Music of the Month - June

I am very sorry for the rather large gap in my Music of the Month posts... I have been revising and sitting my AS Level exams, so have been rather busy. All finished now though! To get me through the rather stressful exam time I have been listening to a lot of soothing music. The summer is here finally and the festival season is upon us. I am very excited for Glastonbury this year and wish I was going, but I shall be content with the TV coverage. More excitement is on it's way as I am lucky enough to be seeing Matt Corby this weekend, and Mumford & Sons, plus many amazing guests, next month. It has been a little worrying as Ted Dwane, from Mumford & Sons, has been rather ill with a blood clot on the brain recently, but all is fine and he will hopefully be well enough to play at Glastonbury and the London gig. Anyhow... Here is the music I have been listening to these months; I hope you enjoy it as much as I do! If anybody has any music suggestions I would be delighted to hear them!

Iron & Wine - Jezabel and Boy With A Coin
Iron & Wine, aka Sam Beam, is the most perfect music for getting rid of stress. His voice is so soothing and the blend of instruments, guitar, banjo, accordion, electric guitar, drums etc, make a beautiful combination. I fully recommend the album Our Endless Numbered Days for listening to after a long day - it is soothing yet compelling, both musically and lyrically. Jezabel is a fantastic song, taken from the astoundingly good Woman King EP. It is rich and rhythmical, and makes a thoroughly enjoyable and fascinating listen. Boy With A Coin is another amazing Iron & Wine song, with a wonderful video - the dancers are beautiful.

Dry The River - Bible Belt and New Ceremony

Dry The River are one of my favourite bands of all time. Their sound is so unusual yet familiar at the same time. It is difficult to provide a simple explanation for what the music is that this band creates; it is extremely complex and varied, taking elements from folk, rock, emo, Americana and gospel. Their debut album Shallow Bed is wonderful, taking the bands acoustic versions on YouTube to another level and introducing much energy and atmosphere. However, the acoustic versions  are still equally as fantastic. The Shallow Bed (Acoustic) album showcases the more folky side to the band, highlighting Pete Liddle's fragile vocals, the wonderful harmonies and the violin. Religious influence is very clear in many of the songs, such as Bible Belt and Shaker Hymns - these songs also draw on aspects of American history and the King James bible, lending the tracks a certain seriousness. It was very hard to settle on just two tracks, but I think that Bible Belt and New Ceremony show Dry The River in all their complex and wonderful beauty.

Christopher Paul Stelling - Solar Flares and Brick x Brick

Christopher Paul Stelling is one amazing musician. In my opinion his guitar playing cannot be matched in beauty and excellence. It is too fantastic for words. His new album False Cities is wonderful and I cannot recommend it highly enough, the same goes for his Songs of Praise and Scorn album. The song, Never Been There, I consider to be the most darkly beautiful piece of music ever, of which I was sad not to be able to upload a video. Solar Flares is lovely and the recent song Brick x Brick, taken form Christopher's new album, is fantastic - the video is great too. 

Edwardian Actress - Gabrielle Ray

Gabrielle Ray (28 April 1883 - 27 May 1972) was one of the most successful actresses of the Edwardian era, and became one of the most photographed women in the world. She was famous throughout Europe, and was described as "the most statuesque beauty that ever appeared on the English stage". Gabrielle Ray is one of my favourite Edwardian actresses, partly for her beauty, her interesting life, and that her birthplace is very near that of my family. Despite being extremely popular when young, after an unsuccessful marriage, Gabrielle Ray's life went swiftly downhill, ending in  very tragic circumstances. I have included some photographs of her from different periods in life.

Gabrielle Ray was born Gabrielle Elizabeth Clifford Cook near Stockport, England, and was one of six children. Ray first appeared in London's West End at the age of ten, and from then on became a successful actress of the English stage. As well as being a celebrated beauty, she became famous for her dancing; for example in The Orchid (1903) she danced in pink pajamas while singing, and in The Merry Widow (1907) her routine included handstands and high kicks, performed on a table held by four men. Ray's image was wanted by many, and she became one of the most photographed women in the world; her beauty viewed by millions through the relatively recent invention of picture postcards. Her sister, Gladys Raymond, was also an actress; she and Gabrielle performed together as the 'Sisters Ray'.

In 1912 Gabrielle Ray announced her retirement from the stage, and left to marry the wealthy Eric Loder. The marriage was an unhappy one and soon broke down; they divorced in 1914. The time was difficult for Ray, but she returned to the stage in '15, and took parts in two final plays in the West End. She occasionally appeared in pantomimes and minor plays, but by 1920 Ray had disappeared from the English stage; her previous fame was forgotten and she lived in obscurity, suffering from depression and alcohol abuse. In 1936 she had a severe mental breakdown and was institutionalized for nearly forty years. Gabrielle Ray died in 1973, at the age of 90, in Holloway Sanatorium. 

Edwardian Actress - Lily Elsie

Lily Elsie (8 April 1886 – 16 December 1962) was a popular English actress and singer, most famous for her role in Franz Lehar's operetta The Merry Widow. Lily Elsie has to be my most favourite of Edwardian actresses, and I consider her to be, perhaps, the most beautiful of women. As well as being a talented actress and singer, and a stunning beauty, she had an interesting and ultimately rather tragic life, which is not apparent from the many photographs and postcards bearing her image. I have included a small selection of images of Elsie, from different periods in her life - it was very difficult to chose; she is so beautiful!

Lily Elsie was born Elsie Hodder in the West Riding of Yorkshire. Elsie became a well known child star, known as 'Little Elsie', though she was reported to be very shy, even as an adult. By 1898 she had her first performance in London, and featured in many plays and pantomimes, touring across England. From about 1900 she adopted the stage name Lily Elsie.

Elsie's biggest and most popular success came from playing the title role in the English version of The Merry Widow. From 1908 the show was a big success, and Elsie became a star, even in America. She received many gifts, especially from male admirers, and her image was wanted by many advertisers. She became one of the most photographed women of the Edwardian Era. In 1915 the American newspaper, Atlanta Constitution, wrote of Elsie: 

"Perhaps her face is nearer to that of the Venus de Milo in profile than to any other famed beauty. There are no angles to be found about her any place.... If she came to America, she would undoubtedly be called the most beautiful woman in America. Nature never made a more brilliant success in the beauty business than she did with Lily Elsie. It was mostly from the nobility that her suitors came. Everyone agrees that Lily Elsie has the most kissable mouth in all England... she possesses the Cupid's bow outline with the ends curving upward delicately, all ready for smiles.... Strangely enough, the women of the land were among her most devoted admirers."

Elsie appeared in many other shows after The Merry Widow, and in 1911 she left the stage to marry Major John Ian Bullough (1885–1936), but the marriage was reported to be an unhappy one. She also suffered from many health problems, such as anemia, and had many operations while she was still performing. Though her husband wished her to retire from stage, for it was obviously stressful and damaging on her health, and she did so for a few years, she continued until 1920, when she moved with her husband to Gloucestershire. There Elsie enjoyed the ten year break from performing, before returning to the theatre for a few years. Her last performance was in 1928.

In 1930 Elsie's unhappy marriage ended in divorce and her health deteriorated rapidly; becoming a hypochondriac and spending much time in nursing homes. She was diagnosed with serious physiological ailments and even underwent brain surgery which apparently improved her situation somewhat. Lily Elsie died in St Andrews Hospital in London at the age of 76, where she had spent her last years.

Edwardian Actresses

I have many interests in different aspects of history, but one of my favourite is that of the Edwardian era. It was rather a short period of time, but was a time of great change; socially, politically, economically and in fashion. One particular interest I have from this period is that of Edwardian actresses. I do not quite know from where this interest comes, but I think it is the fact that in history we know very much about the events and deeds of people of a time and little of the people themselves, and that is what is fascinating, whereas with Edwardian actresses we know very little about the plays they performed in, for there is often no footage of the performances, but there are many photographs documenting them throughout their lives. This opposite situation I find extremely fascinating. Though, often very little is known of the actresses lives - we only have photographs and reviews of their plays and performances. It is quite sad, but interesting, that the actresses only survive through the postcards or photographs of them, and they are quite unknown to us, but at the time they were the celebrities of their day. I find it hard to imagine that in, say, 100 years time, people will have very little idea of who our contemporary celebrities are, because they are so well documented today.

Over the next few weeks I plan to write a post on a certain Edwardian actress and include some photos; just a small few from the often hundreds which would be taken of the women during their careers. Like many of us who like history, we are drawn to the bygone eras, and look upon them with a certain nostalgia, even though we have never lived through those times. What I find interesting about Edwardian actresses is the differences and similarities to our actresses and models of today. I find it rather sad that today, to be considered beautiful, an actress or model should be thin. They are extremely beautiful women, but it is sad that they have to be so thin to be considered so. So, what I love about the Edwardian actresses and models is that their fame is based on their talent and their natural beauty. Yes, they did wear corsets, but that was just common practice. It is interesting to note that many of the actresses considered to be the most beautiful and famous of the Victorian and Edwardian period were often rather large ladies, often standing over six foot.
The actresses I plan to write posts about are; Lily Elsie, Maud Allan, Gabrielle Ray, Constance Collier, Maude Fealy, Lina Cavalieri and Lillian Russell.

Lily Elsie

Maud Allan

Gabrielle Ray

Constance Collier

Maude Fealy

Lina Cavalieri

Lillian Russell

The Victorian Human Hair Market

Beautiful and elaborate hairstyles are often associated with the Victorian Era, but it is often overlooked how the ladies actually managed to achieve these fantastic creations. During the 19th century the hairstyles changed to compliment the ever-changing fashions of dress. With the 1870's came the bustle period, and consequently hairstyles became increasingly elaborate, with a preference for long tresses, masses of hair piled on the head, adorned with flowers, combs and ribbons.

A few examples of 1870's Hairstyles

With the invention of the curling tongs in 1866, it was now even easier for women to achieve the thick curls they desired for their hair. However, this new invention lead had many problems - frequent use of the curling tongs left ladies hair matted and burned; much the consistency of wool or felt, and rather smelly. To achieve the massive hairdos so desired, much false hair was needed. It was extremely common for Victorian women to keep the hair from their hairbrushes to use as padding, or 'rats' as they we called, for their hairstyles, but it was not desirable to have 'rats' showing through, nor was it a sufficient amount to create the tall  and elaborate hairstyles. 

A selection of Victorian photographs, to show the variety of hairstyles through the era.

Even by the 1880s, false hair was still very much in demand. Though false hair was no longer needed for much of the Victorian women's hairstyles of the period, it was still wanted to make fringes. Fringes, or bangs, became extremely popular in the late 1870s and early 80s, through Queen Alexandra, who was famous for her rather massive curly fringe. Because many women did not like to cut the front of their hair, and liked to keep it long, false fringes were often worn to fit in with the fashion. The false hair industry was subsequently huge in the Victorian western world, especially in Paris and London.  Here is an extract on the London human hair market from Victorian social journalist John Greenwood, from his 'In Strange Company' of 1874. It is a rather long extract but thoroughly enjoyable to read, for Greenwood, being the great journalist he is, writes with such fluency and description. 

IT was recently my privilege to inspect, and for just as long as I chose, linger over the enormous stock of the most extensive dealer in human hair in Europe. The firm in question has several warehouses, but this was the London warehouse, with cranes for lowering and hauling up heavy bales. I, however, was not fortunate in the selection of a time for my visit. The stock was running low, and a trifling consignment of seventeen hundredweight or so was at that moment lying at the docks till a waggon could be sent to fetch it away. But what remained of the impoverished stock was enough to inspire me with wonder and awe. On a sort of bench, four or five feet in width, and extending the whole length of the warehouse front, what looked like horse tails were heaped in scores and hundreds ; in the rear of this was another bench, similarly laden ; all round about were racks thickly festooned ; under the great bench were bales, some of them large almost as trusses of hay; and there was the warehouseman, with his sturdy bare arms, hauling out big handfuls of the tightly-packed tails, and roughly sorting them.

    I should imagine that a greater number of pretty lines have been written on women's hair than on anything else in creation. Lovers have lost their wits in its enchanting tangle; poets have soared on a single lovely tress higher than Mother Shipton ever mounted on her celebrated broom; but I question if the most delirious of the whole hair-brained fraternity could have grown rapturous, or even commonly sentimental, over one of these bales when, with his knife, the warehouseman ripped open the canvas and revealed what was within. Splendid specimens, every one of the tails. Eighteen or twenty inch lengths, soft and silky in texture, and many of rare shades of colour-chestnut, auburn, flaxen, golden - and each exactly as when the cruel shears had cropped it from the female head.

    It was this last-mentioned terribly palpable fact that spoilt the romance. Phew! One hears of the objectionable matters from which certain exquisite perfumes are distilled ; but they must be roses and lilies compared with this raw material out of which are manufactured the magnificent head-adornments that ladies delight in. As to its appearance, I will merely remark that it, gave one the "creeps" to contemplate it. Misinterpreting my emotion, the good-natured gentleman who accompanied me hastened to explain that the fair maidens of Southern Germany to whom these crowning glories had originally belonged did not part with the whole of their crop. "More often than not," said he, "they will agree to sell but a piece out of the centre of their back hair, and under any circumstances they will not permit the merchant's scissors to touch their front hair." Time was when I should have derived consolation from this bit of information; but now I could not avoid the reflection what a pity it was, for sanitary reasons, that they did not have their heads shaved outright. "Is it all in this condition when you first receive it?" I ventured to inquire. "As nearly as possible," was my friend's bland rejoinder.

    The lot under inspection, a little parcel of a couple of hundredweight, came from Germany. The human hair business has been brisker in that part of Europe than anywhere during the past few years, on account of its yielding a greater abundance of the fashionable colour, which is yellow. Prices have gone up amongst the "growers" in consequence. The average value of a "head" is about three shillings. As well as I can understand the matter, however, the traffic in human hair is based on pretty much the same business principles as those which find favour with the "old clo'" fraternity with which we arc familiar. With them articles of' china and glass are exchanged for an old coat or a brace of cast-off shoes - a pair of Brummagem earrings, a yard or two of flowered chintz, or a pair of shoe-buckles are offered for a cut out of the back hair of the German peasant maiden. The hair buyers - or "cutters," as they are technically called - are pedlars as well, and never pay for a shearing with ready cash when they can barter. These pedlars are not the exporters, however ; they are in the employ of the wholesale dealer, who entrusts them with money and goods, and allows them a commission on the harvest. I don't think that I was sorry to hear about the Brummagem earrings and the barter system. Since civilisation demands the hair off the heads of women, it is consolatory to find that they think no more of parting with it than with a few yards of lace they have been weaving. It comes from Italy as well as from Germany, and recently from Roumania. I was informed that an attempt has been made to open a trade with Japan but, though the Japanese damsels are not unwilling, at a price, to be shorn for the adornment of the white barbarian, the crop, although of admirable length, is found to be too much like horsehair for the delicate purposes to which human hair is applied.

   Brown hair, black hair, hair of the colour of rich Cheshire cheese, hair of every colour under the sun, was tumbled in heaps on the counters before me, including grey hair - notmuch of it, as much, perhaps, as might be stuffed into a hat-box; but there it was, the hair of grandmothers. Seeing it to be set aside from the rest, my impression was that it got there through one of those tricks of trade that every branch of commerce is subject to. That lot was stuffed into the middle of a bale, I thought, by some dishonest packer who, while aware how valueless it was, knew it would help to make weight.

    "You don't care much about that article I imagine," I remarked to my guide.

    "What! that grey hair-not care for it!" he returned, with a pitying smile at my ignorance. "I wish that we could get a great deal more of it, sir; it is one of the most valuable articles that comes into our hands. Elderly ladies will have chignons as well as the young ones; and a chignon must match the hair, whatever may be its colour." It was unreasonable, perhaps; but, for the first time in my life, as I gazed on the venerable pile, I felt ashamed of grey hair. It seemed so monstrously out of place.

    But I had yet to be introduced to the strangest branch of this very peculiar business. I had inspected packs, heaps, and bales of human tresses of every length, colour, and texture; but every hair of it had been shorn, living and vibrating, from the human head. Now, I was invited to look at a lot of "dead hair," in a bale which would make a Covent Garden porter of only average strength shake at the knees before he had gone a hu'ndred yards.

    "This is a very extraordinary kind of article," said my kind informant, as he ripped open the stout cloth covering; "this is the 'dead hair' you read of in newspapers and magazines."

    Involuntarily I edged a little further from the gash in the canvas. 

    "But is it really dead hair-hair, that is to say, that has been -"

    "Buried and dug up again," my friend blandly interrupted ; "not exactly, though that is the blundering popular impression. This, my good sir, is an article that is not cut from the head. It is torn out by the roots. It all comes from Italy."

    "Torn out by the roots! What! violently!"

    "Violently, my dear sir."

    I trust that my look of incredulity had nothing of rudeness in it. I had heard of hair being torn out of the human head by the roots - nay, in more than one frightfully desperate case I had seen as much as a big handful produced before a police magistrate to prove the murderous antipathy of Miss Sullivan for Mrs Malony; but what was that small quantity compared with as much as might be weighed against a sack of coals? Could it be possible that the ladies of Italy were so terribly quarrelsome that --; but, observing my perplexity, my friend hastened to explain.

    "Torn from the head with gentle violence. I should have said, and with weapons no more formidable than the brush and the comb. When I hold the head" - let the hair be living or dead, he called every separate hank of it a "head" - "to the light, you will see that every hair has its root attached, and all that you see here is only a small part of the bulk that finds its way every year to market. It is simply the hair that becomes detached from the heads of Italian women in the ordinary process of combing and brushing. As a married man, you may know what happens when a lady brushes her hair; she will pass a comb through the brush, give the detached waifs of hair a twist round her finger, and make a loop to it to keep it tidily together till it is thrown away. A like habit with Italian women is the mainspring of our English dead-hair supply. In the poor districts of Italy especially, the little twist of waste hair finds its way to the washing-basin, and so to the street gutter, out of which it is fished by the scavenger. From his hands it passes for the merest trifle into those of the knowing ones, who know how to disentangle the ugly little tufts, to arrange them as to length and colour, and send them to market as you here see them."

    As I saw them, they differed little from the thousands of other "heads" piled on all sides, except that they were somewhat shorter. Indeed, they were cleaner-looking; but, after what I had heard about them, it was difficult to contemplate them without a shudder. They were worth a third less as a marketable article than "live hair," I was informed; but the supply was abundant, and many hundredweights were used in the course of a year. Many hundredweights; and about two ounces will make a respectable chignon! It is a dreadfully unpleasant fact, ladies, but so it is. To be sure, the perfect machinery used in the preparation of human hair before it finds its way into the hands of the hairdresser ensure its absolute cleanliness ; but it is not nice to reflect that at the present time hundreds of your lovely sex are crowned with Italian peasant women's brush-combings, consigned first to the slop-basin and then to the street- kennel, to be rescued therefrom by the rake of the scavenger.

The Raven Edgar Allan Poe

I am a big fan of Edgar Allan Poe; his poems and stories are equally fantastic and I believe him to be one of the best writers and poets of the 19th century, if not of all time. Dante Gabriel Rossetti was also very fond of Poe, especially his most famous poem The Raven. Before and around the time the Pre-Raphaelite brotherhood was formed in 1848 Rossetti made a series of drawings for Poe's poems and verse. This is his drawing for The Raven. It is beautiful and I find really captures the mood of the poem. I have included the wonderful poem here too.

The Raven: Angel Footfalls 1848

The Raven

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. `'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door - Only this, and nothing more.' Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore - For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore - Nameless here for evermore. And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating `'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door - Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; - This it is, and nothing more,' Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, `Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; - Darkness there, and nothing more. Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!' This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!' Merely this and nothing more. Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. `Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice; Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore - Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; - 'Tis the wind and nothing more!' Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore. Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door - Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door - Perched, and sat, and nothing more. Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, `Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven. Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore - Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.' Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door - Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as `Nevermore.' But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only, That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered - Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before - On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.' Then the bird said, `Nevermore.' Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, `Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store, Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore - Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore Of "Never-nevermore."' But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore - What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking `Nevermore.' This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er, She shall press, ah, nevermore! Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. `Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore! Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.' `Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! - Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted - On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore - Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.' `Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore - Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore - Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.' `Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting - `Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.' And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted - nevermore!

Music of the Month - March

Good Evening!
This here is my second Music of the Month post, in which I share some of the music I have been listening to recently (February's post here). It is funny and slightly depressing looking back on the last post, for there I am just getting excited for the coming of spring. Oh how wrong I was! The weather now has decided to revert back to arctic midwinter here in Britain - most of the country is covered in snow and it is very cold. The flowers which I planted last week in a bout of luckless optimism have now promptly died from the blanket of snow which mercilessly crushes their fragile stems... I may be slightly exaggerating there but, yes, my flowers are not looking to good, and it has been snowing pretty bad. Even as I type there is a boding black cloud lurking on the horizon, no doubt full of snow again...
Anyway, enough of my moaning about the weather, it is Britain; what can we expect? On with the music!

David McCaffrey - Your Old Ways and Stars
I was very pleased to see the wonderful David McCaffrey this month, supporting Joe Banfi (featured on my last music post). I love listening to live music and watching David, equipped with only his voice and guitar, was spellbinding. His voice is beautiful and he plays guitar very well. I feel very lucky to see this amazing artist just starting out on what will be a lovely career.

Lord Huron - Time to Run and Ghost On The Shore

I was recently introduced to Lord Huron by a wonderful and beloved friend, and I am so very grateful.  I love this music - it is wonderful and deeply atmospheric. It is great music to have echoing around the house, and listening to the lyrics is like listening to old stories on summer nights. I love the video for Time to Run - it is like an old western - they are, strangely, my favourite kind of film; you can't beat The Magnificent Seven! Ghost on the Shore has to be my favourite of Lord Huron's songs; it is truly beautiful.

Pokey LaFarge and The South City Three -La La Blues and Hard Times

Oh, how have I only started listening to this music again this month? I discovered Pokey LaFarge a few years ago, but only rediscovered it last week after a friend reminded me of this beautiful music. I love old-timey American music and Pokey LaFarge is a shining example of America's wealth of musical talent. The music he and his wonderful band create is amazing - old-fashioned yet always new; it is the kind of music that will never get old and everybody can relate to in some way.