J.P. Cormier appears from the shadows at the side of the stage—an unsmiling mountain of a man in dark glasses—and stalks almost angrily to his seat in the spotlight. He picks up his instrument, adjusts his mic stand and asks the audience: “How’re ya now?” in a rumbling baritone.

He begins an instrumental on one of the five or six instruments he may have on stage with him and you realize that this man is not just a singer or a songwriter. As his fingers fly, with such speed and precision, upon each instrument in turn, you get another picture—one of pure joy and boundless energy; total spiritual abandon bordering in its execution on genius. It’s a word that is used to describe him again and again.

J.P. Cormier is not to be missed. Stuff this good only comes around so often.