A Roaring Accordion

Strangely (that's a name not an adverb) is too big to perform in the top deck of a stationary bus. He cannot stand up without bending his neck so far to the side that his ear meets his shoulder. If he stamps his steel-toed shoes, the bus rocks. And not in a good way.

His voice is also the wrong size. Outdoors at a Folk Festival, his singing might be rousing: Strangely could have roared to his heart's content. But this is a bus. Strangely's music is not meant for a confined space.

Strangely by name and strangely by nature, is the accordionist's mantra. He's American and as such has a lot of mantras. Pep talks too. "This is all about trust, it's up to you too," he exhorts his audience. "We're a team. We're all responsible together for having a good time."

In order to imagine Strangely, first think of a puppy dog—guileless, exuberant—and then add a set of whiskers John McCririck could only dream of. When Strangely sings, the puppy-dog face disappears and is replaced by an angry, folk rage face, and voice. The songs themselves, though, are not especially stirring. There are a couple of catchy tunes but for something so folksy, the lyrics (except those borrowed from Robert Frost) are disappointing.

Good-natured fun. More space and more ale next time please.