Shortening the Road

May: Birthday Month of Doooom!

2012-05-01T05:28:00.000-07:00

Including my own birthday (May 4th), I know so many people having birthdays this month that a friend has titled this month to be the Birthday Month of Dooooom!

But today specifically is my friend LC's birthday, so to honor the old man, I've decided to post a recording of his telling of the classic Rudyard Kipling story called The Cat Who Walked By Himself. The recording volume is a little off because LC kept moving in front of the microphone, but he comes in quite clearly all the same.

The Cat Who Walked By Himself -- Told by Laurent Castellucci (16:32 minutes)

Chapter 2: The Cleansing River

2012-02-28T10:10:00.003-08:00

Previously: Chapter 1: The Watching Woods

Emilie sat bolt upright, her chest heaving and bathed in sweat. For a moment, she wasn't sure where she was, but as she struggled to bring her breathing under control, she took in her surroundings. She reached out for her dagger and it was right where she left it, which calmed her down somewhat. The dream-images were already fading from her mind's eye, but they still terrified her in their vividness. She instinctively looked at her hands, expecting to see them covered in red-black blood, but she only saw sweat.

She pushed the dream away and began her morning routine, but her tide of her thoughts continued to be washed over by what she saw, heard, and felt. She knew she could only speak to Elder Khaman about her dream, not only because of his warning that morning months ago, but because she felt that he would take her seriously and provide the best insight.

Emilie grabbed some dried deer meat and some bitter-root, onions, and wild carrots, along with an assortment of her favorite herbs. She was relieved to see the sky was overcast, so it wouldn't be too cold today. All the same, she pulled on her warmest boots and mittens, just in case the weather turned colder. She stepped out into the morning light and took a deep breath, the frigid air shaking out the last of the night's cobwebs from her brain. Quietly, while the rest of her tribe were slowly waking up, she slipped out into the woods, heading for the river.

In some ways, Emilie felt more at home in the woods than in the village. The ancient trees seemed to embrace her, protecting her, and she in turn shared her life force with the trees. She ran her hand along the rough bark of each tree as she passed by, taking a moment to wonder at what history coursed just beneath its surface. With every step, the still-quiet of the forest was slowly drowned-out by the roar of the river until she finally stepped out beyond the tree line.

The raw power of the white water overwhelmed her for a moment, a moment that she savored. Carefully, she made her way to the edge of the shoreline, removed her mittens, and dipped her warm hands into the icy cold current. The shock of the cold water was brief, but exhilarating and she could feel the raw power of the river as rushed past her hands. Suddenly, she splashed the ice-cold water from her hands into her face and the shock sent her reeling into the present moment as the rivulets of ice water poured from her face, down her neck, and warmed to the heat of her skin.

She returned to the safety of the shoreline, sat against a snow-covered stone, and fell into a deep meditative trance. She became part of the landscape, and in turn, the land embraced her. She listened to everything around her and she watched, taking it all in. In that moment, she dwelled with the powers of the earth.

It was at that moment that she felt something new, something that seemed out of place. There was a tremor that coursed through the earth, jostling her from her trance. Looking up the trees, she saw an impossibly large shadow that danced between the branches and trunks. She peered past the boulder and saw it emerge from the trees on the opposite shore. The ancient boughs cracked and broke, splintering into thousands of shards of ice and wood beneath its monstrous hands as it parted them and then stepped out onto the shore, sending stone, wood, and water flying in all directions.

The Frost Giant took a moment to look up and down the river, its eyes squinting in the bright light of morning. Emilie watched in fear and fascination as river water gushed through its fingers as it lifted its cupped hands up and splashed the water over its head. The Frost Giant shook its head, sending a torrent of snow and water in all directions. It reached down to a huge boulder so that it could sit by the raging waters. Emilie noticed that it only took a few seconds before the boulder was covered in frost, making it look like an enormous snow-throne supporting the giant's back.

Emilie took all this in while she watched and listened. She knew she should flee to the safety of the village, but she could not take her eyes off this enormous creature. The very few times she saw a Jotun, it was raging and bellowing, filled with hate and sowing destruction. But now, this Jotun seemed peaceful, quiet, even gentle in its own way. Emilie scanned the open space between herself, the rampaging river, the reposing giant, and the safety of the woods: there was no way she could move from her spot and not be seen by the behemoth. She closed her eyes and tried to slow her breathing so that her fear did not cloud her thoughts quite so much.

When she opened them again, she witnessed worlds colliding, breaking down the fabric of all that she thought she understood. Her knees buckled and she grabbed wildly at the stone she hid behind for purchase, but the slickness of the stone betrayed her and she fell painly down to the hard ground. All the while, she never took her eyes away from what she saw, just in case it disappeared from sight and she would need to contend with the idea that she had gone mad.

Sitting cross-legged in the snow, not ten feet from the Frost Giant, was Elder Khaman. In his left hand was his staff, leaning across his shoulder. In his right hand was the leg of a deer wrapped in cloth. This deer leg had enough meat on it to feed a family in their tribe for a week, but he held out to the Frost Giant and waited. The Frost Giant gently took the deer leg and set it between them.

At first, it seemed like the two of them simply stared at each other. Sometimes Khaman gestured with his staff and the Frost Giant shifted and traced shapes in the snow with its hands, but it didn't get up, nor did it move towards Elder Khaman. Both continued to sit 10 feet from each other as the trees swayed and the white water rushed. The river made so much noise that it took some time before the full weight of what was happening crashed through Emilie's consciousness.

They were talking.

This work by John David Hickey is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Based on a work at www.johndavidhickey.ca.

Chapter 1: The Watching Woods

2012-02-25T07:21:00.005-08:00

This story is based on events that took place at the Northern Lights Gathering festival in February 2012. My thanks to the organizers of that festival for being so inspired and inspirational.

They called her the Wolf Girl, which sounds like a compliment, but it wasn't really. Emilie was still and shy like the wolf who slides effortlessly through the trees, blending between the snow white and bark brown, but her eyes took you all in. She watched and she listened. It was her way, but it made the other children nervous, and nervous children will tease and taunt. That was their way, too.

Emilie pulled her hat down over her ears and tightened her scarf as she strained to hear what Elder Khaman was saying over the chilled winter air. It was the season of the the Games when a champion would be selected from the best of the tribe and the village pups crowded around him, eager to gain favor and maybe learn a trick that would give them an edge over the others. Ellie watched and listened, but she never competed. It always made her feel too exposed, too vulnerable. But still, she knew that Elder Khaman had much to share, so she listened.

Elder Khaman was recounting the tales of Games gone by. He had faced many winters already, roaring in the morning stillness to keep the Frost Giants at bay. He had even faced the chilling presence of the Frost Giants on more than a few occasions and lived to tell the tale, which he reveled in now around the morning fire.

" Emilie!" he called out. Elder Khaman never called her Wolf Girl, although the other children were already whispering her name. "Come and join us by the fire. You are always welcome."

"That would mean she would actually do something," sneered Phoenix. He was highly regarded as the best and brightest among the young warriors. The people were already placing bets over how he would do in this year's Games. "Let the Wolf Girl hide behind her hat so that we can keep the Frost Giants from disturbing her sleep." Emilie's face flushed, her rage barely contained. She turned to walk away when Khaman voice cut through the wind like a blade shattering ice.

"Every member of this tribe is important, vital to its survival," Elder Khaman roared. "It may not be Emilie's way to toss the spear or run barefoot in the snow, but I've seen many of you beg her for the herbs that keeps the rattle out of your lungs when the winter chill settles in your bones, so she deserves your respect."

His voice softened and stretched out his hand. "Please Emilie... join us. The Jotun are always watching and we are always stronger as a tribe than we are alone."

Suddenly, Khaman stiffened, his eyes darted as he scanned the trees. Emilie felt it too: her stomach tightened and her feet tingled, wanting to flee. Khaman gestured to the others to stay by the fire and his heavy feet cracked through the crust as he strode past Emilie, facing the trees. She could no longer see the snowy foundation of the forest floor, but she peered out past the shaman's furs as he stretched out his arms and whispered in a language she did not know. Perhaps it was the magical language of shamans that keep the tribe safe, perhaps he was appealing to the generous nature of the forest spirits, requesting protection. Emilie tried to see what hid itself behind the wooden wall of frost-covered trees, and although she saw nothing, she could feel eyes upon her. She clutched his robes ever-tighter.

"Back to the fire, young-one," whispered Khaman firmly. "Do not speak of what you have seen today, if anything. Watch, listen, but speak only to me if you have anything to say."

Emilie gathered up her courage and turned her back on the woods, even though she could still feel a gaze upon her. The fire warmed her skin, but her thoughts were still troubled and sent shivers through her composure.

Chapter 2: The Cleansing River

This work by John David Hickey is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Based on a work at www.johndavidhickey.ca.

Oinklets Three Be a Classical Intellectual Feast

2012-02-21T20:52:00.000-08:00

Just in case you ever wondered if Fairy Tales could ever be intellectually or literarily challenging.

Grieving the Loss of a Beloved Pet

2012-02-16T10:55:00.000-08:00

Whenever I have a friend who loses a beloved pet, I copy/past this story to them. When I lost my cat Dinger a few years ago, this story brought me much comfort.

The Rainbow Bridge
- Author Unknown

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.

When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge.

There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.

All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by.

The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.

They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent; His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.

You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.

Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together...

Lex & the Devil: a Rockstar Moment

2012-02-09T12:28:00.001-08:00

Last weekend, I was hosting a fundraiser where we had magicians, musicians, dancers, singers, and storytellers. Happily, my friend Scarlet recorded TaelStrum's telling of Lex & the Devil.

My favorite moment occurs at 4:50 when I get my Rock Star experience where I realize the crowd is telling the story with me, so I go quiet and let them say it as a group. It was golden.

STOP SOPA Blackout

2012-01-17T19:26:00.001-08:00

Why Canadians should care about SOPA/PIPA

Why Raven Left Us: a Tale of Remembrance

2011-11-11T04:37:00.000-08:00

For Remembrance Day 2011, I've decided to post this Raven story that I learned and adapted a couple of years ago. It tells the tale of why Raven left the world and why we don't see him around as much any more. Without giving it away, what Raven learns in this story is what we all need to do when fear threatens to control us.

In the last decade, our modern societies have been ruled and controlled by fear and intimidation. One of the reasons why the Occupy movement has struck such a nerve is that people are tired of being afraid. Many of these people have spent the last 10 years being afraid, having their worst fears stoked and amplified until they acted without thinking, letting others do the thinking for them. There is only so much people can take that kind of manipulation before they break down. When that happens, they can either curl up into a ball and accept it all, or they dig their heels into the ground, let their courage give them the strength to start moving forward, pushing their fears aside. The Occupees are facing the risk of arrest, violence, and as winter approaches, the unforgiving elements of nature. And yet, they continue to peacefully assemble to protest a system that has victimized not only the 99% of yesterday and today, but also the other 99% of tomorrow. They are sacrificing themselves now so that others will not need to sacrifice themselves later.

When we wear the red poppy at this time, we are remembering those men and women who had to push their fears aside to face an enemy that threatened their families, their loved ones. This remembrance applies to all those warriors, on all sides of the conflict: the Canadians, the Americans, the French, the British, the Iraqis, the Afghans, the Germans, the Japanese, the Koreans, the Mexicans, etc. This also applies to those people who are protesting and calling for change, often in the face of violent opposition by those who can only benefit from their efforts. These social warriors are exercising their courage so that the rest us won't need to.

Personally, I have only recently heard of the White Poppy, which is worn as a symbol of peace. There is some debate over the wearing of the Red/White poppy, but I don't understand why we can honor the sacrifices of the fallen (Red Poppy) and recommit ourselves to peace in the present and future (White Poppy).

So wear your poppy, red or white, in remembrance of those who found the courage to face the threat in the past, in recognition for those manage to find the courage to face the threat today, and for hope for a peaceful, better tomorrow when the need for that courage is less.

Note: the drumming this piece is by The Dragon Ritual Drummers and is used with permission.

The Tale of Raven's Knoll -- Told by JD Hickey, (6:10 minutes)

The Dead Don't Pay, with SFX!

2011-10-27T12:52:00.000-07:00

Halloween is only a few days away, but unfortunately, I don't have a new ghosty story to share with you. Instead, I was contacted by my friend Rikki who has been adding sound effects to one of my previous postings The Dead Don't Pay. The original recording was done before a live student audience somewhere in Montreal back in early 2009.

So I invite you to rediscover this story with the SFX that Rikki has added. Enjoy!

The Dead Don't Pay (v2) -- Told by JD Hickey,
sound effects by Rikki LaCoste (10:16 minutes)

Audience Analysis

2011-10-12T10:50:00.000-07:00

I was just reviewing the traffic statistics gathered by Blogger for this site and I was more than a bit surprised at the results. I expected that most of my visitors would be from Canada, but that is certainly not the case.

As of today, my All Time Audience Statistics are as follows:

United States: 2,774
Canada: 1,933
Russia: 723
Germany: 231
France: 222
Ukraine: 193
Netherlands: 156
Slovenia: 116
United Kingdom: 113
Poland: 71

But in the past week, my Audience Statistics are as follows:

Canada: 36
Slovenia: 34
United States: 27
Ukraine: 13
Russia: 8
France: 3
Poland: 2
South Africa: 2
Costa Rica: 1
Germany: 1

Incredible! Canada and Slovenia are neck in neck in terms of traffic! I would really like to know who is watching this blog in Slovenia!

I don't get many comments on this site, but I would really appreciate it if you could leave me a comment stating who you are, how you found the site, and where you come from. It fascinates me.

And finally, the story post that has gotten to most number of pageviews (312) is the one that has the La Befana story in it. Amazing.

Guest Teller: Ian Ferrier

2011-10-11T09:34:00.000-07:00

Back on October 3rd 2011, I hosted Montreal's first Story Slam called Conte SLAMtastique Storytelling. It was held at Shaika Cafe in NDG and we had over 30 people attend our first event. Very encouraging!

Our first guest teller was local poet and spoken word artist Ian Ferrier. I had met Ian a few times in the past year at other spoken word events, namely his own evening called Wired On Words. Ian has also interviewed other storytellers and performance artists that I admire, so over all, I was a fan of his work.

Ian showed up with his guitar and amp in tow, ready to astound and amaze. His performance was unbelievable and the crowd was greatly impressed. He performed two of his own pieces: Blue Train and Emma's Country. I saw quite a few teary eyes at the end of his second piece, so the crowd was obviously moved.

With Ian Ferrier's permission, I want to share the first piece he performed. This is taken from his CD "What is this Place" (which also contains Emma's Country).

Blue Train -- Written and performed by Ian Ferrier (7:35 minutes)

Throw Poetry Collective: The Delicious Lie

2011-10-07T08:12:00.000-07:00

The great folks at Throw Poetry Collective invited me to tell a story at their event in September 2011. Since I wasn't participating in the slam competition, I wasn't restricted to the 3 minute limit, so I was able to tell a proper story at a decent pace.

So here's the video of me telling the story of The Delicious Lie.

I have few other vids of stories I've told. If you want to see them, check out my website's Media page.

Skeleton Woman with Drums and Rattles

2011-08-25T07:55:00.003-07:00

So this past summer, I was at a festival in Ontario and I had the opportunity to tell the tale of Skeleton Woman with the band Wychwood Children. This telling was completely unrehearsed, although the drummer (Rikke LaCoste) and the rattler (Greg Currie) knew different versions of the story. We had the chance to talk a little about the story and the particular moments that needed emphasis, but the rest of it was completely improvised in terms of mood music.

The performance was recorded, but the microphone is physically behind the musicians instead of being in front of me. Consequently, the drum and rattle are really loud and my voice is softer. I tried boosting the sound and filtering out the instruments a bit, but it's not ideal.

However, I really happy with my telling of this story. It's still a work in progress, but it gets better every time I tell it. I want it to be a touching love story despite the presence of a skeleton. I still need to work on the ending, but its coming along.

Skeleton Woman -- Told by JD Hickey with Wychwood Children on drums and rattles(6:42 minutes)

TaelStrum in NDG in August

2011-08-09T08:28:00.001-07:00

Join TaelStrum for tales and music as we take part in NDG Arts Week! We will be performing at the Centre Communautaire NDG on August 21st and August 27th at 11am. It's family show, so feel free to bring your kids!

There's lots of artistic stuff going on in NDG! For more information on the NDG Arts Week, please visit http://www.cooplamaisonverte.com/artsndg/.

TaelStrum at NDG Arts Week
August 21st and August 27th
11:00am - 11:30am
Centre Communautaire NDG
3757 Prudhomme
Montreal, Quebec
Facebook Event page

August Story: The Delicious Lie

2011-08-03T04:43:00.000-07:00

I've been sitting on this Indian story for months now, waiting for the chance to tell it at a festival that happened last weekend. Unfortunately, I didn't win the Bardic competition, but I got lots of great feedback from the people who heard it. This is rapidly becoming one of my favorite stories to tell.

In this version, I used the word "Bard" instead of "Storyteller" only because Bard is a term that this audience really relates to.

It's a shame that I couldn't have recorded the performance that night: it went off perfectly. I got all the details right, my projection was solid and strong (500+ people sitting outside around a campfire in a multi-ringed circle), and I was able to roll with the audience reactions and some light heckling.

I also want to thank the Wild Orchids for attempting to bribe the judges on my behalf: I was touched and flattered beyond belief. Bribing the judges is an unofficial part of the performances, which is done blatantly in front of everyone, but I've always made it part of the performance to NOT bribe the judges. The Wild Orchids made their own smoked chocolate ice cream and presented it to the judges on a silver platter (I had tasted it earlier and I almost felt like taking the bribe myself).

There is a slightly longer version of this story, but I've gotten so used to telling the 5-minute version, I've decided to stick with it. This was recorded in my office with no audience present. If I can find the right music, I may add a musical soundtrack later.

The Delicious Lie -- Told by JD Hickey (5:19 minutes)

Bardic Etiquette

2011-07-25T20:47:00.001-07:00

A Bardic is a type of talent show and can include singing, music, dancing, acting, storytelling, poetry, magic, juggling, and more! A bardic usually involves several performers who each take the stage (or the centre of a circle) in turn, and the performances are usually less than 10 minutes long. Sometimes a bardic can involve judges and prizes, but it's often just a venue to showcase our community talent and while-away an evening.

A bardic is usually held at night around a campfire, although there have been venues with stages, lighting, and microphones. But a bardic is usually a low-tech, cozy, and home-grown evening of entertainment.

Bardic Etiquette applies to both the bard and the audience. The Bard and the listeners both enter into a pact where the listeners pledge to open themselves to the bard, and the bard pledges to share something inspiring. The chances of the Bard failing in this pact are as epic as the legends of old, and if the Bard is not ready to move his listeners, his listeners will move away, leaving the Bard powerless.

Truly, a Bard without an audience is a fool talking to himself. This is why the Bard needs to pick his material carefully, rehearse it methodically, and deliver it passionately. Any power he wields over his audience is given freely to him; it is not wielded solely by him and it certainly is never lorded over his audience (or at least, not for long).

When a bard performs a piece in a bardic, the audience is expected to:

* turn off their cellphones
* be respectful towards the performing bard
* be quiet, attentive, and responsive
* support the bard by participating when asked
* show appreciation at the end of a performance (applause)

When the audience gives the bard a venue in which he can perform, the bard is expected to:

* have selected, prepared, and rehearsed his performance
* speak in a loud, clear voice (where appropriate)
* make eye contact with the audience as much as possible
* speak respectfully and eloquently
* present a piece that fits within the Bardic theme
* perform within the agreed time-limits

Heckling
----------
This is a really touchy subject, both for the bards and the audience. Some say that no one should heckle the performers, while others say that a bard should expect and know how to deal with heckling. Some people even think heckling is a venue for expressing consequence-free abuse. Heckling is an attempt to distract or disparage the bard during his performance, ruining the performance itself and potentially humiliating the bard.

As an absolute rule, you should NEVER attempt to humiliate a performer, no matter how bad you think the performance is. It doesn't make you a hero, it doesn't make you a good person, and it can do incalculable damage to the artist. Having the courage to stand before any group of people and lay yourself bare before them is no small feat; having a person simply take that risk deserves your respect. Most performers will tell you that performing for a crowd is terrifying, so part of bardcraft is learning how to master that fear and use it to better your performance.

The Bard has craft something beautiful that he wants to share with you, the audience. Give him a chance to do that, and if you don't like it, it'll soon be over and you can move on to the next Bard. If you can't stand the performance, then maybe you shouldn't be in the audience in the first place. You can always walk away.

Trying to destroy a Bard during his performance from the comfortable safety of an anonymous crowd is an act of cowardice. Hurtful hecklers are bullies who cannot stand to see someone else live the glory that they are too afraid to seek for themselves. They should be pitied, but not tolerated.

How a Bard can Deal with a Heckler
============================

There's no way to predict how an audience will act during a performance, so it's best to be ready for anything. The Bard needs to understand that anything can happen, accept it, and even relish it. It's the dangerous beauty of live performance. But if you need to deal with a Heckler, here are some suggestions:

1. If someone shouts out something that adds to your story, find a way to work it in. If you can't work it in to your performance, take a moment to give a smirk in the direction of the caller, and then move on with your performance.

2. If one or more people continue to make too much noise, stop your performance and wait for them to quieten down. The rest of the audience will usually tell them to shut up. DO NOT attempt to silence them by shouting back: this only feeds their satisfaction in controlling you.

3. If a person shouts out something derogatory ("YOU SUCK!!"), try to ignore it and move on with your performance. If the abuse continues, stop your performance and wait for them to quieten down. The rest of the audience will usually tell them to shut up. If you know who this person is, find them after the show and make them explain why they felt the need to say such awful things. DO NOT deal with it during your performance.

4. If you keep getting interrupted, walk away from the stage quietly. You have failed to hold the audience's attention, so take your lumps, move on, and learn. Maybe your material wasn't right for the show, maybe you weren't ready, and maybe the audience wasn't ready. Maybe you need to revisit your performance and figure out what went wrong (length, timing, language, topic, etc.) Try to keep your ego under control and take this failure as a chance to be better next time.

Note: I have rarely seen this happen in a formal bardic; it usually happens during an informal gathering of friends or colleagues. It's important to realize that sometimes you need to pick your moments and your audiences more carefully. If you're surrounded by children, telling them a 2-hour epic tale will not hold their attention. If you're in the company of adults, leading a "Little Bunny Foo Foo" sing-along won't always go over well. If the adults are drunk, their attention span may be too limited for even a 5-minute tale. Pick your moments carefully.

Audience Participation
====================

There is a way for the audience to take part in the Bard's performance in a positive, constructive way. Some Bards may see this as a dangerous suggestion, but I know that audience can be so enthralled with a performance that they may call out to the Bard as a show of support.

When in doubt, don't shout. If the Bard is young in his career, you should refrain from calling out until he gains more experience and more confidence. You can test the waters by calling out encouraging words or something appropriate to the story. For example, if the Bard is singing a song about a beautiful woman, you could burst out with exclamations ("Wooohoo! Hawt Girl! Sexy!"). If the Bard is encouraged by this, he may feel confident enough to adlib his way through the song based on what the audience is giving him.

You could also engage in known cliches, challenging the Bard to respond in kind. Again, if the Bard is telling a story about a beautiful woman, you could call out "How beautiful WAS she?" The Bard should be able to roll with that without missing a beat ("She was so beautiful that she looked just like you!").

To know when it is appropriate to call out anything more challenging to the Bard, you need to take the time to get to know the Bard first. Maybe talk to him about his performance, find out how he feels about audience participation, maybe even warn him that you will say something during his performance, so he should be ready for it.

But in all cases of audience participation, keep it short. The Bard is the main attraction, not you. What you want to do is add to his performance rather than take away or distract. Anything more than a few words of encouragement or challenge can damage or destroy the sacred moment between performer and the audience. If you have more to say, then swallow your fear and walk into that Bardic space yourself. Until then, respect the Bards that choose to take that risk.

June Story: A Glimpse of Paradise

2011-06-19T21:05:00.000-07:00

This story has become a favorite of mine mainly because I get to say the phrase "Muhammad, may peace be upon him" three times in the story. I'm not sure why, but getting to say that phrase makes me happy.

At the beginning of this story, I mention the source of this tale being the Andrew Lang Fairy books (specifically the Orange Fairy book). If you are interested in faery tales of any kind, I suggest you start with these (there are 12 in the series), and the links I have provided allow you to read the stories online.

This story was recorded at Hurley's Irish Pub (Montreal, Quebec) in October of 2010 when I was asked to replace the mighty Mike Burns, who was suffering from the flu at that time.

A Glimpse of Paradise -- Told by JD Hickey (8:06 minutes)

TaelStrum gets rave reviews!

2011-06-04T17:28:00.000-07:00

After our one show at the Montreal Fringe Festival 2011, here's one of the reviews we got:

Reviewed by Gaëtan L. Charlebois
I had actually gone to the venue to see After The Storm but, as happens during the Fringe, there was a switcheroo and I found myself in this other show once again involving music man Shayne Gryn. I'm game for damn near anything in the Fringe and hoped that whatever Gryn et al. would offer would make up for the ugly space. Generally it did, though I am not a fan of story telling. David Hickey, the raconteur, has a good repertoire, though, and Gryn's accompaniment and occasional lovingly played and sung solos made the hour pass quickly and well. The duo play together at bars and pubs around the city, and elements of both their work will be part of the show I did not get to see, After the Storm.

Awesome! We're so excited!

Montreal Fringe Festival: After the Storm

2011-06-02T09:03:00.000-07:00

I'll be taking part in a collective piece during the Montreal Fringe Festival put together by Headless Goat Productions. I won't be in every show (due largely to scheduling conflicts), but I am committing to the following dates:

After the Storm: St-Ambroise Montreal Fringe Festival
DATES: June 2, 4, 5, 9, 16, 17
LOCATION: MAI 3680 Jeanne-Mance #460 (OFF-D)
TICKETS: $10 to $12 available through the Fringe Box Office
(listed as After The Storm) 514-849-FEST

Feed the Right Wolf

2011-05-31T11:21:00.000-07:00

I was chatting with a couple of friends the other day when one friend said that Science held all the truth that people could ever need, while religion served only to mislead people by lying to them. I suggested that religion was actually performance art and it used myth to explore truths that could not be fully understood or explored by Science or Logic. My friend strongly disagreed with me, saying that religion was dangerous because the gullible put more faith in it than the truth of Science. This fact terrified her and she even went so far to say that my own spiritual beliefs scared her. Remembering an old adage that said you should never debate religion or politics in a bar, I let the matter drop.

Since that discussion the following story has been coming up quite often. Whether it be coincidence or not, I've decided to post it here to keep track of it, but also to remind me of the wolf I should be feeding rather than giving into despair or wallowing in the horribleness of people and world events (which usually gets posted on Facebook).

Yes, there are terrible people and terrible things in this world, but I prefer to celebrate beauty, kindness, and generosity rather than gorge myself on the pornography of terror, violence, and the horrible depths of human depravity.

The Two Wolves

A Cherokee elder was teaching his grandchildren about life.
He said to them, “A fight is going on inside me… it is a terrible fight between two wolves.
One wolf represents fear, anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, hatefulness, and lies.
The other stands for joy, peace, love, hope, humbleness, kindness, friendship, generosity, faith, and truth.
This same fight is going on inside of you, and inside every other person, too.”
The children thought about it for a minute. Then one child asked his grandfather,
“Which wolf will win?”
The Cherokee elder replied…
“The one you feed.”

TaelStrum: After the Storm

2011-05-30T05:24:00.000-07:00

TaelStrum will be performing as part of the St-Ambroise Montreal Fringe Festival
http://montrealfringe.ca/en/spectacles/after-the-storm
http://headlessgoat.com/

DATE: Friday June 3rd at 18h00
LOCATION: MAI 3680 Jeanne-Mance #460 (OFF-D)
TICKETS: $10 to $12 available through the Fringe Box Office
(listed as After The Storm) 514-849-FEST

TaelStrum is the duo of storyteller John David Hickey (aka "Hobbes") and musician/singer Shayne Gryn. The pair have been performing together for several years bringing a unique mix of storytelling and music to various cafes, pubs, and stages in and around Montreal.

May Story: The King and his Cow

2011-05-18T05:13:00.000-07:00

I've just completed our whirlwind, cross-Canada, two-city storytelling tour with Marie Bilodeau. It started in April in Montreal and ended in Ottawa in May. What an awesome tour! We would've kept going, but all the roadies have either expired, run away, or were jailed. It's a rock'n roll life, this storytelling gig.

On the upside, I got to record a new story that I haven't told in several years. I heard this story years ago at some festival and I was told it was a Jewish folktale, but I haven't been able to find a reference for it. I hadn't planned on telling it, but I wanted to give the audience a story that they had never heard from me, and seeing as it was Spring, having a good cow story seemed appropriate.

This show was held at Maxwell's Bistro in Ottawa and it was an awesome performance space. Thanks be to the fabulous audience for mooing so pathetically on cue.

My heartfelt thanks to Marie Bilodeau who shared this tour (and more than a few roadies, I might add (that woman's appetite is voracious!)) with me. She's awesome and if you get a chance to see her tell or read her books, please do so. You will not be disappointed.

Also, mucho thanks to Ruthanne Edward and Rusty Priske who not only attended the show, but also performed in it. Rusty performed two of my favourite poems of his, so I was very happy and honored.

The King and his Cow -- Told by JD Hickey (6:27 minutes)

Easter Story: The Giant's Garden

2011-04-26T20:04:00.000-07:00

Happy Easter to all of you! I hope you were able to spend your Easter weekend with family, friends, and assorted loved ones. Please accept my apologies for the lateness of this post, but we were entertaining friends from Toronto and San Francisco, so the weekend was simply packed.

I'm sure you've noticed I've been posting less lately. Unfortunately, I haven't been able to record as many shows as I would have liked over the past year, so I'm starting to run out of recordings to post! This recording was made on April 17th at Hurley's Irish Pub (with special guest Marie Bilodeau of Ottawa). This was the first session of our cross-Canada two-city tour, which means the final leg of our tour will be taking place on May 14th in Ottawa (Facebook event, Blog post). If you're going to be in Ottawa that weekend, I hope you'll join us!

Also, faithful readers/listeners may notice that I posted another recording of this same story in April 2010. I don't usually repost stories, but I really like this version of the story (especially since it made a fella in the audience cry). The Giant's Garden is based on Oscar Wilde's classic literary tale The Selfish Giant.

As usual, the chocolate bunny on strings is Shayne Gryn.

The Giant's Garden -- Told by JD Hickey (7:03 minutes)

Storytelling in April/May 2011

2011-03-24T10:21:00.001-07:00

Join storytellers JD “Hobbes” Hickey and Marie Bilodeau, with Shayne Gryn on strings, for an evening full of wonder, drama, laughter, music, and downright silliness.

This is Hobbes and Marie’s whirlwind, cross-country, two-city tour. They kick-off this storytelling tour-de-force in Montreal (April 17th) and end it in Ottawa (May 14th)! Crazy schedule! Even though they’ll surely be hoarse by the time they reach Ottawa in May, you can be sure that all they’ll want to do is tell more tales.

Featuring:
Marie Bilodeau, author of the “Heirs of a Broken Land” trilogy and “Destiny’s Blood” — http://mariebilodeau.blogspot.com/
TaelStrum (Hobbes & Shayne) — http://www.documentia.ca/taelstrum/

Montreal show:
April 17th, 7pm to 9pm
Hurley’s Irish pub
1225 Crescent St, Montreal
Google Map
Facebook Event

Ottawa show
May 14th,
Maxwell’s Bistro & Club
340 Elgin, Ottawa, ON
Google map
Facebook Event

Really big PJs

2011-03-08T11:49:00.000-08:00

Today on International Women's Day, I posted this music video by Storm Large called "8 Miles Wide" on my Facebook page to celebrate the fantastical presence of the strong women in my life (Warning: contains some adult language and images):

I was chatting with my friend Kat about the song and how catchy it is, but how it's not really kid-friendly. She then came up with a kid-friendly title of "My Pyjamas are 8 Miles Wide", which inspired me to rewrite the lyrics as follows:

My Pyjamas are 8 Miles Wide
Based on Storm Large's "8 Miles Wide"
Lyrics by JD Hickey (March 2011)
Inspired by K. Summerbell

All of my life
They've never fit
But I won't complain and I won't quit
I'm read for bed
So get used to it
Everyone tells me I'm too much
Maybe it's just its not big enough for me
Can't you see
I'm gonna wrap myself up and be comfy

[chorus]
My pyjamas are 8 miles wide
Absolutely everyone can come inside
If you can't cuddle, just run and hide
My pyjamas are 8 miles wide

Tell me what is comfortable to you
Soft like cloud, strong like a suit
It's cool if it's snuggly
But way better if it's cute
For all of those who'd rather sexy lingerie
I say go Amazonian
You can be slip into a Tarzan jammies
And be feminine

[chorus]

When I snuggle in bed and I close the door
I pull up the sheets and I want to warm
My super comfortastical mystical feminine goddess core
And I hate it when women make those rants
About tank tops, boxers, or pants
There's nothing quite like cotton
To kick-start an all-night romance

[bridge]
My pyjamas
They're universal
Soft like a house coat
But transportable
Sit next to me, the hot cocoa's fine
They're not my pyjamas
They're our pyjamas

[harmony chorus]
[just the boys]
[everyone]

Wide
Wide
Gigantic
Gigantic
Gigantic
A big soft hug
Gigantic
Gigantic
Gigantic
A big soft hug

If I ever get anyone into it, it would be a blast to record our own video and put it on YouTube. Another project to work on...