What drew me to his stuff initially was what seemed to be a kind of reverence when it came to using the original materal… a kind of seamless merging of the original recordings and the stuff that surrounded it reminiscent of the best moments of My Life in the Bush of Ghosts.Here’s an example of what I mean, taken from his album Now There Is a Tree of Ghosts. Here’s another sample from a later release Crossing the Willamette.

There’s nothing too surprising about having artists long dead appear in your life bringing wonderful gifts, I guess. But it seems to me that there’s a special kind of sadness that attaches to artists like Greg or Eva Cassidy or Hans Faverey–artists who enter your life so soon after their passing that they might, under other circumstances, still have been fellow travellers. So you listen to their music or read their verse and imagine what might have been. And if you don’t have a heart of stone, you remember that they were also someone’s friend or father or daughter or companion.