Joanne Harris And The Storytime Band – A Pocketful Of Crows

Joanne Harris is, of course, a best-selling author in several genres. A couple of years ago, in her Joanne M. Harris guise, she published A Pocketful of Crows, based on Child Ballad 295 (the Child Ballads were collected in England and Scotland in the 19th century by Professor Francis Child). It was a powerful story of loss, revenge, realisation and empowerment, transformation -of many things.

Joanne Harris also has a very strong online presence, especially on Twitter, where she’s shown herself to be a wise woman indeed, and the instigator of #storytime, a form of digital storytelling that’s proved very incredibly popular. Out of that has come the Storytime Band, where she and three musicians bring those Twitter stories to the stage in a mix of tale, song, and instrumental work. They’ve played gigs for a while now, and already put out once CD with several of the short pieces.

Now Harris and band have brought several strands different strands of what she does together, offering a different take on A Pocketful of Crows as their new CD. It makes sense: the ballads are essentially stories, compressed into song form. They were intended to be sung in public, in the same manner that stories were told, and like stories, they changed a little with every performance. Story and ballads were both communal, much as #storytime is there for the digital community of Twitter. Harris is one of those rare writers who intuitively understands the power and history of ballads, oral storytelling and the folk tradition. The three are inextricably bound together. But something like this is a very different beast to putting words on a page, it’s an art, and sadly, so much of the English storytelling tradition vanished long ago (please, if you’re not familiar with oral storytelling, it’s not someone reading stories aloud in a library. It’s thrilling, dangerous, and subtly different every time If you want some names of storytellers, ask me).

It’s a different beast, and Harris hasn’t simply adapted the book or rehashed it. In transforming Crows from book to this medium she’s looked at the whole piece through entirely fresh eyes. And, as musicians and performers, the band have more experience under their belts now, as well as a better understanding of the studio. The production is outstanding here, fulling enhancing and showcasing the music as well as letting it integrate fully with the telling. The songs themselves are more developed and there’s more…quiet confidence about the whole thing.

The words are stripped to the nub, by necessity, yet the story remains, beautiful and angry in turns. The songs offer the depth of characters and scene, slipping naturally from the story and yet strong enough to stand alone (“Dance Of The Days” really is a twirling dance of love).

Musically, it’s prog rock, but that’s what the band does. It’s their forte and this time out they’ve use it so well, with moments the swell into epic grandeur. Everything flows and evolves quite beautifully. The title track makes for a superb climax – with its catchy chorus it veers close to being a pop song – before the slow, slow fade that’s filled with lovely, autumnal change.

This isn’t an add-on to the book. It uses the same story as a base, but this is a feast for other senses, and a very satisfying one (as well as being a chronicle of the leaps and bounds development of the Storytime Band, who’ve become a staggeringly powerful outfit). The best advice? Read A Pocketful of Crows, and hear the CD. It’s like experiencing the tale in surround sound for the mind.

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Storytime Live – Joanne Harris

There is a story the bees used to tell, which makes it hard to disbelieve…

Writers enjoy new ways to engage audiences, fresh ways of working that can sometimes take advantage of all the ways of communicating that have sprung up over the last decade. But communicating is the operative word. That’s what we do: we tell stories and communicate. Joanne Harris is one of the best at that, and she’s managed to turn Twitter into an art form with her #storytime stories. For those who don’t know, these are stories told live in 140-character segments. They continue the traditional art of storytelling (and often uses folklore and the oral story tradition as its base) in a digital age. They’re dark fairytales, sometimes allegories, and they’ve proved so popular that there will be a book containing many of them in about 12 months, with illustrations by Charles Vess.

And why not? After all, everyone loves a story.

But she’s gone further than that with Storytime Live, mixing these stories with music from her band of 30 years (husband Kevin Harris on drums, percussion and vocals; Paul Marshall on keyboards, guitar, and vocals, and Matt Cundy drafted in to cover Joanne’s usual bass slot and effects, while Joanne handles the stories, flute, and vocals), along with song and visuals. It’s a multi-media experiment, a great leap into the unknown. There have been a few performances, and the effect is utterly magical. It’s as intimate as sitting in your living room and also completely immersive. Joanne was gracious enough to answer some questions about this new venture.

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picture by Claire Shovelton

Joanne Harris: We tend to associate storytelling with children. I don’t think that’s the way it was always seen. These are alternative traditional stories; they’re all new. I didn’t want to start them with ‘Once upon a time’ because that’s done so often, so I came up with my own beginning.

What made you want to expand into something live, with music?

JH: I think it comes down to the oral storytelling tradition. Music and stories are very close together in the folkloric tradition of the British Isles. I thought it would be quite nice to give it that other dimension. Besides, I’ve been in this band for a long time and we’ve had a lot of different projects. Plenty of them have been on the verge of theatre in one way or another. It seemed a very natural progression to make, so I thought we’ll try it and see what comes of it. It actually works pretty well. There was some resistance from our keyboard player who felt it would be like a kids’ programme like Jackanory. But eventually it turned out to be something none of us expected and it continues to build. It’s very much its infancy.

The nature of the performance places you very much front and centre.

JH: I hadn’t expected that, I wasn’t used to that. It’s been a bit of a learning curve for me. We did think about me playing bass and flute and singing and telling the stories, but that would be too much. It’s hard enough to get me to sing and play bass at the same times; that very rarely happens. Instead we brought in Matt, who does a very good job. He’s on a learning curve, too. He’s much younger than the rest of us, he doesn’t have the sort of history we had. But he’s full of ideas, he’s very different to me in style and he’s brought a lot of new things to the table. He’s given a whole new dynamic to the bassline.

How do you work out the arrangements, the music to use, and the balance between the different elements of story, music, and song?

JH: I’ll send Paul the story and the song lyrics that go with them first and he’ll see what suggests itself. Then he comes with a rough version of something musically. He’ll have some of his keyboard parts down, then we bring it into the practice room and play around with it, and it evolves a shape. In some ways it’s a little easier, because the story is there and the feel is there. With songs it can be a challenge for an audience to process the music they don’t know, but with Storytime Live they’re fed different versions of the musical themes throughout the story and when they listen to the song it’s not unfamiliar any more.

How did it feel the first time you performed Storytime Live in front of an audience?

JH: It was very daunting. This isn’t a familiar role to me and not one I was made for. When we’ve performed as a band before I’ve tended to sit at the back and play bass, and occasionally pop forward and play flute. That’s fine. We never had a front person as such and now I am one. I’m getting used to it little by little.

How full-on do you want to be with this? What are the plans?

JH: I yet have to learn this. What I had in mind initially was once the book is out, the band could do some festivals and tour, and it would be different from the usual author appearances and reading from the book; it would add a different dimension to all that. It would partly show the way the book evolved and what I’ve brought from the oral tradition and folklore and music to put into this. So far we’re practicing and building the show. Hopefully we’ll be recording a CD; people have asked about that whenever we’ve played. And I hope at some point I’ll be able to put something online that isn’t a bad live recording of our first gig. Yes, we’re still making it up as we go along but that’s part of the fun. Things change all the time.

Is it as enjoyable and fulfilling as you’d hoped?

JH: It’s daunting and hard work, much harder than appearing and just reading from my book, but it’s great fun and rewarding. For a start, it’s good for a writer who works in isolation to be able to do something creative with other people and I’ve found various outlets. But this feels like a project close to home and my heart and I hopefully have some control over it. It’s time-consuming, hard work, and a little bit terrifying, but mostly lots of fun.

But you get to combine two of your passions, stories and music.

JH: Exactly! What’s not to love? It’s combining lots of things I love doing in one package. and I get to work with my husband and the band I’ve been in since I was 16. We haven’t done much live performance in the past, but maybe we’re correcting that. At 16 I thought music was where I was heading. It’s taken a little while, but…

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picture by Jonathan Jacobs

Combining these things seems like a natural extension of what you do, certainly in this context.

JH: I’m surprised writers don’t do this more, working with musicians. I know some have, but as far as I’m aware, none of them have written their own material. I know a lot of authors who play in bands, but they don’t often combine it with their books. It’s a great outlet and writing isn’t so far from music. If I had unlimited resources for Storytime Live I’d love to have more visual stuff and ideally dancers and fire eaters and jugglers. I’d like to take this to a more theatrical level, but given the resources…it would need a big venue. And it would be a big commitment of time.

To learn more about #storytime, go here. And for video of the Storytime Band’s first show, click here. You can follow Joanne Harris on Twitter @JoanneChocolat to experience #storytime for yourself (and you should).

Time, Place And the Quote Of Great Joy

Back at the start of 1986, a decade after moving to America, I ended up in Seattle. Once I had the chance to find my feet, the city felt like home. For those who don’t know it, it’s a place that lives up to the hype in its beauty, scenery and people. I was happy there. But there was that lingering feeling of being a man without a country, not quite American, not quite English.

Four months ago I finally came back to Leeds. It only took 37 years for me to find my way home. And home is a real, deep feeling. I do feel like someone who’s found his true place in the world. Considering that most of my novels have been set here, it’s taken me a while to realise that this is where I belong. I feel this city deep in my bones, the way I can feel no other. I understand it, and in an odd way I feel that it understands me.

I’ve been writing about Leeds quite a bit lately. Not just the monthly history blog (which has now migrated to the Leeds Big Bookend website), but my books. August sees the publication of Gods of Gold, the first in a new series set in the Leeds of 1890. I’ve completed another one set in Leeds, Dark Briggate Blues, a surprisingly noir novel – well, that aspect surprised me, anyway – in 1954 Leeds, and I’m at work on the second Victorian novel.

This is the place that moves me, that makes my heart beat a little fast.

And yet. And yet…I can’t fully say goodbye to Seattle. It’s a place with plenty of memories, the home of my son, and where I made many friends. I’m not ready to see it sail away just yet. My way of dealing with all that, to try and make sense of the past, is to write about it. Out of that comes West Seattle Blues. It’s the second of my Seattle books, and this one takes place in March and early April of 1994. For anyone who knows music and Seattle, that’s a time to ring big bells. A time when the course of history altered a little. Here’s the cover.

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But it’s going to be Leeds that fills my time for a while yet. Not just living in the here and now, but also with my head in 1890/91.

And I teased with that talk about a quote, didn’t I? It’s one that’s made my month, probably my year. I had one a year ago from Candace Robb, one of the great historical crime novelists (and someone who’s become a treasured friend), whose work influenced the way I’ve looked at mine. My publishers used it on promotional material and it really helped. For Gods of Gold I plucked up my courage and approached the wonderful writer Joanne Harris, who’s read the Richard Nottingham books, to ask if she’d be willing to read this new one and, if she liked it, to write a few words about it. Well, she was willing, more than gracious and once she’d finished it, this is what she replied:

Gods of Gold creates a vibrant sense of living history and of place, with strong, well-drawn characters and dialogue that’s just made for film, as well as a damn good story.”

Happy? I was over the moon. I still bloody am. As was my publisher. Thank you, Joanne. That, very proudly is going on the book cover.

And I wish you all a happy Valentine’s Day.

Joanne M. Harris – The Gospel of Loki

The Gospel of Loki

Joanne M. Harris

Gollancz

 

Loki. The trickster. The joker in the pack of Norse Gods. Always something up his sleeve, a word to get out of any situation. The archetype of the outsider. He has the fatal charm and the ready wit. And now he comes into his own with Joanne (M.) Harris’ new book.

First off, it’s a cracking tale that drives along at a very quick pace, the type of book where you’ve gone through fifty pages and are still hungry for more. In part, that’s the material, but it’s also down to Harris’ easy, conversational style as Loki. At its heart, this is classic storytelling technique, with the overarching envelope story reaching from Loki emerging from Chaos to Ragnarok and what happens after. But there are plenty of little tales in there, starting with the playful and gradually growing darker as the end begins to gather on the horizon, all of them building the character.

It wouldn’t be Loki without the humour, of course, and there’s plenty of that. After all, he’s a trickster, something that crops up in all mythologies, the wild card, or in his case, wild fire. He’s not one to settle easily, especially when the rest of the Gods never warm to him and keep him out of the charmed circle. Even his ‘brother’, Odin, never fully trusts him. But deceit and mistrust is part of the air in Asgard, home of the Gods.

Although billed as an adult fantasy, this is perhaps more of an interpretation of Nordic myth, building on it to lets Loki shine in all his aspects (pun intended). He’s not lovable but Harris marks his charms work so the reader’s on his side. And as the book goes on he becomes some more troubled by doubts, but still on a headlong drive for revenge – amazing how powerful that can be.

Set outside of time, there’s the freedom for the author to put in some sly contemporary one-liners (chillax and Choose Life come to mind) and a small asides about this and that, including those folk who need to mourn the famous they’ve never known in life. And all perfectly in character with Loki’s lightly eviscerating style.

Many of Harris’ protagonists have been outsiders. Vianne Roacher, the leads in blueeyedboy, Holy Fools, Coastliners, Blackberry Wine – none of them have been an easy part of society. So Loki is a natural extension of that. But where many of those she’s created before have redeeming qualities, they can be hard to find in Loki – unless you count regret. But even then, it’s part of the stew in his head.

Wonderfully paced, the sense of doom slowly encroaching until it becomes unstoppable as the manifestation of the Prophecy, events set in motion before the beginning – but also part of a long con – it’s a book of laughter and tears. You’ll embrace Loki even as you dislike him, and that’s a fine balancing act for a writer to achieve. ‘Gospel,’ of course, is a conceit, a world loaded with many connotations and quite deliberately chosen. But every word is true. Apart from the ones that aren’t, of course.

Read and enjoy, and try to manage what the Greeks hoped to achieve – balance order and chaos. It’s a joyous, terrifying, tumultuous ride. And there’s undoubtedly more to come.

The Power Of Storytime

Last week I was in charge of a curated Twitter account. I love Twitter, I find it perfect for banter and humour and creating communities. But it’s also an excellent medium for telling stories. Author Joanne Harris (@Joannechocolat) has shown just how great it can be with her Twitter fables, which she sometimes tells with the hashtag #storytime.

The nature of the medium – no Tweet can be more than 140 characters – forces a writer to compress thoughts, and in some ways it resembles that flat, straightforward style of the Icelandic sagas, which are wonderful pieces of storytelling.

The account I curated was Leeds-based, so I borrowed Joanne’s idea to create #leedsstorytime, a mix of folk tales, ghost stories and history. It proved more popular than I’d anticipated, and a few people have asked if I’ll continue it on my own account. More than anything, it got me thinking about the power of storytelling. Even if we don’t realise it, we need stories. We crave them. They’re part of the human fabric. When you recount an incident from last week or last year, you’re telling a story…

Learning that my son is taking a class in Greek mythology as part of his university Humanities requirement set me think further about this. The myths were vital. They explained the world, its creation (and death), the facets of people, from Trickster to Love. It put order in the world. Different peoples have their different mythologies. The one thing in common is that they all have them.

And we have stories. They’re beautiful things. We loved them as children when teachers or parents would tell them. They connect us with places and with the past. They have the magic that’s disappeared from so much of our lives. And, as my oral storytelling friends point out, they’re very different from what a writer does. Read a book is a very personal experience, and the words are set on the page. Oral storytelling is communal, and the story is a framework for the teller. It’s a little different every time it’s told. The difference between classical music and jazz, to a degree.

I hope Joanne Harris doesn’t mind me putting my own twist on the #storytime idea. I’d like to think not; after all, these old stories are there to be shared and passed on, to be kept alive. If you haven’t experience real storytelling, maybe you should. It’ll take you to different worlds than any book you’ll read and you’ll have a wonderful, shared time.