Kevin Tipple just sent me a review of an anthology, A Killing at the Copa: Crime Fiction Inspired by the Music of Barry Manilow. This book is very personal to Kevin. His wife Sandi was a big fan of Barry Manilow. I know this wasn’t the easiest book for Kevin to read and review. Thank you, Kevin, for opening your heart and sharing your feelings with all of us.

A Killing at the Copa: Crime Fiction Inspired by the Music of Barry
Manilow was a read that stirred up a lot of feelings for me. As a writer, I
knew there was absolutely no way I could conceive, write, and submit a
story for consideration for this project as my late wife’s love for all things
Barry Manilow made it impossible.
One small example of that reality for me—Back in the day, I changed the
song “Mandy” to “Sandi.” I would often slow dance with her in our
apartment kitchen when it came on and I would sing the song to her. I’m no
singer—as a certain Junior High School music teacher made clear when
she very loudly pronounced me “hopeless” and publicly gave up on me in
front of everyone during the mandatory music class one day—so, I only did
it for her in private. That would include coming home from chemo when it
came on the radio as she slept on the nearly hour long drive home.
She was a huge fan and his music, along with Elton John, Neil Diamond, and a few others, was interwoven thickly into the fabric of our lives. With her gone, music remains pretty much dead to me as it is way too upsetting. The music of the 70s to the early 2000s was the us and Barry Manilow was a huge part of us. It all seems like a lifetime ago now.
This anthology by Editor J. Alan Hartman, published by White City Press earlier this year, plays homage to his music. There are sixteen short stories in the read. The Copacabana is directly referenced in several of the tales and briefly mentioned in a couple of others. Diversity on terms of characters and writing styles is present throughout the read. While all the tales are good ones, I did have some personal favorites. As always, my brief explanation of my favorite ones is written in such a way as to not generate spoilers. You can be assured that I just skim the surface and the tales are far more complicated than they may appear by my brief description. You can also be assured that, no doubt, your personal favorites may vary quite a bit from mine. Such is the case with any anthology or short story collection.
Linda Kay Hardies’s “Rain as Cold as Ice” takes readers to Reno, Nevada, where the falling water from the sky is nasty. A conversation on a bus stop bench leads the reader to an unexpected event.
Adam Gorgoni’s “Radical Boys” is a tale of regret, pain, and what might have been if a different choice was made decades ago. It is also a redemption story, of sort, and a chance for a new beginning.
“I Write the Songs” by Maya St. Clair takes readers on an exploration of a long since abandoned club. At one time, the place was filled with music legends and patrons. Now it is full of water, rot and decay, and possibly something more in this highly atmospheric story.
A police procedural is at work in “The Daybreak Killer” by Matt McGee. The 30 something and very dead woman in the Los Angles club, “Flamenco,” is the latest case for Detectives Parmenter and Bernal. She even has yellow feathers in her hair. A reference that Detective Parmenter is not picking up on or any of the others that his far younger partner is pointing out.
“Ready to Take a Chance Again” by Kurtis Rupé makes extensive use of the current pollical climate to tell a tale that ius all too realistic. Bad things are happening in Marina Vista, California, and Geri is slowly putting the pieces together.
There are some short story writers that always make the read better by their presence. John M. Floyd is one of those rare breed. “Lonely Together” opens with a Russian and an American in a crowded nightclub in Moscow. The music and the vodka flows, as does their conversation that touches on Aristotle’s six elements of drama, and a lot more.
As you can see, my personal favorites make up nearly half of the read. That is not to say the others were not good. They are. I just happened to like these seven a bit more.
A nice touch here is the fact that each story has a header that explains what song inspired the tale and what album includes that song. The book closes with a detailed bio of each of the contributing authors.
A Killing at the Copa: Crime Fiction Inspired by the Music of Barry Manilow, edited by J. Alan Hartman, is an interesting and entertaining crime fiction read. For those of us of a certain age who can mentally hear each song as a story unfurls, we probably get more out of the book thanks to the memories of what were often better days than the here and now. There is plenty to read and enjoy here and the book is well worth your time.
Digital Review copy provided by the publisher sometime in March with no expectation of a review.
Kevin R. Tipple ©2025
Thank you for sharing your memories of your wife; it’s amazing how upon hearing the first few notes of a song we are instantly transported. What a touching post Kevin.
The images of you singing that song to your Sandi while slow-dancing in your kitchen, and of singing it to her while she was sleeping in the car? I could feel your love for her and you have me crying buckets over here right now. Thank you for sharing those moments.
I will forever remember the image of you dancing with Sandi in the kitchen, Thank you so much for sharing.
Thank you, Lesa, for having me back. Thank you everyone for reading.
Having hit you all in the feels, let me give you a laugh. You have have seen this story before on my blog……
Sandi and I were married in June of 1985 at a church just outside of Boston where her parents had been married many years earlier. Back then I weighed around 350 and stood six foot four. Sandi was under five feet. I and the rest of the groomsmen got suits from some rental place. I was about a 46 waist.
The pants that arrived were for a waist of 66. This was a problem. and we had less than 24 hours to the wedding. My Mother in Law said we will just pin it and you will be fine.
Kick it forward to the wedding. In rehearsal we had just stood around a lot. In the actual wedding with nearly 300 folks in the church and most of them came from her side, we constantly kneeled. Up and down, up and down.
Things were very quiet except for the priest and an uncle of hers that kept taking pictures with a camera with a really loud snap of the shutter. Things were fine until the pins started firing out of my waist area when I moved. You could hear them go flying and hit the pews in the front, the floor, etc.
You could also clearly hear one of her cousins go, “My eyes! That Texas bastard just took out my eyes.”
He was kidding.
Turned out he was almost as twisted sense of humor wise as I had. Found that out later when he announced during the reception that he had collected 16 pins and brought them to our table where he dumped them out on the cloth. He stated he was ready to collect his bounty.
This was hilarious (maybe not at the time) so thank you for making me laugh.
Sounds as if Sandi’s cousin had just as warped a sense of humor as you do, Kevin.