The Mudcat Café TM
Thread #89022 Message #1701131
Posted By: GUEST
23-Mar-06 - 01:57 PM
Thread Name: Origins: The Golden Glove (Dog and Gun)
Subject: RE: Origins: The Golden Glove (Dog and Gun)
Oh so that's it. I don't exist. Well I can assure you I do exist and my name is Mary. Just because I don't want some knuckle dusting hooligan bursting in on my sleepy little hamlet. (That really would endear me to the neighbors). Well, neither of them could tell Norah Cleary from Siney Crotty, so it's no wonder they can't believe I'm a woman.
What I want to know is, if I don't exist does Geoff Wallis, or Grommit? (sorry Fred). Perhaps one is a figment of the imagination of the other, or perhaps both these nasty individuals were dreamed up by the editor of Musical Traditions.
At any rate, Geoff Wallis must exist, because what serious author would waste their time writing an airport lounge pot boiler that doesn't even match the excitiemnt of Patricia Cornwell. As for the Rough Guide to Ireland. Well, the less said the better! Obviously, having no luck with those two, he thought that writing an 8,000 word insult to Jim Carroll and Pat McKenzie, and denigrating traditional singers in the process, would get him into Fred's Big League. I bet you wouldn't find Rionach Ui Ogain and Breandan Breathnach in there.
So it must be Fred that doesn't exist, or maybe he just doesn't want to take the wooden pansy for the worst reviewer in the world/armchair folklorist competition. His ego-building reveiws (which make War and Peace look like an epic) couldn't find the point with a searchlight and carry one continuing flaw. When he runs out of snide remarks about the performers, he makes hit and run comments about the booklet writers. Take his review of the Elizabeth Croty CD. What's wrong with the landlady of a pub allowing a few musicians to play on her premises for God's sake ?
I think it's time the two of them left Jim Carroll alone. He seems to be the only one who hasn't lost the plot around here.
Ah well. Got to go now. Got to get back into my non-existent box.
Love, Mary. Not Jim.