Skeleton Woman, reprised

I was going over my recordings and I found this one from 2016. It was recorded during a show called Blood and Bones that I performed with Natasha Clery, but we also had several friends share the stage with us that night in Ottawa at the Origin Studio.

I originally posted the Skeleton woman story back in 2010, but I lost the recording somewhere along the way. It is such a great story; definitely worth repeating.

I make a slight mistake in this story, but recovered quickly. But this probably why I haven't shared it before. However, Jason Sonier's haunting melodies make this story totally worth listening to.

Have a listen. I hope you enjoy it.

New Decade, New Story

This morning, during my walk to work, I recorded a new story and threw it together on my lunch hour. 

In this time of great conflict, we need to remember that working towards peace is a choice each of us must make. If you like this story, please share it widely. 

The Recipe for a Bard

by Melissa Keindel (amara_strega)

To make a bard one needs to find, the recipe to create its kind. Never easy, always changing, from culture to culture, recipes ranging. Below we find a simple mix, to make a bard, and learn his tricks.

So listen now, as i do tell, a simple bard creation spell:

• Start with 1 cup honey, for the best stories come from honeyed tongues.
• Add 1 cup mead to loosen the mind and mouth.
• A dash of sass, a dash of pluck, a silver coin for good luck.
• A teaspoon of sage, to impart wisdom
• A teaspoon of pepper to keep stories spicy
• A quarter cup of strong beer to add valor and bravado
• A pinch of salt for flavor
• A pinch of suger to sweeten the heart
• A clove of garlic for strength
• A sprig of Thyme so they may keep time in competition
• A tablespoon of oats to add humility
• A cup of spring water to keep the creativity flowing
• Lastly add to the brew one sprig of eyebright to sharpen the wit and open the mind.

Add to a sturdy pot and boil over the intense flames of the bardic fire. Stir frequently, listening for the tell tale signs of bubbling and free-style rapping that tell you it is almost complete.

Once cooked, allow to cool and take on its natural shape, that of the master storyteller and keeper of sacred tales.

The Ring Box

This is a true account that I posted this on my Facebook recently, about 5 minutes after it happened. The memorial referenced was for the passing of my good friend Jack Nissenson (June 24th 2015).

I stepped out of the metro car, fighting back the tears that threatened to flow as I rehearsed what i would say at Jack's memorial when I spotted it. It was a tiny red ring box with a golden knob on the front. I stopped to pick it up, afraid the ring might still be in it. The box was empty.

I thought of who bought it, who might have received the ring, and the whispered joys of unknown years to come, and i could not help but smile. I put the box back, thinking someone else might enjoy the sight of it, and turned to face the metro. There was a woman on the other side of the closed doors with a single hand pressed against the glass. She had been watching me the whole time and she was smiling. I smiled back and we held each other's smile as the metro slid away.

Sometimes, I love this city.

Nuit Blanche 2015: Tribute to Irving Layton

So I had the immense honor to share the stage with some of Montreal's finest poets during the Nuit Blanche festival this year. I was invited to take part by Betty Esperanza (100 Thousand Poets 4 Change) and we were the English portion of a tribute to the late, great Montreal poet Irving Layton. I was also honored to share that stage with Susan Shulman and Regimental Oneton.

Unbeknownst to me, the stories were also recorded by Akim Videos (Youtube site). Photos here were taken by Yvon Jean.

JD Hickey, Nuit Blanche 2015

Nothing More Than Nothing

Tell me the weight of a snowflake", a coal-mouse asked a wild dove.

"Nothing more than nothing", came the answer.

"In that case, I must tell you a marvelous story," the coal-mouse said.

"I sat on the branch of a fir, close to its trunk, when it began to snow -- not heavily, not in a raging blizzard -- no, just like in a dream, without a wound and without any violence. Since I did not have anything better to do, I counted the snowflakes settling on the twigs and needles of my branch. Their number was exactly 3,741,952. When the 3,741,953rd dropped onto the branch -- nothing more than nothing, as you say -- the branch broke off."

Having said that, the coal-mouse flew away.

The dove, an authority on this since the time of Noah, thought about the story for awhile, and finally said to herself, "Perhaps there is only one person's voice lacking for peace to come to the world."

This appears in various forms across the web, and is referenced either as "Thus Spoke the Caribou" from "New Fables" by Kurt Kauter, or from "Synchronicity", by Joseph Jaworsky

Mythic Rap -- Fionn MacCool and the Old Man

I haven't updated this blog in awhile! But now I have a new piece to share and it's very exciting!

So after seeing Professor Elemental perform at the Grand Canadian Steampunk Exposition, I decided to rewrite some of the tales I know as rap lyrics (Mythic Rap). I just finished my first one and it flows fairly well. I thought it would sound great with music, so I found a track by Celtic Cross called 22.

The rest of the song doesn't feel quite right with the lyrics, but the rhythm structure works. I may be able to get some musician friends to help me with that.

Here are the lyrics:

Once upon a time on the isle of green
There lived the greatest warrior that you have ever seen
Not Robin Hood! That’s England you fool!
I’m speaking of Fionn MacCool

And his Fianna. A hearty band of men,
known to kill a giant now and then.
They visited Ireland, Scotland, and Wales
and the adventures they had live on in the tales

That we tell. And so to the Isle of Aran
Why they went to a place so barren
it’s a mystery. But they never went back,
and the tale behind that
is mighty good crack.

Fionn and the boys were exploring that hill
When a dark fog fell and the air was still
For these great trackers, it was quite a fright
But through the fog, they spied a light.

They followed that light and they found a window
of a house that was filled with its warm glow
Fionn came forward and knocked on the door
An old man appeared and at them he glowered.

But being a good host, he let them in
So they sat at the fire, every face a grin
A girl appeared to serve them bread and ale
And the Fianna wooed her with their tall tales

But she pushed them away, though they persisted
Her response was the same and she insisted,
“When we courted, I was ignored by you,
So now it’s too late. Our love is through.”

The Fianna all swore they didn’t know her.
Fionn listened and he concurred. 
But he said nothing, except to gloat
Through the front door, there came a goat.

The beast knocked the tables, it drank the ale
It bit the Fianna until they wailed
The old man cried “I must inquire.
Can you tie that goat down by the fire?”

But Fionn failed to tame that goat
So it was the old man’s turn to grin and gloat
He caught the beast easily and tied it up
The lads had to return to their cups.

These strange events, he could not ignore
Fionn said  “Old man, you are more
than you seem. Talk now and talk fast.
Who is that fair bonnie lass?”

“Ahhhh... Fionn MacCool,”
“That girl is Youth. The truth is cruel.
For the young cannot appreciate their good days
And the old cannot catch her, try as they may.

Upon hearing this, Fionn stood proud
He faced the old man who refused to be cowed.
“Tell me old man, what is that beast?
For its strength seems unnaturally increased.”

“Ahhhh… Fionn MacCool,”
That goat is the World that you think you rule.
Anyone who tries to tame its spirit
Can only succeed in destroying it.”

Fionn and the Fianna drew their swords
And with a single voice, they raged and roared.
“Old man,” shouted Fionn “Tell me true.
“Who are we facing? Who are you?”

“Ahhhh… Fionn MacCool,”
“I am the master of the world, it is mine to rule.
As great as you are, when you draw your last breath
I will best you, for I am Death.”

Before the Fianna could make their attack
They all fell asleep, their jaws went slack.
They awoke in a cave, chilled to their bones
No people, no goats, they were alone.

They gathered their packs, they gathered their kits
They were all shaken and scared from their wits
From the Isle of Aran, they were quickly spurned
And for the rest of their days, they never returned.

Driving Out the Snakes II 2014

So I hosted a concert called Driving Out the Snakes II in Montreal on St. Patrick's Day weekend in 2014 and it was great! Generous audiences, talented musicians, and an energetic step dancer!

I also got to tell a few tales and they were recorded, so I'm happy to share one of them.

The videographer is Roy Keys and the event was organized by Aine Doan.

Story: Fionn MacCool and the Old Man

I've been holding back on this story because I wanted to use it in a Bardic competition in the US. Since the Bardic competition was this past week (no wins for me, but congrats to Julie D. for winning the Bardic Chair!), I can now post it for public consumption.

I've never told a Fionn MacCool story before, but the more I read about these Irish stories, the more I love them. Mike Burns was the first storyteller I heard tell this story, but Robin Williamson is also attributed with this story.

The Rhythm in Skin

So tonight at Madpoetix, I decided to leave my comfort zone and perform my first Spoken Word poem. I was inspired to write this poem after attending Northern Lights Gathering back in February 2013.

I witnessed a concert with a band called Pagan's Folly and an assortment of drummers who jumped up on stage to jam with them. I put the basics of this story together in the moment, but before I could jump up and perform it, the moment passed. Instead, when I got home, I wrote out what I could remember and spent the next few weeks refining it.

The quality of the recording isn't great, but you can still hear everything clearly. I really need to commit this poem to memory and perform it more often. The music playing is called Serpentine Seduction from the CD Tribal Magick by the Dragon Ritual Drummers.

UPDATE: I have titled the poem "The Rhythm in Skin".

 The Rhythm in Skin (2:13) written and told by JD Hickey


Once upon a time, when the world was new
and the skies were so blue
that the oceans were green with envy
In a village beyond the mountains
across the rivers 
deep in the valleys
there lived a people that are long gone today

No one knows where they came from
or where they went
But in the night, the people whisper the stories
Around the campfires, the people tell the tales
About how these magical people lived
But did not die
About how they thrived
But did not survive
Except in the rhythm of words and music and dance

One night, with the moon as their guide
with the fire in their eyes
these people were the first
to stir the lifeblood of the earth
to burst with the rhythms of the mountains
with their hands, their hips, their lips
they sang the songs of the ancients

And they danced to the heartbeat of a thousand drums
They pounded their feet and the mountains shook
They raised their hands to the skies 
and the stars were filled with the lights from their eyes

They shouted out to the heavens above
They sung together to the memories below
And all at once, they came to know
the songs sung by the trees, the grass, and the stones

They ceased to be the people who lived above,
disconnected from their bones
and the many became the few
and the few became the all
they answered the call,
and sank into her depths of her memory

But these people are not lost to history
Because whenever you place drums upon the earth
You can hear the calls of the first people
You can feel the beat of their feet
Their lifeblood becomes a part // of your own beating heart
They demand that you honor their memory

That you fill your eyes with firelight
That you shout out to the heavens above
That you sing together to their memory below

And you dance
upon the drum of the Earth

True Tale: La Maudite

Last Sunday, I was telling tales at Hurley's Irish Pub in Montreal. Mike Burns usually tells tales on the last Sunday of each month, but he was away in February and he asked me to fill in for him, and I was more than happy to do so.

I was able to record the entire show and, with some minor editing, I ended up with some fine recordings. Today's story post is an original piece which takes the form of a personal story. I've been telling this story for years in my social circles, but now I present it to you.

This is a pre-amble (or pre-ramble) to the telling of my version of La Chasse Gallerie, which I posted a version back in December of 2012. For those of you who do not know French, "Maudite" means damned and "La Chasse Galerie" means "The Bewitched Canoe" or "The Flying Canoe".

WARNING: I do use a curse word in this story, but it only happens once and is used for effect.

Maudite (2:11) written and told by JD Hickey

The Volcano

About a month ago, I was invited to take part in Matt Goldberg's Confabulation, which is a storytelling event where the stories must be true. This month's Confabulation theme was Science.

As  soon as I saw the graphic for the Confabulation event, I had the story. I had never told it before, but I knew it was time for it to be told.

True stories are not usually my thing, but I'm lucky that my artistic community has events that challenge me to find, craft, and perform the true tales from my own life. This is my third appearance at Confabulation, but it's the first time it's been recorded.

Before I present the story, I want to give a shout-out to my cousin Andrew O. and David K. who witnessed this story and reminded me of some of the details from that day.

The Lost Poetix Bag

The Montreal spoken word community seriously rocks. We are so blessed to have such an open and welcoming community. Last year, I dipped my toe into the spoken word community with some hesitation, not sure how they would react to a storyteller with all these poets. I had heard horror stories from other communities that stated that the spoken word community and the storytelling community stayed on opposite ends of the road and very rarely crossed to see what was happening on the others side. Supposedly, the storytellers didn't like the raw edginess of the spoken word world, and the spoken worders didn't like the traditional format of the storyteller's art.

But not in Montreal. For over a year, I have been warmly welcomed into various spoken word events and labeled as the Storyteller. The audiences have been receptive and generous and it has been a great, rewarding experience. Much love to Montreal's spoken word community!

So there's this event called MadPoetix run by the great Kym Dominique-Ferguson that happens on the second Sunday of the month (soon to be the second Saturday of each month in 2013). I've been going off and on for over a year now and I've told quite a few tales. Tonight was my return to MadPoetix after having taken the summer off, and I promised a new story that was a sordid tale from Kym's past.

This is a great frame story that I have used several times already. It allows for lots of customization, so I can throw in details about other people and events and it all seems natural. Enjoy!

I tried to clean up the audio on this recording, but since I used my Android to record it, it is what it is.

The Lost Poetix Bag (6:23) told by JD Hickey

Yuletide Story: The Devil's Canoe

People often ask me if I ever tell original stories or if I ever write my own stories. I usually bristle at this question, as if it suggests that I'm just parroting other people's stories word-for-word. When I  find a story I like, it goes through a transformation as I learn it, change it, drop details, add new details, and slowly make it my own.

You may be able to see a thread in the story that connects it to its traditional source, but the story I tell is mine.

That being said, this is a story that I wrote. I wrote it around the classic Quebecois story La Chasse Galerie, but the presence of the devil's canoe as a plot-device is the only thing I re-used. The rest of it is my own creation.

I don't tell this story often enough, mainly because it's a story I associate with this time of year. It was recorded before a live audience at Chateau Ramezay in Old Montreal in December of 2010.

The Devil's Canoe (11:35) told by JD Hickey

Les Mensonges Delicieux

I really need to tell more stories in French. I really, really do. In Quebec, there are just more opportunities to tell if I start telling in French and, if I play my cards right, I could become the Jim Corcoran of storytelling.

So a few months ago, André Lemelin asked me to take part in an evening of storytelling at the Maison de la culture de Villeray, Saint-Michel, Parc-Extension. It was a small crowd, but the stage was very nice. I was honored to share the stage with André Lemelin, Patti Warnock, Bernard Antoun, and Jacques Pasquet.

Unfortunately, the show was not being recorded. But at the last minute, I decided to try the recording app on my phone so I would at least have a record of it. It turns out, the recording quality wasn't so bad!

When I rehearsed this story, I had it all down perfectly. But of course, the presence of an audience and a microphone challenged my composure, so my telling isn't as smooth as I would have liked it to me. I really need more practice telling in French, and I need to slow my pacing down so I can mentally prepare to say each sentence properly so I don't auto-correct so much. Practice, practice: that's how you get to Carnegie Hall.

So with just a bit of editing for sound quality, here's the recording from that night.

Les Mensonges Delicieux (7:34) told by JD Hickey

Story: Zahir and the Well

Back in 2009, during the Festival Internationale du Conte du Quebec, I went to see Alan Shain and Kim Kilpatrick tell stories at the Westmount Library. Alan told a story that I found especially moving and I suddenly remembered it this past spring. I hunted about for the story and found several different versions, and my memory of Alan's story was pretty spotty, so I reconstructed the story as best as I could.

I contacted Alan in the spring and asked if I could retell his story. He said that he and Kim had reconstructed the story from the traditional Sufi story called Half Boy, but as long as I gave he and Kim credit, that should be fine. Thank you Alan and Kim!

This past week, I was performing at Kuper Academy High School in Kirkland, Quebec. I managed to record 3 of the 4 shows (the recording application crashed on one of the shows), so here's my recording of Zahir and the Well. I'm telling it to a class room of 12-13 year old kids who were very quiet during the show and very loud at the end.

I'd also like to dedicate this story to my friend Brynn who told me she was very moved by this tale when I told it for the first time in August 2012.

Zahir and the Well (5:13) told by JD Hickey

A Story of Loss and Comfort

Today is Halloween, which for most people is a time to dress up, visit or be visited by the neighbors, and share tricks and treats. An odd consequence to this holiday is that this is one of the few times when you actually meet your neighbors!

There is also another side to Halloween or Samhain as the modern Neo-Pagans refer to it: this is a day when you take a moment to remember loved ones that have passed on,  either in the past year or longer.

When I lost my Dad back in the summer of 2007, it was unbelievably difficult to deal with, but it's something that we all need to face at some point: the loss of a parent. His death kickstarted something I called the Year of the Firsts: the first Christmas without Dad, the first New Year without Dad, Dad's first birthday without him, my first birthday without Dad, etc. The good news is that as the year progresses, it gets easier to accept the idea that he has passed on. Of course, I still miss my Dad and there are  days when I tear up at his memory (like right now, for instance).

After my Year of the Firsts, I told this story at festival and it felt right. Whenever I hear of a friend who has lost someone, I've been wanting to share this story because it brought me a great deal of comfort with  my own sense of loss. I wanted to wait until I had a live version of this telling, but I had to settle for a studio recording instead. I'm hoping to have some music composed to add to it soon.

On this Halloween, I wish you pleasant memories of your lost loved ones and remind you that you do not grieve alone.

The Hunter's Son (4:45) told by JD Hickey

October: Anti-Bullying Month

Because October is National Anti-Bullying Month, I am reposting this Raven story. In this tale, Raven not only faces down several bullies, but he learns about courage for the first time, which is what everyone needs to be able to deal with bullies.

There is a great focus in the media on bullying in the schoolyard and how it affects children. While this is very real and very true, bullying doesn't end when school is out for summer. We face bullies in our families, in our friends, at work, at play, and even within ourselves. Recently, a news piece arose where a local TV anchor had to deal with a stranger who attempted to bully her using her weight as a weapon. Here's how she dealt with that.

There are many, many Raven tales where he defends the people against one threat or another, but I like this particular story because Raven has moment where bullying fills his heart with fear for the first time. Dealing with that fear is how we must face our own bullies so that they do not control who we are or what we can accomplish.

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

A Sample Clip from Northern Exposure

Riding with the Winds

So... I don't know if you remember, but back in early June of 2012, I had the immense honour of appearing with Concerto Della Donna in McGill's Pollack Hall during the Northern Exposure fundraiser. I was called to take part as the storyteller to tell the classic Norwegian tale East of the Sun and West of the Moon (image taken from çizgili masallar zaman blog, artist Mercer Mayer). The hall was almost filled to capacity with over 500 people in attendance.

This was the most ambitious thing I have ever attempted and even up to hours before the show itself, I wasn't sure I was up to the task. Fortunately, everything went smoothly and we got through it. My heartfelt thanks to maestro Iwan Edwards for his infinite patience and passionate guidance, and to my beloved Sarah for calming me down and helping rehearse the piece until I got the timing right.

Then this past weekend, I was sent the recording of the entire show, including the piece I worked on with the choir. Due to restrictions with rights and such, I can't post the whole thing, but I can post a clip (which is 2 minutes of the 30-minute piece). In this piece, the heroine is traveling with the East Wind in the hopes of finding her prince who is trapped in the castle that is East of the Sun and West of the Moon.

In this clip, you can hear myself telling the tale along with the 17-member Concerto Della Donna. On Stradivarius violin is Caroline Chéhadé and on cello is Michael Nicolas. The piece was composed by Marie-Claire Saindon and the maestro was Iwan Edwards.

The Dead Don't Pay, with SFX!

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.

UPDATE: This track is currently featured on my new CD called "Did You Hear That?"

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