Kray Van Kirk

Folk singers often try to one-up each other with obscure details and pastimes. No slouch in that regard, Kray Van Kirk has not one but two obscure distinctions. First, he holds a Ph.D. in fisheries population dynamics modeling. If that s not obscure enough, he does a spot-on impression of Japan's nineteenth-century blind swordsman, Zatoichi.

A fine finger-style guitarist with a precise baritone, Van Kirk set science aside to write songs, tell stories and summon heroes. When he reached Scotland and the prestigious Fringe Festival, the Daily Fringe Review wrote The evening's act was Kray Van Kirk, whose 12-string guitar and soaring vocals were spellbinding; the Alaskan singer-songwriter, in his Edinburgh debut, was not the reason I arrived early, but was certainly why I stayed late."

Van Kirk, however, is not your average crying-in-your-coffee singer songwriter, and this is where the Zatoichi impression comes in handy. Shintaro Katsu played the blind but fictional wandering masseuse as a bumbling nobody in movies from 1962 to 1989. Prior to unleashing his unrivaled swordsmanship, he closes his eyes, cocks his head to one side and listens intently, as does Van Kirk. "We are driven by myth and the seasons of the heart," he says, "and the stories are all true. There is a dark cave inside each of us, and monsters of all kinds lurk there, all the more lethal for being hidden. The quest is to journey inside, render the monsters powerless, find whatever it is that burns at the core of your soul and bring it back into the light. In a world divided it is critical to write songs and tell stories that show absolutely everyone they get to be the hero. Nobody is left behind."

Thus his songs: Thunderbird resurrects the Phoenix in an empty desert diner in the American Southwest (yes, the Phoenix drives a Thunderbird), The Queen of Elfland plucks Thomas the Rhymer from the English-Scottish border in 1250 and drops him and the Queen into a subway car, The Library Song has Superman moonlighting among the stacks, Rosa and Hector ride through Sherwood Forest on canes and a wheelchair, and The Midnight Commander celebrates an insane old man leading the city of New York to take up arms (and underwear) against hatred.

Of this charming, Quixotic, and decidedly eclectic performer, the Borderline Folk Club in New York wrote it is what every singer-songwriter should aspire to.

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