Mr. Cope’s Cave: Charms To Soothe the Savage Breast

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When I started this blog business five months ago, I promised you I wouldn’t be doing all that linking up with other websites that seems to be so ubiquitous everywhere you go on the Internet. To me, it feels a little like I’ve stepped into sticky mud when I am enticed to click away from something I’m reading, which if followed, will invariably entice me to click further, and further, and further, until I am ass-deep in open windows.

So, I made the decision to keep those little link gophers out of my blog pasture, except for one time, which was a week ago. I happen to be in love with the sound of an English á cappella singing group named “The King’s Singers,” and for St. Paddy’s Day, I thought it would be nice to present the followers of this blog, however many there may be, with that group’s version of what may well be my favorite-ever, Irish-or-otherwise, song—“Danny Boy.”

(Note to wife: Have someone sing, play, whistle, hum or in whatever way possible perform “Danny Boy” at my funeral. And if you can’t find such a performer, then the hell with it! Forget the whole damn funeral, dammit! I ain’t coming!)

For a time, I felt a little guilty for having gone back on my word to keep links out of this. But then I thought, Hey, stupid! What are you feeling guilty for? You just spread one of the most beautiful things in the universe out a little farther. And besides, it’s not like you could have done such a thing by yourself. Not with your voice.

Yeah, that’s right. All I did was pass on something that I love. What’s the harm in that? I mean, I have no qualms at all about passing on things I hate, do I? (e.g., Ted Cruz, cheesy urban sprawl, Dick Cheney, C&W caterwauling, Fox News, global-warming deniers, reality teevee shows about things idiots do, the entire Republican Party, efforts to privatize public education, okra, the Ku Klux Klan, aphids, being overweight, religious fundamentalist dopes, dust bunnies, etc., etc., etc.). So why should I feel bad that I linked into something so pretty it makes my bones ache every time I hear it?

In fact, I’ve decided to do more of it. I’ve decided to every now and then toss another tune your way, dear readers, if you care to hear it. I won’t do it every blog appearance, not even every week. Just now and then. And I’m not going to wait for special occasions like St. Paddy’s Day or whatever. Nor am I going to try to twist the text around to justify why the music is there, as I did last week when I tried to make “Danny Boy” and Flight 370 have something in common.

No, I’m just going to do it, and if you don’t like my choice of music, go back to your C&W caterwauling, or your rap sludge, or whatever else you call entertainment. It’s not like I’ll miss you.

Today, I’m going with The King’s Singers again, not that I will all the time. In fact, I have a dandy Ravel double piano ditty picked out for the next time. But I am newly aquatinted with The King’s Singers, even though, as Wikipedia informs me, they have been around (with varying personnel) since 1968.

Incidentally, they are no particular king’s singers. They called themselves that because they formed in Kings College, Cambridge as students.

Now you know.

It’s likely you’ve heard the song I’ve chosen, if not by this group. Billy Joel wrote it—”Lullaby”—and does a lovely job singing it, himself, but not quite as lovely as this:


By the way, if you’re thinking I’m on this music jag because I’m running out of things to write about, you’re wrong. Truth is, there is so much stuff to write about—e.g., depressing stuff, aggravating stuff, astoundingly stupid stuff, the dregs of humanity stuff (see Paragraph 5/Sentence 2 for more specific details)—that I find myself, more and more, turning to my first and longest love—music—as occasional relief from it all.

(Note to wife: Sorry I yelled earlier. I didn’t mean it. I was just all tensed up. Whatever you have planned for my funeral is OK with me, dear. And I’ll be there, I promise. It’s just that... if it’s at all possible... I sure really do like “Danny Boy,” and... uh... oh well, whatever you can do.)