Even though I’ve got a bit of a thing for Houdini, there’s few things I enjoy less than cramming myself into a box.
So I asked two of my writer-friends, Stanley and Natasha, to cram me into a box instead. In response, they very kindly scribbled these two cryptic obscurities. I think there’s some compliments in there somewhere…
“What do I know? Ever since I met JCC at an asparagus festival over a decade ago I’ve witnessed him shoe-horning the mysteries of the universe into rhyming couplets with the dexterity of a marinated contortionist.
“When my eye falls upon his guitar-picking fingers, they seem to flurry independent of a thinking mind, cascading downstream towards some uncharted weir.
“To my ears, JCC’s baritone voice sounds gravel-filtered through a bed of steaming peat and well trampled velvet, having spent at least 18 months in oak. That’s all I think I know.” – Stanley Poole
“When a Spanish sailor from a decimated armada washed up on the shores of southern Ireland and got off with a girl from Waterford, no-one knew it would mean Jim Carey Connell 470 years later.
“A finger-picking mongrel whose story-telling songs are possessed with hints of Irish flamenco and many a turn of phrase.” – Natasha Bold