals — or lack thereof…’ Sounds like a pretty normal library, eh? But the Library here is like none other as it straddles, like the GMR offices, the Border. As Maria Nutick once noted, ‘The Library may be the only place where you can go to read William Shakespeare’s The Trapping of the Mouse or Edgar Allen Poe’s The Worm of Midnight while listening to the music of Gossamer Axe or Snori Snoriscousin and His Brass Idiots. The world of literature is a big, big place, and it’s an intrepid and meticulous soul who can keep track of the shifting tapestry that we call reality.’

If you think the Library is a bit strange, wait ’til you meet the Librarian! Have you seen John Hurt as The Storyteller in the series of the same name? Iain MacKenzie is every bit as scruffy as The Storyteller was. Tattered old clothes that have seen much better times, long hair and a very scraggly beard… Now I know that one expects Librarians to be bespectacled boring and rather quiet beings. Sure. You obviously haven’t spent anytime here, as ‘normal’ is never what happens around here! No one here remembers when he first showed up, nor are we sure how he came to be the Librarian, but he’s living proof that knowledge can be a dangerous thing, and that those who search for it must be brave, if not foolhardy.

The Librarian presides over a collection that holds as much delight as it does difficult truths and disturbing stories. No, the scruffiness is not accidental, it’s the product of long years looking clearly into corners that might have preferred not to see the light of day. After awhile knowledge sticks to a person, so that you don’t just see their face when you look at them, you see some of what they’ve seen as well. In our case those memories are bolstered through an appreciation of a certain beverage, aged in wooden casks, and bottled only after some years in the cellar. It’s clear why he likes it — they have a lot in common!

It’s best not approach the Librarian with trivial requests — after all, the magic of our library is the unexpected things one finds when searching. But more than that, he must find the applicant worthy, or he’ll send you on a goose chase down a maze leading to a dead end. Or perhaps it’s just hazing — but we’ve found that it takes more than breezy persistence to crack the code — you have to know your stuff, and be willing to accept what you find — whether or not it’s what you are expecting. In these days of search engines, it’s important to remember that wisdom trumps knowledge is a living thing, and her keeper is not to be approached without caution.

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What’s New for the Fifth of July: Remembering Jane Yolen; some new Americana and jazz music; Fishing Blues

All writers write about themselves, just as the old storytellers chose to tell stories that spoke to and about themselves. They call it the world, but it is themselves they portray. The world of which they write is like a mirror that reflects the inside of their hearts, often more truly than they know. 
~ Jane Yolen, Touch Magic: Fantasy, Faerie and Folklore in the Literature of Childhood, 1981

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If a writer’s work is truly ‘like a mirror that reflects the inside of their hearts’ as Jane Yolen said in the work quoted above, then her heart was indeed a wondrous place. Yolen, who died June 11 at age 87, was one of our favorite and most reviewed writers here at Green Man Review, and we’re dedicating the book section of this edition to her.

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As Gary K. Wolfe and Jonathan Strahan astutely observe in the most recent edition of their Coode Street Podcast, Yolen was so prolific over such a long time that she may not be ‘best known’ for any one work. Worth a listen if you enjoy this sort of thing, which is two veterans in the field of SFF reviewing and criticism, engaging in frequently rambling discussions on a variety of related topics.

That said, perhaps Yolen’s best known book is Briar Rose, which reimagines the fairy tale of Sleeping Beauty wrapped up in a YA story of a young person discovering the secrets of her grandmother, who was a Holocaust survivor. Eric did a fine job of reviewing it. ‘Briar Rose evokes all of the emotion that a true fairy tale should. The language is very moving, describing events in World War II in words that are both shocking and uplifting, while still preserving something of a fairy tale’s magic.’

Cat reviewed Yolen’s essay collection Touch Magic: Fantasy, Faerie and Folklore in the Literature of Childhood. ‘What this volume is about is acting as an advocate for the preservation and protecting of traditional folk and fairy tales.’ He was also very enthusiastic about a collection of Yolen’s stories: ‘Once Upon A Time (she said), shows her at her very best, with a fine collection of short stories, poems, and essays in a wonderfully designed book.’

Back in the day, Jo Morrison reviewed The Wild Hunt for Folk Tales, a long ago predecessor of Green Man Review. ‘Folk legend merges with Jane Yolen’s creative world to create a work of pure magic in The Wild Hunt, which should be destined to become a classic in the world of children’s literature.’

Liz had fun with Fairy Tale Feasts: A Literary  Cookbook for Young Readers and Eaters, that Yolen wrote with assistance from her daughter Heidi E.Y. Stemple, and illustrator Philippe Béha. ‘Fairy Tale Feasts presents 20 classic fairy tales from around the world masterfully told by ace word slinger Jane Yolen. … The book includes fairytales from European, African-American, Ashkenazi Jewish, Arabic, Turkish and Chinese cultures. Sidebars give quick facts regarding the stories and the foods mentioned in them.’

Marian McHugh reviewed Not One Damsel in Distress, a collection of tales with illustrations by Susan Guevara. ‘Yolen initially compiled Not One Damsel in Distress for her daughter and three granddaughters, as she wished to provide for her girls that which she had not been able to access — stories where girls are the heroes.’

Michael was utterly swept away by the beauty of Merlin and the Dragons, in which Yolen collaborated with the artist Li Ming. ‘… there are children’s books … and then there are books for all ages that just happen to be marketed for children. This is the latter. You can leave this on your coffeetable, or next to your child’s bed, and be equally proud either way.’

You want it darker? Try The Midnight Circus, says Warner. ‘This book is billed as a short story collection, yet in some ways this volume serves as two anthologies rather than one. After the bulk of the book, all of the short stories, comes a section in which Yolen examines the stories collected and, usually, includes an associated poem. Each is an enjoyable read in its own right, and many are published in this collection for the first time.’

And in a previous Yolen edition, Zina noted that Briar Rose continues to astound her as a reader. ‘That Briar Rose is about an evil that grew to be so large that it almost eclipsed the humanity of its participants, yet still manages to be a beautiful tale astounds me as a writer. As a human being and a reader, I was touched to the core over and over again.’

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Gary here with new music. First up is some very nice jazz from ECM. ‘This inaugural self-titled record by saxophonist Joe Lovano’s Paramount Quartet would get a high rating just on the strength of its two covers, both of them warm slow ballads: Charlie Haden’s “First Song” which appropriately opens here, and Wayne Shorter’s “Lady Day.” Both give lots of room for guitarist Julian Lage and Lovano to showcase their tone, control, and easy way with melody and improv, and lift bassist Asante Santi Debriano and drummer Will Calhoun out of mere supporting rhythmic roles to the realm of full partners in song sculpture.’

Then there’s a new release of an old(ish) live recording, Kenny Barron’s So Many Lovely Things from the archival label Elemental Music. ‘You can drop the needle on any of the 10 tracks (and yes, it’s being released as a limited-edition 2-LP set as well as a 2-CD set, via digital download and streaming) and hear some of the best straight jazz ever laid down. These three veteran musicians knew each other like brothers and they knew every song in the book, but they never phone it in.’

With something quite different, Norwegian Hardanger fiddler Helga Myhr’s second solo release Slåttespel ‘puts the focus squarely on her fiddling and on traditional Norwegian dance music from her home region of Hallingdal. This is the music that got her named Norway’s finest Hardanger fiddle player at the 2025 National Championship for Norwegian Folk Music and Dance (Landskappleiken), an event that’s been going on since 1896.’

On the Americana front, Chicago queer country crooner Andrew Sa is releasing his debut album and it’s a winner. ‘Yes, the songs on American Rough subvert the entrenched hetero normative tropes of country music. But that seems like just a minor detail with songs this beautifully written and realized.’

New York’s Benny Bleu blends bluegrass, old time and jazz in his latest release When I Am A Fossil, a nod to his background as a geologist. ‘The fare here ranges from humanist earth-friendly songs informed by Bleu’s scientific background and his streak of pure humanism, to anti-capitalist ballads to instrumentals that draw equally on bluegrass, old-time and jazz …’

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With high summer officially underway we’re thinking of one of our favorite pastimes, namely fishing. And the best song ever penned about fishing, one that’s been recorded by many, “Fishing Blues.” This one is possibly the original recording; it’s from the Anthology of American Folk Music, recorded by Henry Smith in 1928.

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A Kinrowan Estate Story: Recursive Loops

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It was three in the morning, the time most babies are born and more people die than at any other hour. The Pub was empty but for me and The Old Man writing in his journal as His Ravens looked on. It was then she walked through a door which went where I did not know. She took a seat at the bar, order a not inexpensive whiskey from me  and looked at me with a gleam in her eyes.

I am, She said, just a figment of your imagination. I pondered this as I was sure it had been many, many years since I’d taken anything that gave me anything that odd for visions, be they dreams or nightmares

Ok, I said, I’ll play along. Why are you a figment of my imagination? Because I’m a figment of your imagination, she said.

Ahhhh a recursive loop, I thought. We can’t possibly both be the products of the other, I said.

Why not, she said, Is there any reason we can’t both be dreaming the other into being? Surely if Old Gods can sit here and no one notices them, then why not this as well?

Well, she had me there. So, I said, are we all but dreams of someone else? Is there an objective reality at all?

Surely you’re kidding, she murmured, you’re the Pub Keeper on an Estate where dead kings will keep fighting each other until time itself ends, where a dead librarian has been known to help patrons out late at night, where midnight wine is offered up as something to toast with, and where the very boundaries of the Estate encompass an ancient Wild Wood whose dimensions are far larger that can really exist in a rationale universe? And where you border what’s the Summerlands?

That earned her a dram of my very best whiskey which is centuries old and so costly that no one has ever ordered it. Need I say that the distillery was one that never existed in our reality as it’s from a Scotland where Bonnie Prince Charlie beat the English oh so long ago?

So, I asked, who are you?

Ahhh that would be telling was all she said as she downed that single malt. Suffice it to say that you and I will meet again as all mortals meet me eventually..

I turned to get her another dram but she was gone and when I turned around her glass was there, empty of course. I asked The Old Man what he thought of her and he gave me a queer look before saying that no one had been here for hours.

That made me pour myself from that same ever-so-rare bottle and I never drink while working.
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