The Post-Partisan Emporium

  Henry VIII And Our Hidden History “Come on, drop it.  Stop acting like Henry VIII.” –  Don’t Tell Mom the Babysitter’s Dead “I can’t be an ‘eritic if I ‘ave me own church, eh gov’na?” In a comment the other day, the idea was introduced that the history books would get it right, and regardless of our follies today, eventually the historians would sort it out. I don’t think so. I think some very fundamental parts of our history have been either been gotten entirely wrong, or, worse, subverted for a reason, especially history that matters. One example of this was brought out by two brilliant posts from Robb Ludden-Joyer.  Mr. Ludden-Joyer writes on X®, and you can find him at @rawbloodenjoyer.  Yeah.  With that sense of humor, I knew I was going to enjoy these posts.  You can find them here ( LINK ) and here ( LINK ).  I strongly encourage you to RTWT. In these two posts (of which Mr. Ludden-Joyer says he’s working on at third) Mr. Ludden-Joyer loo...

One Song, Two Souls Meditating on an old song and the difference between the Irish and English expressions of it Morgoth I was recently on a road trip and, as is my custom, decided to take refuge in easy-listening playlists of songs primarily from the 70s and 80s. Nestled between Al Stewart’s  Year of The Cat  and The Alan Parson’s Project, I heard a song called  Matchstalk Men And Matchstalk Cats And Dogs  for the first time in decades. Hearing a pleasant but forgotten song again is a small pleasure in life, that moment of “Oh, I remember this one!” and the cracking open of associated memories. Yet this version of  Matchstalk Cats and Dogs  felt a little different, slightly unfamiliar and off. It was too folksy, cheerful, and, frankly, too Irish. But perhaps I was mistaken; maybe it had always been this way. I immediately carried out the inevitable Google search and discovered that this version was, in fact, a cover by The Fureys. The Fureys version featur...