Azazel, by Isaac Asimov (Bantam Spectra, 1990)

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Though known primarily for his works of science fiction, with such classics as the Foundation series and the Robot stories, Dr. Isaac Asimov (named Grand Master in 1988 by the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America) was a master of numerous genres. It was claimed that his 465+ published books spanned every major division of the Dewey Decimal System, making him, for a time, America’s most prolific author. And among those many genres, Asimov dabbled in the realm of fantasy.

Azazel is a collection of eighteen of his modern fantasy stories, all written during the 1980s. They originated in a story Asimov wrote for a monthly mystery magazine, but, as the editor objected to the recurring fantasy elements, he soon found a home for an altered version of the concept at the Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction . After two such stories, the editor at Isaac Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine objected to the titular head of the magazine selling stories elsewhere, and thus, the next sixteen found a home at IASFM.

That’s the history behind this unusual and whimsical collection. It’s as chameleonlike as the author, having masqueraded as mystery, fantasy, and even science fiction. However, since the ultimate decision was to label them as fantasy, I have no hesitations about bringing Azazel to your attention.

Simply put, the title character, Azazel, is a two-millimeter-high demon, possessed of powers beyond our comprehension, but seemingly still a “nobody” in his own home plane of existence. As a result, he occasionally can be convinced to help people.

Now, not all of the blame for what befalls the recipients of his efforts can be placed upon Azazel. In fact, most of it can be placed solely on the human he associates with. But first, let me back up and explain. You see, every one of the stories is told from a rather interesting viewpoint: With Asimov himself as the unnamed but identifiable audience, a man by the name of George Bitternut recounts story after story of his often-unpredictable association with the demon Azazel.

George is someone we all know well. He’s the perpetual freeloader, possessed of an unending assortment of friends, godchildren, associates and other such beneficiaries of his attention. He’s arrogant, egotistical, always broke and always trying to scam his way to riches and women, and he’s got a story for every occasion. He’s the sort who’ll pocket the tip, borrow another fiver, and still leave you hanging with the check. He’s always willing to bend the ear of the listener, after a good meal or a few drinks, and so we’re treated to multiple stories of how he and Azazel changed someone’s life….

Unfortunately, human error, demon unfamiliarity with our world, and just plain carelessness mean that a never-ending assortment of George’s friends (all with names like Juniper Pen, Baldur Anderson, Elderberry Muggs, Minerva Shlump, Vissarion Johnson, Octavius Ott, Sophocles Moskowitz, Ishtar Mistik, and Menander Block — Rosie O’Donnell, while a perfectly normal name, does remind one of the similarly-named actress) succumb to a variety of catastrophes, all brought on by the philosophy of “be careful what you ask for.”

That’s right. Exact wording counts when you make deals with demons, and you get what you pay for, and if there’s no cost to you, then….

Asimov’s Azazel tales are clever, sharp, and written in a manner wholly un-Asimov (by his admission), and contain more than a faint trace of P. G. Wodehouse. They’re overblown, exaggerated, humorous, and tragic nonetheless. It’s a rare character who finds lasting happiness in these stories. Whether it’s bringing a statue to life, letting someone fly without wings, making the perfect basketball star, helping someone find true love, or reducing an impatient author’s idle time, rest assured that there’s a way to make them regret what they ask for.

George himself suffers as well, blowing get-rich-quick opportunities and friendships at every turn, but showing up right on schedule with a new tale of woe and mayhem for his faithful audience in the next story. He never learns, but would we be as entertained if he did?

If you’re looking for a little light reading, all with Asimov’s typical quality, intelligence, and dry humor, this is a book for you. The stories are all on the short side, and pass by quickly, but they’re like chips; you can’t read just one at a time. This book is likely out of print, so you may have to go digging through used bookstores or libraries. But it’s worth it. Asimov clearly placed himself in the ranks of the master fantasists with these stories, which cleverly disguise themselves as whatever you’d like them to be: fantasy, science fiction without the science, fables with the traditional moral at the end, or what-have-you. Azazel is worth looking for. It’s good, honest fun.

A Night In The Lonesome October, by Roger Zelazny (Avon Books, 1993)

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It’s October, sometime in the late 1800s, and the fate of the world is at stake. Come the end of the month, a Ritual will be held, one that will determine once again whether the Great Old Ones break through into our reality. Who will stand there and champion civilization? Who will fight for life and love and liberty? Who will stand as a Closer when the Game comes to its conclusion?

Will it be the mysterious man known as Jack, who walks the foggy streets of London with his trusty knife, and his dog, Snuff?

Will it be the vampiric Count, who sleeps by day, and stalks the nighttime?

Will it be the Great Detective and his assistant? Or the mad monk, Rastov? Perhaps it’s the Good Doctor, who’s trying to build life out of dead parts. Maybe the savior of humanity is Larry Talbot, a werewolf.

What if it’s really the Vicar Roberts, whose crusade against the rest of the players threatens them all? Or Crazy Jill? Or even the druid, Owen?

In the Game, nothing is for certain, and no one is as they appear to be. There are Openers, those who would open the way for the Great Old Ones, and the Closers, who would sacrifice themselves that the world might continue. And on October 31st, all bets are off.

This is the world of Roger Zelazny’s A Night In The Lonesome October. A world of foggy danger, mystery, and Byzantine maneuverings. A world where Jack the Ripper is, believe it or not, the good guy, where his dog is the narrator, and where absolutely anything can happen.

Thirty-one days. Thirty-one chapters. Some of the players, will live, some will die, some will quit the Game. Every time you think you have one puzzled out, they’ll go and surprise you. It’s hard finding sympathy for Jack the Ripper. But somehow, Zelazny does it. He weaves a tale so unpredictable and tangled that you’ll be kept guessing right up until the very end, and even then, you may have to go back and reread some parts to figure out where your assumptions went off.

I’ll be honest. I love this book. There’s just something downright -fun- about it. It’s a joyful, shameless look at all of the Gothic characters of the Victorian era and later, disguising them with a thin coat of paint that’ll fool nobody. It’s a romp through the classics, tying them all together with a fairly original plot, told from a singularly unique point of view. I heard that Zelazny actually wrote this one as the result of a dare, to make Jack the Ripper a sympathetic character. And by golly, he does just that. It’s a quick read, but deceptively so. Move too fast, and you may miss a turn, rather like closing your eyes on a roller coaster.

One of the major selling points of this book, though, has to be the macabre, whimsical drawings of Gahan Wilson. His “cartoons,” (for I hesitate to label them as such) are sprinkled liberally throughout the book, adding flavor and imagery to an already compelling tale. And if you don’t know about Gahan Wilson, and you haven’t seen his work, you’re missing out on a unique talent. Words simply cannot accurately describe the bizarre, stylistic, memorable renditions of the absurd that he specializes in. I read the Matthew Looney series, by Jerome Beatty Jr. when I was younger, and the thing that stuck most profoundly in my impressionable young mind was the Gahan Wilson artwork that accompanied those books.

To give you an idea of the sources drawn upon for this book, Zelazny thanks, in the introduction, Mary Shelley, Edgar Allen Poe, Bram Stoker, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, H.P. Lovecraft, Ray Bradbury, Robert Bloch, Albert Payson Terhune, and the makers of a lot of old movies. Whew!

I’ll be as blunt as possible. Read this book. It is one of Zelazny’s best books, an interesting intro to his work, and utterly unrelated to his magnum opus, the Amber chronicles. As such, it doesn’t always get the recognition it deserves. Go ahead, try it. See if it has the power to surprise you, too.

Kila, Tog E Go Bog E (Green Linnet, 1999)

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I’ve had this particular album sitting on my shelf and in my CD player for several months now. This is a lot longer than I usually let things sit, but it couldn’t be helped. You see, I couldn’t write any other reviews until I took care of this one, and I just couldn’t figure out what to say about Kila’s new release, Tog E Go Bog E.

Mind you, that’s not because it’s bad. In fact, I’ve enjoyed this album a great deal, and I must have listened to it at least a dozen times by now, letting it run in the background as I mulled over just how to phrase the review. It’s not easy, let me tell you. Tog, as I call it for short, is a fascinatingly mixed bag of talented music that seems to encompass a wide range of what the Celtic world has to offer.

When I was offered this album, it was described as “Feral Irish” to me. [Editors note: Dirty Linen in a review of Mind the Gap (their first album ) that Kila was “a more feral Moving Hearts.” One must admit that it is a catchy phrase.] That alone left me puzzling over the meaning for hours. You hear the word feral, and what comes to mind? Formerly domesticated animals, gone wild, but possessing all of the intelligence and knowledge they picked up when they still associated with civilization. Feral implies dangerous, and alien, set apart from society but not completely different. Tarzan’s a feral kind of creature, going by that image. So here I was, envisioning a group of wild-eyed, tooth-gnashing Irishmen who’d wandered away from civilization, and were now playing music on the outskirts of society.

Okay, so I’m exaggerating. But the fact is, Tog E Go Bog E really is quite alien to what the average person is used to. For one thing, don’t expect to actually understand the words. All of the songs are either instrumentals, or sung in Gaelic, thus reducing the possibility that you’ll understand what’s being said. Only one song “Tip Toe” is sung in English; and by that point, after listening to the rest of the album, you might very well mistake it for Gaelic.

How’s the music, you ask? Beautiful. Fluid. Haunting. Each song is different from the last. Bodhran, bouzaki, whistles, congas, flute, fiddle, dulcimer, guitar, saxophone, bagpipes, accordeon, cymbals, ulilleann pipes and more weave together from song to song in a rich and varied tapestry. One song might be nothing but a solo for the ulilleann pipes, the next a spotlight on the bagpipes, the next a capella, and then all of a sudden, a dozen instruments at once will explode into a celebration of harmony.

Kila is made up of seven core musicians: Ronan O Snodaigh, Rossa O Snodaigh, Colm O Snodaigh, Eoin Dillon, Dee Armstrong, Lance Hogan, and Brian Hogan. Between them, they manage to field all of the instruments listed above and several more to boot, not to mention vocals as appropriate. For this album, they were joined by several other musicians, including Breda Mayock (fiddle), Hugh O’ Neill (trumpet), and Pete Ruotolo (electric guitar). The group, as a whole, is a greatly talented one.

Luckily, the liner notes are remarkably thorough, listing who did what for each song, and giving the lyrics (in Gaelic) for the songs that had a vocal component. The English translations of the songs and more information about Kila can be found at Kila’s Web site.

Overall, I really enjoyed this album. Some songs fell flat, like the a capella song “Bi Ann,” which was hard to enjoy because I couldn’t understand the lyrics. However, the songs that took full advantage of Kila’s instrumental talents, like “Dusty Wine Bottle,” “Oh To Kiss Katie” or even the unusual “Siege of Carrickfinn National Airport” truly caught my attention.

Kila flies in Tog E Go Bog E. Not always smoothly, but they do manage to catch the air and soar quite high in this endeavor. They’re worth paying attention to. True, you might not know what to make of them at first, but in this case, any effort expended in trying to understand is indeed rewarded.

David Olney, Through A Glass Darkly (Rounder Records, 1999)

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In the 1990 Dudley Moore movie, Crazy People, an ad executive goes nuts and is consigned to a mental hospital after he starts writing “truthful” slogans, like “Volvo: Boxy but good.” In that vein, and hoping that I won’t end up the same way, I present the three word summary of David Olney’s newest album, Through A Glass Darkly.

Gloomy but good.

Alternatively: Solemn but superb.

However, you didn’t come here to get the short version. You want details. Well, then… David Olney has the very special talent of “inhabitating” the characters he sings about. He doesn’t just tell their stories, he becomes them. This would be impressive under normal circumstances, but Olney doesn’t settle for comfortable characters. No, his “cast” includes a French protitute during World War I, John Dillinger (an Old West outlaw), an obsessive lover, a gambler, a homicidal loner and more.

That’s why I have to call this one “gloomy” or “solemn,” since for the most part, Olney’s subjects are very serious, and he approaches each one from that viewpoint. Each is a unique story and a special case, and he takes them on one by one. I wouldn’t go so far as to call this CD depressing. Far from it. But it’s not exactly the sort of music you’ll want to put on if you have a date over. And it’s not exactly relaxing music, either.

What is it? It’s sung stories, plain and simple. As the album liner states, it’s about “sometimes old, sometimes vicious, sometimes tragic, and above all, always fascinating people, real and imagined.” Frankly, that sums it up as well as I ever could.

Olney’s voice is cool and refreshing, luring the listener into a strange sense of security even as he spins forth these tales of lovers, madmen, criminals, and legends. His talent is unmistakeable, as is the guitar he plays by way of accompaniment. It’s clear from this one album (Olney’s sixth, but the first he’s produced himself), that this is no fly-by-night one hit wonder. This is a seasoned veteran, who’s managed to convey a sense of maturity, experience, and weathered accomplishment.

Olney isn’t alone on this album, either. He’s joined in places by assorted friends, all picked to give Through A Glass Darkly a very specific Thirties string-band/country/blues feel. Names to note are A.C. Bushnell on fiddle, Mike Fleming on banjo, Forrest Rose on bass, Deanie Richardson on fiddle and mandolin, and Pat McInerney on drums.

The first song, “1917” (about a World War I French prostitute and her doomed English soldier client), sports no less than four Davids! (Olney, Pomeroy, Davidson and Angell.) And I must say that the band does well with the material, giving it a unique feel, and that sense of Thirties string band, at least as far as I’ve always imagined such a creature sounding. “1917” is a very sad song, and fits the gloomy aspect as well as any.

“JT’s Escape,” a rolicking tale about an escaped Old West outlaw, is a toe-tapping, lively affair that brightens the spirit after the seriousness of Dillinger’s bleak adventures. However, songs like “Little Bit of Poison” and “The Suicide Kid” probably won’t make it onto your wedding playlist.

However, “Barabbas”(about the man who was set free in Jesus’ place before the Crucifixion), conveys a sense of wonder and surprise. The self-admitted thief and murderer finds a curious kind of freedom in another man’s sacrifice, and vows to spread the word and the mystery in exchange for his new life. The final song is a quieter, wistful almost-love song entitled “Dogwoods.”

For those completists out there, it’s worth noting that among Olney’s own songs are several that were written by Tom House (“C’Mon Through Carolina”) and Townes Van Zandt (“Snowin’ On Raton”).

On the whole, I’d have to say that Through A Glass Darkly is engaging, interesting, and worthwhile. As a pleasant addition, the liner booklet contains complete lyrics to all of the songs, proving that every one is a story unto itself. An introduction by Dave Ferman (Pop Music Critic for the Fort Worth Star-Telegram) goes into details about the album and is a must-read if you plan to listen to the music. Ferman’s able to sum up the depth and breadth of Olney’s work with a certain poetic appreciativeness that enlightens the casual listener.

In short, it’s a good album. Introspective and intelligent, but most assuredly not the most cheerful of topics. It requires attention and concentration, and it probably won’t do well for background noise. But if ballad-style songs are what you like, then just maybe this CD is for you.

Sadly, I was unable to find a website devoted to David Olney, but you can always check the Rounder Web site, which contains details on Olney and his albums, allows you to purchase online, and contains a wealth of details on the other artists produced by Rounder Records.

Tab Benoit, These Blues Are All Mine (Vanguard Records, 1999)

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When I started this review, I had no idea who Tab Benoit was. None whatsoever. All I had to go on was the title of the album and the assumption that he/she/it was a blues singer. Luckily, Tab Benoit has a Web site, through which I was able to achieve enlightenment.

To sum up, Tab Benoit is a product of South Louisiana, a singer and guitarist who specializes in a lively, spicy “Cajun rock n’ blues” and who regularly thrills his audiences with a talent compared to that of “some of the greatest bluesmen and guitarists of all time.” His music has been heard on such shows as Northern Exposure, Melrose Place, Party of Five, and even (onscreen, no less!) the premiere episode of Baywatch Nights. He’s certainly no unknown, for all of my ignorance.

I love a good challenge. I’ve never exactly been one for blues music. The closest I’ve come to it was watching Blues Brothers and Blues Brothers 2000. So, given the choice to try something new, I took the chance.

I’m glad I did. This guy is good. These Blues Are All Mine is his fourth album, his first non-live album in five years; and, if this is any indication of his talents, than surely I’ve been deprived all this time.

These Blues Are All Mine has everything I’d expect of blues, and a whole lot more. Soulful singing, a lively beat, and guitars that do everything but dance. The best way I can describe this album is “mellow.” It comes on subtly, captures your attention quietly, bides its time, draws you in, and then surprises you with an energetic kick to the knee to make sure you’re not asleep.

This album is lively, jaunty, full of a finger-snapping, toe-tapping beat that’s downright infectious. And yet it never manages to become predictable. No sooner do I get used to the more traditional style of “Raided That Joint,” then Tab and friends launch into “Crawfishin’,” a song which has a Fifties-style rock beat and a country twang, effortlessly blending techniques. It would be easy to replay these songs over and over, just to focus on a different aspect each time. There’s the guitar of Tab Benoit, the drums of Allyn Robinson, the piano and organ talents of Marc Adams, and David Lee Watson on bass, all playing together as though they were born for it.

Take “Mother Earth,” a soulful ballad that echoes how I’ve always thought blues was supposed to sound, all in slow motion, a mellow croon that speaks to the heart. Or “Don’t Lose Your Cool,” which is a lot more rock ‘n roll in origin and sound. Or perhaps your tastes run to the strong drum beat-ridden “Jambalaya.” Perhaps you’d prefer “Bayou Boogie,” which is eerily reminiscent of Fifties-era rock, living up to the “Boogie” part of the name. Whatever your tastes, it’s a good bet that Tab has something to suit you.

Is this good? I’m still here, aren’t I? Bad music makes me leave the room. Awful music makes the cats leave too. Both cats and I are still listening. And trust me, one of my cats sings the blues every time he goes to the vet. But he’s no Tab Benoit. If he was, I’d sign him up.

This is a good album. I won’t call it perfect, but by all means, it’s a solid, respectable representative of the genre and Tab Benoit. And sometimes, that’s all we really need. It can hold its own anyway.

Tab Benoit’s official Web site is here. You can also visit Vanguard Records to check out his label. If you find yourself enjoying his music, you might want to catch him live, which isn’t as hard as you may think. His website claims that he does around 200 shows a year, and every show is unique, played to suit the crowd and fit the mood. So it might be worth checking out to see if he’ll be your way any time soon.

Kathryn Tickell and Friends, The Northumberland Collection (Park Records, 1999)

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When I started out to write this review, I found myself at a loss for words. How do you describe “yet another Celtic music album?” Just what do you say about the umpteenth collection of traditional songs from England/Ireland/Wales/Scotland/all of the above, that’ll make this particular album stand out from the rest? Good question. Despite the majority of my ancestors hailing from those regions, and my genetic disposition towards getting drunk and stealing horses from my neighbors (these days, it’s lawnmowers!), I’ve never had the best ear for the music of my forefathers. Maybe I’m cursed. Or maybe that little bit of German in me is finally getting his revenge.

At any rate, that’s how I approached The Northumberland Collection, by Kathryn Tickell and Friends. I’m sorry. I looked at it as just another Celticalbum. I’ve been there, done that. I went through my Chieftains/Silly Wizard/Steeleye Span phase in high school, and then stashed the tapes in a closet. Now, because I’m morally opposed to discarding any music, I still have them, because I think I may have to pull them out for a nostalgia bend later. And, in fact, that’s exactly what The Northumberland Collection inspired in me.

This is a collection of songs and tunes, mostly traditional arrangements, from Northumberland. Now, it’s a sad testament to my lack of geography skills, that even with a map included in the liner notes, it took me some actual research to ascertain that the Northumberland is, in fact, one of England’s largest counties and not a part of Scotland. And to correct my earlier assumptions, it’s not even “Celtic.” It’s English Traditional, with Celtic influences. There is a difference, Virginia.

Okay. We now know where Northumberland is. We know that this is a collection of English traditional songs. We can even narrow down that this is an album featuring Kathryn Tickell (small pipes, fiddle, viola), Terry Conway (vocals and guitar), Carolyn Robson (vocals), Julian Sutton (melodeon), and no less than seven other musicians, representing such instruments as fiddle, harp, guitar, bass, piano, 12-string guitar, and Border pipes. Tickell, as the featured musician in the title, is the main energy and spirit in this collection, appearing in most, though not all, of the tracks.

For those who’ve never heard of her, Kathryn Tickell is a relatively well-known English piper and fiddle player, who was actually born in Northumberland, making this collection something of a very personal work for her. Some of the artists she’s worked with in the past include Nick Holland, Troy Donockley, Maddy Prior, and Sting.

Now comes the real question. Is it any good? Oh, yes.

It’s beautiful, well-crafted, and expertly woven. Tickell knows her stuff, and her friends certainly know theirs, and although I can’t be certain, I have a very strong suspicion that they’ve done justice to the Northumberland tradition.

For instance, “Bonny At Morn” is a gorgeous little song, featuring Sean Barry on the harp and starring the angelic voice of Carolyn Robson. Although the tune is simple and the plot straight-forward (a mother tries to convince her children to wake up and do some actual work), it’s still a stunning example of what’s right with the album. You don’t need flashy when you have expertise.

“Otterburn” is one of Tickell’s originals, commissioned to commemorate the six hundreth anniversary of a battle of the same name (And to us Americans, tell me that six hundred years isn’t mind-boggling. That’s roughly three-times the age of our country! No wonder this album has such an timeless feel to it. ) It’s a lively piece, full of energy and enthusiasm, and capturing, if not outright evoking, the feeling of battle.

Then we have a medley like “Old Morpeth Rant/Morpeth Rant/Hesleyside Reel,” which is quite simply a toe-tapping, finger-drumming, get-up-and-move kind of piece. It’s the sort to grab you, swing you a few times, and toss you into the midst of the crowd, just to get you out of your seat.

“Fareweel Regality” is another one of those timeless songs, the ones that really do carry the weight of hundreds of years behind them. The surprise of this haunting, poignant, farewell ballad is that it was written in 1984 by Terry Conway. Had I not read that in the liner, I might very well have mistaken it for a traditional song. It has just the right blend of touching sentimentality and wistful romanticism to fit right in. Of all the songs on the album, don’t miss this one.

Yes, this album’s worth buying. It might not win Best of Show, or Best of Breed, but it’s still a sterling example of the genre. Go out and enjoy it. As for myself, I’m off to dig up some of my old tapes. It’s been too long.

You can order any of Kathryn Tickell’s albums at the Park Records Web site. Park Records also produces Maddy Prior, Steeleye Span, and the Guitar Orchestra, among others.

The Grimms’ German Folk Tales, by Francis P. Magoun, Jr. and Alexander H. Krappe (translators) (Southern Illinois University Press, 1960)

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Once upon a time, there was a prince/princess/tailor/three sons/twelve lazy servants/a frog/a horse/a frog, a horse, and a prince/an old man. They fell on hard times/their father died/they were driven out of the house/they decided to seek their fortune/they decided to pick berries in the woods/they were abandoned by their parents/they met an old (man/woman) by the side of the road. Because of their honesty/dishonesty they were rewarded/punished, and lived happily ever after/died a miserable death.

The moral of this story is be nice to people you met on the side of the road/always listen to your father/never be a braggart/there is no moral.

Confused yet? Welcome to the world of Grimms’ German Folk Tales, what we generally call “fairy tales.” Once upon a time, the oral storytelling tradition was alive and well, and these stories were passed down from person to person, differing with each telling, from region to region and from generation to generation. About all they have in common is that generally, something of a fantastical nature happens to someone, and the status quo is changed as a result.

Perhaps a tailor battles giants with his wits. Perhaps seven people possessed of supernatural powers decide to seek their fortune. Maybe an honest young man, armed with a magical talisman, goes to see the world. Maybe a soldier makes a deal with the Devil for fortune and success. Quite possibly, there’s a curse or three involved. Or a dragon. And there’s usually a talking animal, a fairy, or the Lord.

Numbers are important. Three, five, seven, twelve, and many. Three sons, twelve lazy servants, seven-headed dragons, three magical dogs, seven soldiers that leap from a knapsack…

Come to think of it, there’s almost no common thread running through the Grimms’ Tales, save for what I stated above. They don’t even all have the grace to begin with “Once upon a time….”

Now, everyone is more or less familiar with the Princess and the Frog, or any of the multiple Cinderella variants, or the assorted Rumplestiltskin tales, or the takes on Sleeping Beauty. However, all of those combined barely make up a fraction of the two hundred tales collected in this wonderful volume. For every tale that the general public is aware of, thanks to Disney’s efforts, there’s ten that have gone unknown and unheralded until now. Even a partial listing of the tales available would take up more space than we have to list them in.

So what’s so good about this particular volume, as opposed to the numerous other Grimms’ Fairy Tales out there on the market? Quite simply, accuracy. I have to admit a great deal of respect for anyone who can translate this many stories from German, and still manage to keep the authentic flavor of the text, and the colloquial language intact. And if some of the stories seem just a tad … surreal, you can thus blame it on the original text involved. Trust me, some of the originals -are- a bit on the surreal side. It’s a safe bet that you’d be hard-pressed to find anyone willing to publish the Grimms if they were alive and submitting manuscripts today. “Where’s the characterization? The plot? Where’d the goat come from?”

Sorry, folks. After several dozen folk tales in one sitting, I’m a tad unhinged. Vanishing fairies, talking goats, mysterious frogs, inexplicable curses, and the occasional lack of logic will do that to you.

A word of warning. These are NOT stories for children. Death is common, maiming frequent, bad people meet horrible, horrible ends, and even good people generally undergo severe trials and tribulations before finding their fortune. Incest isn’t unknown, nor is child abuse, spouse abuse, or troll abuse. And let’s not even talk about the apparent flourishing black market for children…

Let me get back to my original points.

A) These stories aren’t for children. Unless read properly, with the right voices and emphasis, and judicious editing as you see fit for juvenile sensibilities. Of course, in this day and age, it’s possible nothing will shock your children. Or you.

B) These stories are the real deal, translated from the original texts with a high rate of accuracy and quality.

C) This collection is something that no one should be without. If you like fairy tales, folklore, folk tales, mythology, or anything that -could- begin with “Once upon a time…” then you really do need a good copy of Grimms’. They live up to their name, after all. These aren’t the watered-down Victorian-era tales, or the Disney versions. These stories reflect life in all of its many shades of grey.

D) As an added bonus, this collection also includes 10 “Religious Tales For Children.” Again, read them to your children at your own risk.

E) Along with 200 stories of varying quality, popularity, and logic, and the 10 mentioned religious tales for children, this edition also comes with a nice little foreword to explain the whys and wheres, an alphabetical index of the stories as listed by their English titles, and an alphabetical index of the stories as listed by their German titles.

My opinion? If you need a collection of Grimms’ fairy tales, this one is as good as any, and better than most. Weighing in at 670 pages, with fairy small type, it’s not something to try and read all in one sitting. But it’s thorough, and entertaining.

Now, I have no idea if this edition is still out there on the shelves, especially as this one was published in 1969. But it’s definitely worth the effort to find. Just don’t expect every story to make sense. (Ask me some day about the Old Beggar-Woman, or the Star Dollars …) And even if you won’t live happily ever after, you’ll at least live happily.

The Beggar’s Opera, by John Gay (Barron’s Educational Series, 1962)

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The Beggar’s Opera, or at least the edition I recieved for review, and I, have an unusual history. Ever since I received this book in the mail, one thing after another manifested to distract me from my mission. Every time I sat down to write the review of The Beggar’s Opera, it vanished, only to turn up later, after the inclination and time to write had passed. I began to wonder if perhaps my cats had entered into a conspiracy to keep me from saying anything about it, or whether the book itself was sentient and highly mobile. Looking for The Beggar’s Opera became an exercise in discovery, as the increasingly frequent attempts to clean up my office as I searched high and low turned up dozens of other books and magazines I haven’t had the chance to read yet. It was like a treasure hunt, where instead of one prize, I was finding twenty.

How does this relate to John Gay’s masterpiece of satire and social commentary? Because among the Stewarts Draft Cola bottles (three, unopened), The Complete Monty Python’s Flying Circus (book form, two volumes) and my Jay and Silent Bob action figures, I found treasures. My search turned up much more than I was expecting to find. And that’s what you’ll get if you read The Beggar’s Opera — a lot more than you thought you would.

First put on in 1728, The Beggar’s Opera set the stage for centuries to come, revitalizing the comedy genre, and recreating the musical comedy genre in a new light. John Gay’s work borrows from a variety of sources, starting life in the concept of “Quaker pastorals” or “a Newgate pastoral, naming the whores and thieves there.” Posing in various forms as social commentary, a satire on Italian opera, a ballad opera, and a musical comedy, there’s no doubt that The Beggar’s Opera has inspired playwrights and composers ever since, and its popularity has never been in doubt. [Editor’s note: In 1928 Kurt Weill and Bertold Brecht transformed John Gay’s The Beggar’s Opera into a scathing critique of German moral decadence–The Threepenny Opera — which was also a not so subtle political satire on Hitler’s rise to power.]

Boiled down to its simplest form, The Beggar’s Opera is a story about heroes, villains,whores, rogues, love, confusion, sacrifices, betrayal, redemption, and humor. Seventeen scenes in 3 acts that span the course of one day in London, revolving around a highwayman, the women who love him, their respective families (one family is into crime, the other into law), and assorted extras, all set to song, dance, and the occasional musical accompaniment. Is it any good? I enjoyed reading The Beggar’s Opera. I really did. Would it be better seen on stage? Undoubtedly so. The value of this book lies not in the play, but in what we get besides the play.

For starters, there’s a history and biography of John Gay. There’s a detailed analysis, plot summary, and history of the play itself, going into many of the background details about how The Beggar’s Opera came to be. Finally, there’s a section on staging and performance, historical and otherwise. This is the sort of book best used for reference, educational purposes, or general interest. To properly understand the play, go see it live.

The book is recommended, but let me note that this edition I reviewed was published in 1962, and is most likely out of print or difficult to obtain. You may have to do some hunting to find a Beggar’s Opera resource that’s equivalent. But if you can, or if you can find a more recent edition of this same book, by all means, look for it. It’s a worthy addition to anyone’s library, especially if you like musical theater, or theater in general.

Steve Gillette, Texas and Tennessee (Redwing Music, 1998)

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Long considered one of the best in the field, Steve Gillette continues his track record with this highly satisfying, enjoyable album. The lyrics are rich, the vocals deep and energetic, and the music itself lively. I thoroughly enjoyed this taste of his work, which was my first exposure to Gillette’s style, and hopefully not my last. It’s hard to go into the details without going overboard, so I’ll settle for saying that these are songs worth listening to in depth, both for the quality and depth of the lyrics, and the toe-tapping tunes. Yet not every song is rousing and lively. Some of them are almost somber, reflective looks back on life, almost haunting. Credit goes both to Steve Gillette, and to the other musicians who provide accompaniment. This album is highly recommended, and worth a shot, even if you’re not normally a fan of fiddles and guitars.

Forest Hill Band, Step On It (Loyd Artists, 1998)

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Country is not one of my favorite genres, but even I could appreciate this album, a lively, thoughtful trip through a series of songs stemming from the country-folk sphere of influence. With sings like “Speedos” and “Harley-Jump Boogie”, they exploit icons of Americana. With “What If We Fell In Love?” and “The Closing of a Door” we explore a more tender side of life. The album, as a whole, is fairly cheerful, and never dull. More common instruments like guitar and drums are joined by the esoteric: guiro, cow bell, and “demonic biker vocals.” All in all, a well-done, pleasant album that will certainly appeal to country/folk rock fans.