Halcyon Days by Kevin Farge

The tropical dry season is descending on Guanacaste, Costa Rica, on the northwest coast of the country. The lush tall grasses wither and turn golden. The trade winds off of Lake Nicaragua blow relentlessly over the mountain valleys, sweeping all moisture away with them over the Pacific Ocean. The winds continue their dance over water smoothed into sheets of turquoise glass. The halcyon bird makes its nest at sea. Nectar is high in the red hibiscus flowers along the walkways and in the orange blossoms of stately trees. Surfers play in the light blue shallows.

The sun’s hibernal rays of vacant fecundity stretch out over the goddess’s hips, in no hurry— these halcyon days extend into weeks, months. Time ceases to take on any meaning. Every day, the winds blow strong and cool, waves wrap around the corners of coves, and the gold grasses stay to sway in the wind. Mythic beasts come marching across the sky, the constellations, where they do battle in the night sky— harmless, a memory. It’s a time to measure one’s old wounds, to better oneself, to set new challenges for oneself. The dry season ends in May, when Taurus, that bull of heaven, comes marching across the sky, bringing storms and the beginning of the rainy season.

On Halcyon Days, Kevin Farge serves up a slice of Central Americana. Hailing from the Gulf Coast of Texas and residing in Costa Rica, Farge sounds a bit like Paul Simon or Leonard Cohen in his devotion to soft pet sounds, Moondog on the melodica, and the wide-eyed tropicália of Os Mutantes. The album is also funny. It and it’s sister album, instrumentals called Low Tide, are both available on shades of clear vinyl from Very Jazzed in limited editions of 300 copies.

Serene elegant folk
from a cabin in
Costa Rica

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