Author Review IX: Bantock

Nick Bantock stands apart from the other authors that I’ve reviewed so far, because he’s not just a great writer; he’s also an excellent artist. At the start of the 1990s, he burst onto the scene with the first installment of his Griffin and Sabine series and, even now, this dynamic collection of illustrated epistles remains his most highly regarded work.

The Griffin and Sabine books are the perfect fusion of Bantock’s literary and artistic talents, but I’d be lying if I said they were all equally good. Out of the seven part series, the first trilogy is the most compelling. It has a momentum and continuity that propels readers from one volume to the next. The second trilogy attempted to revive the narrative after a conspicuous hiatus and, while they were strong in their own right, they didn’t quite do the first books (or the overall story arch) justice. The final book in the series is little more than an addendum produced to fill in a few blanks and, possibly, cash in on some nostalgia. If readers came to it on its own, they’d certainly be intrigued, but in the broader context of the series, it doesn’t live up to its fore-bearers.

In addition to his infamous seven-part saga, Bantock’s produced four other novels: I loved one, disliked another, and found the other two pretty much equally good.

I’ll start with my least favourite: Windflower. This story deals with the nomadic nation of Capolan, but it’s not the first time that Bantock described this enigmatic culture. Back in 1997, he introduced the world to Capolan with an intriguing art box and it was the perfect teaser. It included just enough information to leave audiences eager for more. Unfortunately, Windflower didn’t live up to its predecessor. Compared to Bantock’s other works, I seem to recall that Windflower has the most text and the least illustration. This imbalance is one significant strike against it. Like Griffin and Sabine, as well as The Venetian’s Wife, this story focuses on a metaphysical love affair. While the trope is successful elsewhere, it somehow falls flat here. I’m not sure, but I think it might be because the central affair is too convoluted. We can all handle a fictional love triangle, but a pentagon? Too much. It might also be worth noting that Windflower is a some sort of collaboration with someone named Edoardo Ponti. The details of this collaboration are not clear to me and I’d love to give Mr. Ponti the benefit of the doubt, but could he be the reason this is Bantock’s weakest novel? We may never know.

Several months ago, when I started drafting this review, I found it so hard to remember whether I preferred The Venetian’s Wife or The Forgetting Room, I resolved to read them both over again and refresh my memory. Now, after having done so, I’m hardly better off than when I started. These are both fun, interesting page-turners, but they both suffer from certain weaknesses, like an odd lack of conflict which leaves readers with a feeling that everything came together too easily. These books also employ an excessive dose of ambiguity and hand-waving when it comes to their endings. So, not only is it hard to believe how effortlessly things are resolved, it’s also hard to understand exactly what those resolutions consisted of. At a push though, I think Forgetting Room is slightly more sophisticated than Venetian’s Wife. What it lacks in fantasy, it makes up for in pacing and character development.

Last, but not least, is The Museum at Purgatory. This might be my absolute favourite Bantock novel and the one I’d be the first to recommend to new-comers (though, full disclosure, re-reading those other two novels made me wonder just how much I’ve forgotten about this one as well). I love this book for typical Bantock reasons i.e. great art and enjoyable writing, but the essential premise might be the part I love the most: the waiting room of death, the lobby of eternity. Bantock isn’t the only person willing to play with notions of the afterlife’s antechamber (for other examples, check out the Japanese film, Afterlife; Kevin Brockmeier’s novel, A Brief History of the Dead; or my own short story, Last Laugh), but he does it in a whimsical way that’s surely all his own. 

Now, as I’ve pointed out previously, I focus these author reviews on novels, but in Bantock’s case, I need to give an honorable mention to his, both of his puzzle books. Like his novels, they’re wonderfully illustrated and, my favourite of the two, The Egyptian Jukebox, is also full of great stories. Dubious Documents lacks that narrative strength, but it is still beautiful and fun to solve.

So, if you’re interested in Bantock, start with the Museum at Purgatory or the first three books of the Griffin and Sabine Saga (Griffin and Sabine, Sabine’s Notebook, and the Golden Mean) and if you have extra time, try out The Forgetting Room, The Venetian’s Wife, and the second Griffin and Sabine Trilogy. Don’t waste your time with Windflower or the last installment of the G & S saga unless you’re desperate for more of a Bantock fix. Even then, you’re better off with The Egyptian’s Jukebox.

  1. The Museum at Purgatory
  2. Griffin and Sabine/Sabine’s Notebook/The Golden Mean
  3. The Forgetting Room
  4. The Venetian’s Wife
  5. The Gryphon/Alexandria/The Morning Star
  6. Windflower – with Edoardo Ponti
  7. The Pharos Gate

Next, I think I’ll try someone a little more lowbrow: Bukowski.

Another One Bites The Dust

Once again, I have the unpleasant job of announcing the death and/or disappearance of a literary publication. This time, the dearly departed is This Great Society. Though this digital journal stopped putting out new issues way back in 2013, they’ve just emailed me to say that their site, and all their archives, will cease to exist entirely on Tuesday, October 13th.

This Great Society was one of the first publications to feature my work, way back in 2011. This came at a time when I really needed the encouragement. Their acceptance inspired me to persist with both my writing and my submissions, so I feel a particular debt of gratitude to them. They even took the time to help me edit and improve my poem, Opa, where most publications wouldn’t have bothered. I also liked the way they matched my poem with an attractive illustration by Lara Hughes (included below).

My initial appearance in This Great Society would’ve been good enough, but as icing on the cake, they featured me in their Best of Poetry retrospective in 2013. I was sorry to see the site go dormant then and I’m even sorrier to see it vanish now. RIP This Great Society. Fortunately, you can still find my poem in my collection, Caught Light, available from Amazon.


I can’t believe how long it’s been since my last post, but when you consider how strange of a year it’s been, I like to think that I’ll be forgiven for such a lapse. In addition to the pandemic-shaped elephant in the room, I’ve also been coming to grips with the new size/shape of my family, as well as trying to find a new home to accommodate us.

With all of that on my plate, I simply haven’t had time to write or deliver any news about my writing. To be honest, there hasn’t really been any news for quite awhile. But, I’m finally breaking my silence, because there is some news now. Arts Richmond has been kind enough to feature two of my poems online among their Poems for the Day. The first, Abandoned Piano or Some of the Keys, was originally published by Friends of Alice in my collection, Caught Light. But the second poem is a different story. Catch and Release is previously unpublished, so you’ll be seeing it for the first time. It’s also the poem that I’ve completed most recently, so I’m particularly excited to see it published. In the coming days, Arts Richmond will also be featuring another of my poems, Brief Distraction, so be sure to keep an eye out for that.

I realise that my long time away from the site has meant that I missed Pi Day this year, so I plan to address that in a separate post. I’m also keenly aware that I’ve dropped the ball on my Author Review series. I owe you a long overdue appraisal of Bantock’s books and I promise I’ll get to ASAP. Until then, stay safe, read, enjoy art, etc.

Author Review VIII: Hemingway

In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been limiting my author reviews to novels and excluding other work, like short stories. I’ve done it for convenience; it just keeps everything tidier, but it’s a damn shame for the likes of Ernest Hemingway. Hemingway was such a prolific short story writer, and so much of his best work was produced in that form, that I’d be doing both him and his potential readers a disservice if I didn’t mention it. You can’t fully experience or evaluate Hemingway’s work without digging into his short stories.

Moving on, it’s easy for me to pick my favourite Hemingway novel: The Sun Also Rises. It’s no contest. This book stands head and shoulders above the rest. I think some of this comes down to Hemingway’s problematic approach to writing about sexual relationships specifically and women in general.

For example, I found just about everything in For Whom the Bell Tolls interesting, besides the development of its awkward romance. I found Across the River and Into the Trees entirely sub-par because its female lead was so poorly and flatly written that she distracted from the rest of the book. And, though True at First Light is problematic for several reasons, which I’ll touch on later, the relationship between the main character and the local woman, Debba, is uncomfortable to read at the very least.

What separates The Sun Also Rises from these other books is quite possibly the main character’s impotence (spoiler alert?). Because there’s no chance for the main characters to consummate their relationship, there’s also no chance for Hemingway to ruin the novel with an unbearably awkward love scene. And because all of the interactions between these characters is soaked with unfulfilled desire, it makes the whole story more dynamic and rich. Furthermore, I don’t think it’s going too far to suggest that these characters’ dissatisfaction is emblematic of their generation, the one that Gertrude Stein so aptly described as ‘Lost’. It’s no coincidence that the male lead is suffering the lingering effects of a war wound and that’s keeping him from moving forward as a productive member of society. In some ways, a whole strata of society was struggling to piece its psyche back together after WWI. All this to say, The Sun also Rises succeeds on multiple levels.

I suppose A Farewell to Arms comes in second on my list of top Hemingway novels, but I don’t remember having anywhere near as strong of a reaction to it. From what I vaguely recall (you’ve gotta cut me a break because it’s been years since I read a lot of these books), I thought it was good, but not amazing. I’d be happy to read it again, but not much of my first reading has stuck with me.

To Have and Have Not is at least half good, by which I mean I like the first half much more than the second half. Islands in the Stream is similar, though it’s the first third of that book that I like the most. But, it brings us into the troubling waters of posthumous publications and unfinished books. Also residing in this strange space is The Garden of Eden and True at First Light, which I touched on earlier. These two books were so heavily edited after Hemingway’s death, it’s questionable as to whether they can even be included on his list of novels. It is a damn shame that The Garden of Eden was never finished, because it showed real promise and was, possibly in some ways, ahead of its time. The way that the female lead experiments with her sexuality is certainly intriguing and would probably resonate a lot more with readers these days than Hem’s bull fighting or lion hunting work. Unfortunately, the real test of whether or not this is a good novel is how it all ties together and, in its unfinished state, you just can’t really evaluate it. True at First Light doesn’t seem to have anywhere near as much potential as The Garden of Eden, but what it does have is similarly unfulfilled.

This leaves two more novels, Hemingway’s first and last: The Torrents of Spring and The Old Man and The Sea. Torrents of Spring isn’t bad, but it’s not a serious novel like the rest. It’s satirical and as a piece of satire, I didn’t get the joke. That’s not Hemingway’s fault, but I can hardly think of the book as a timeless classic. On the other hand, The Old Man and The Sea is definitely considered a timeless classic. It won the Pulitzer Prize and basically landed Hemingway the Nobel Prize in Literature! These prizes are funny things, though. They’re not always awarded when they should be and have a tendency of showing up late to the party. To put it another way, you could argue that The Old Man’s prizes were actually more like lifetime recognition awards for everything that came before. The book itself is, in my opinion, tedious and drawn out.

In conclusion, if you’re going to try Hemingway, please start with The Sun Also Rises. If you don’t make it any further than that, at least your time will have been well spent. But, if you’re willing to invest a little more into Hem, try a few of the others in the top 5 of my list. Beyond that, you’re not missing much, especially if you make time for the short stories.

For my next author review, I think I’ll go for someone completely different: Nick Bantock.

The Sun Also Rises
A Farewell to Arms
To Have and Have Not
For Whom the Bell Tolls
Islands in the Stream
The Garden of Eden
The Old Man and the Sea
True at First Light
The Torrents of Spring
Across the River and into the Trees

Readings, Past and Future

Earlier this month, I had the privilege of performing my poetry at The Library in central London. This wonderfully relaxed and intimate event was hosted by Friends of Alice (publishers of my collection, Caught Light) and it gave me a chance to read alongside fellow FoA authors, Michael Wyndham and Isabel del Rio. Unfortunately, Wlodek Fenrych was too unwell to attend, but his daughter was kind enough to read from his translations of Fifty Ruba’iyat by Rumi. Despite their brevity, each of these little poems packed an insightful punch. The evening was rounded out by a few open mic performances and the whole thing had an almost familial geniality to it. I’m genuinely looking forward to any and all future events with my FoA cohorts.

On 3rd November, I’ll be back in Teddington at The Adelaide for another night of Poetry Performance. In December of 2017, they were kind enough to feature me and help me promote my debut chapbook, (Reasons for) Moving. So, I’m thrilled that they’re having me back to read from Caught Light. You can get more info about the event at Arts Richmond’s site.

If these two exciting events are the bread of a poetry reading sandwich, I’d be remiss to leave the sandwich without any filling, so I’m hoping to read at The Poetry Cafe’s 4th Friday event on 25th October. It’s been years since I last participated in 4th Friday and I’m eager to see what it’s like these days.

Hopefully, I’ll see you at one of these readings.


Friends of Alice Showcase and Other News

When it comes to poetry readings, I’ve been laying low lately. In August, I dropped the ball entirely and didn’t manage to make it out to a single event. In July, I decided to go for workshopping instead of open mic and headed back to the ever-helpful Chiswick/Barnes Stanzas group. Yet again, they provided me with valuable feedback, which I think will make the poem in question stronger (if I can just find the time to sit down and apply their suggestions). But it was all the way back in June when I attended my last real poetry reading: 1000 Monkeys at The Keep in Guildford. It was great to hear Richard Woolmer read from his collection, Speaking to Crows, as well as the other seasoned veterans, but that seems like ages ago.

Fortunately, I’ll be back in the saddle next month. On 9th September, I’ll be taking part in a fabulous showcase put on by Friends of Alice Publishing at the Library in London. I will be reading alongside my fellow Friends of Alice authors, Wlodek Fenrych, Michael Wyndham, and Isabel del Rio, with music provided by Russell Swallow. I’m really looking forward to promoting my book, Caught Light, and I’m sure it will be a rollicking good time, so if you can make it out, please do. It’s a free event, but you need to register on eventbrite in order to provide an accurate headcount.

In other news, Paul Brookes has been kind enough to interview me on his site, The Wombwell Rainbow, so if you want to hear me ramble on about all sorts of things, check that out as well.

Caught Light

Author Review VII: Steinbeck

If you want a great (albeit nerdy) debate, sit down with some die hard Steinbeck fans and try to hash out which novel is his masterpiece, The Grapes of Wrath or East of Eden. For a writer to have created just one of these brilliant books in their lifetime is impressive, but for one man to produce both is staggering. Grapes of Wrath seems to get the lion’s share of attention, but in my opinion, East of Eden is a richer text. It’s hard to pin down exactly what gives it the advantage, but if I had to guess, I’d say it has something to do with politics. Grapes of Wrath is a convincing tapestry with deeply human characters artfully woven into it, but the design of the whole is coloured by an agenda. While I sympathise with much of Steinbeck’s political sentiments, they can be distracting at times. It’s one thing to write about workers’ rights, but it’s more ambitious to excavate the fundamentals of the human condition, as East of Eden does.

Now that we’ve (controversially) established which is Steinbeck’s greatest novel, I’d like to move on to my favourite. As much as I appreciate the gravity of Steinbeck’s serious writing, I prefer the levity of his more comedic books and the foremost among these has to be Cannery Row. Though it stands on its own, it’s worth reading Tortilla Flat and Sweet Thursday alongside it if you have time, as they’re all loosely connected. The Short Reign of Pippin IV is another enjoyable read, but it feels almost frivolous in comparison to the others. It also comes across as something of an inside joke if you’re not familiar enough with the history of French politics. I certainly felt like some of the humour was over my head, but I still liked it.

Some novelists manage to stun readers right out of the gate with an amazing debut; I wouldn’t put Steinbeck in this category. His first book, Cup of Gold, is probably among his weakest and I would only recommend it to devoted fans. His next novella, The Red Pony, is a different kettle of fish but it also lacks the strength of his later work. It comprises a series of episodes; this formal experiment is both a pro and a con. On the one hand, it shows Steinbeck’s writing taking on greater sophistication.  On the other hand, it’s jarring and a little off-putting. There is a fine thematic thread connecting the sections, but it’s easy enough to miss.

It’s in Steinbeck’s 3rd novel, To a God Unknown, that his writing really begins to mature. I don’t know what it is about this odd familial saga, but the whole thing has a haunting quality that sticks with you. The Wayward Bus is another entertaining novel and a great character study. It certainly has prominent comedic leanings, but one harrowing scene in particular keeps me from putting it in the comedic category.

In Dubious Battle is a compelling bit of propaganda, but its political agenda is even more blatant than Grapes of Wrath’s and it loses more of its literary potency because of it. The Moon is Down certainly has a political agenda as well, but its delivery is smoother, more subtle. That said, I wouldn’t necessarily go as far as to say that it’s better than Dubious Battle. They’re pretty evenly matched.

If you’re anything like me, you’re first encounter with Steinbeck was probably in an academic setting where you were forced to read Of Mice and Men. And, if you’re anything like me, you were too immature to appreciate it at the time. Unfortunately, I still haven’t revisited the book since, so my impressions of it are still negative. I know now how great of an author he is, but I look at his best work and think, “It’s a damn shame that there isn’t time to have kids read some of that stuff in school instead of Mice and Men.” Of course, they might not appreciate any of that either. Who knows?

The last three novels on the list have settled down to the bottom because they’re outliers, hard to categorise. The Pearl is so thickly allegorical and two dimensional, it seems impossible to rate against the others. Burning Bright is probably the most experimental of Steinbeck’s novels and, like Red Pony, the form distracts from the content. Last but not least, The Winter of Our Discontent just doesn’t feel like a true Steinbeck. With so much of his work rooted in California, this New England novel seems thoroughly dislocated. It may not be his worst, but it certainly isn’t among his best either.

To conclude, if you’ve only got time for one Steinbeck novel and you want something fun, go with Cannery Row. If you want something you can really sink your teeth into, then read East of Eden. I’d also highly recommend several more of his books and just plain recommend a few others, but when it comes to the bottom of the list, you can probably afford to miss the last four.

For my next instalment of Author Review, I’ll try another literary giant: Hemingway.

Cannery Row
East of Eden
The Grapes of Wrath
Tortilla Flat
Sweet Thursday
To a God Unknown
The Wayward Bus
In Dubious Battle
The Short Reign of Pippin IV: A Fabrication
The Moon Is Down
Of Mice and Men
The Winter of Our Discontent
The Red Pony
The Pearl
Burning Bright
Cup of Gold


Most of my posts are about writing or art, but that leaves out a huge part of my life: music. Throughout high school and college, I played in bands like Hammers to Fences, The Flaming Wheel of Destruction, and my first: Vinnies Address. Though it’s been over a decade since I’ve played with them or any other band, the members of Vinnies Address went on to make great music with Hans Gruber and the Die Hards and a unique project called Air for Effect.

For the most recent Air for Effect album, Thalassa, the genius behind the music, Austin Joy, asked me if I could say a few words on his behalf. I didn’t really know how/where to begin, so I started by tackling ambient music in general and then zooming in on his music specifically. I was honoured to be able to help my friend and see the most relevant portion of what I wrote appear on his site. Whether you gravitate towards ambient music or not, Thalassa genuinely deserves all the attention you can give it. Once you’ve listened to it closely, put it on again in the background and go about your business. To get the full experience, you’ll need to try both of these approaches. And, if you’re interested in the full text of what I wrote about the album, I’ve included it below. Disclaimer: these were off-the-cuff idle musings and should be read as such. Any serious abstract artist or instrumental musician could probably tear my ideas to shreds, but I’d appreciate it if they spared me the indignity.


I suspect that some people find instrumental music unapproachable for the same reason that they’re put off by abstract art. Namely, they misunderstand its function. And because they don’t know what it’s meant to do, they don’t know what they’re meant to do with it. In other words, they don’t know how to use it and, on some level, that makes them feel insecure.

When they’re faced with a piece of representational art, they treat it like a window. They know that they can look into it and see a dog, a ship, a landscape – something identifiable. But when it comes to the abstract, they don’t know what they’re looking at or looking for. The subject seems to be missing. People often treat songs the same way, as if their music is just a frame for presenting their ‘subject’ i.e. lyrics. Take away the words, and the meaning becomes too ambiguous. 

What is this song about? What is this picture of? These questions overlook the possibility of something with a different job. By refusing to give viewers a subject, an abstract picture ceases to be a window, and becomes a mirror. You do not simply observe; you also observe the ways in which you observe. Think about a Rorschach inkblot test. Because the images are not, strictly speaking, of anything, the process of observation leaves room for the observer to discover things about themselves. The viewer is transformed into the subject.

The same could be said about instrumental music. It creates a space for discovering things about yourself. So, when it comes down to evaluating the quality of instrumental music, you need to investigate the quality of that space. Is it a good fit? Is there room inside to grow and explore?

When it comes to Thalassa, the answer is an emphatic YES. Right from the beginning, this album embodies an expansiveness that draws you in and carries you along like a current. Track by track, Thalassa’s intriguing shifts in tone help to propel the listener forward, out into deeper water. From the airy Bay of Kotor to the moody Pavilions, from the cerebral Isle to the pensive Mynah and on to the sultry Pearl, this music continually twists and turns, gaining momentum without committing to a single direction. Finally, Thalassa takes this unpredictable sonic journey to another level with the three-fold epic that is Okeanos.

It’s difficult to convey the richness and complexity of this trilogy without outlining the associations it triggered in my own listening experience, so I’ll share them with you:

  1. A late night cab ride through downtown Tokyo, looking up at lit windows; on the way to or from something, maybe an airport. A shift – entering the airport, getting onto the plane, flying away over the city you were just riding through.
  2. Deep underwater, moving in slow motion, soothing/lulling but a typewriter beat creeps in – efficient, driven. Like watching something lackadaisical passed by something on a mission, possibly even a nefarious one.
  3. Floating in the dark on the surface of a completely calm subterranean lake, but birds and crashing surf transform it into sitting on a beach in the dark, watching the dawn slowly reveal something dead that’s washed up on shore.

Of course, these are reactions, not interpretations. If they indicate anything at all about Air for Effect’s Thalassa, it’s the album’s scope for turning listening into a creative act all its own.

Other track by track first impressions:

  1. Expansiveness, ideal for headphones, taut, tight beat, upbeat, 
  2. A little darker, more digital, less airy, 
  3. The soundtrack to someone solving a puzzle on a computer
  4. On the edge of a hopeful tone, as if approaching the realisation of a potential while facing the risk of it remaining unfulfilled; pensive
  5. Sort of seductive sounding, a hot close dance on a tropical night; concentration, focus, but also fluidity

Author Review VI: Tom Robbins

Like Rushdie, Tom Robbins has a flair for the fantastic. Like Murakami, he has a flair for the strange. But unlike both of the aforementioned, Robbins’s distinguishing characteristic is his flair for the zany. He deals with deep philosophical issues and makes ancient mythology relevant to modern readers, all with a tremendous sense of humour. Whether you’re reading about magical enemas, mischievous redheads, or Airstream campers turned into giant metal chickens, it’s pure comedic gold all the way. From the long lost corpse of Jesus Christ to the enormous scrotum of Tanuki, I can’t emphasise enough the sheer uniqueness of this man’s creative vision. Which brings me to the tricky part of my review: ranking his work.

All I can say with any certainty is that I was least impressed with his last novel, Villa Incognito. That’s not to say it’s bad. It’s good, but it’s probably the least compelling of the lot. When it comes to selecting the best, things get much more complicated. Have you ever felt like the first thing you read by an author retains a special place in your heart? That’s how I feel about Still Life with Woodpecker. When I discovered it in a charity shop, I had no idea who its author was, but I liked the look of it and the blurb got my attention. I literally judged the book by its cover. And I wasn’t disappointed. That novel is a classic. Sure, Fierce Invalids Home from Hot Climates is right up there among my favourites, Half Asleep in Frog Pajamas made me want to go to Timbuktu more than I thought possible, and Another Roadside Attraction is staggeringly good, especially for a debut novel. But, there’s something special about Still Life with Woodpecker. Maybe it’s just the perfect introduction to Robbins’ work, maybe I’m still thrilled that it was an accidental discovery, or maybe I just read it at the perfect time in my life. Regardless, I’d put it at the top of my list.

So, I’ve got my bookends, so to speak, with Woodpecker at the front and Villa Incognito at the back. In the middle, everything gets a little fuzzy. As I said, I remember deeply enjoying Fierce Invalids and I was very impressed by Another Roadside Attraction. I read Even Cowgirls Get the Blues some time after Woodpecker, and sincerely appreciated it, but not as much as the latter. Friends let me borrow Skinny Legs and All and Jitterbug Perfume around the same time, and while they were both strong novels, I recall thinking one was much better than the other. I just can’t 100% remember which was which (this was about 10 years ago). I’m putting my money on Skinny Legs as the winner with Jitterbug coming in a close second. I also tackled Frog Pajamas around that time. I found it in a hotel and spent several hours reading furiously just so I could finish it before I had to check out, which indicates that it was pretty good. How good exactly? Hard to say. The moral of the story is, they’re all great (except Villa Incognito) and if you only have time to read one of his books, try Still Life with Woodpecker.

I’ve got some other non-book related topics to post about next, but when I get back to my author reviews, I think I’ll set my sights on a literary behemoth: Steinbeck.

Still Life with Woodpecker
Fierce Invalids Home from Hot Climates
Skinny Legs and All
Another Roadside Attraction
Half Asleep in Frog Pajamas
Even Cowgirls Get the Blues
Jitterbug Perfume
Villa Incognito