Ken Michael Johannsen Paulsen was the most unique and dynamic performer of Mince Pye. Scott, Joe and I are fortunate to have played and celebrated life with him for years at Ren Faires, Witch's Balls, Solstice events, Shakespeare pits, and weddings. Ken was always laughing, smiling and cheerful; always the jongleur clad in a doublet and cape. I first met Michael through New Moon NY activities years ago, and our paths continued to cross. When a slot opened in Mince Pye we declared him an accomplice, as he was inarguably multi-talented and, as Scott put it, "very mince pye." Yes he played three recorders _simultaneously_; yes he played the hammered dulcimer with his fingernails like a wire harp; yes he played bird noises on his recorder during Die Post; and yes, he did rude things when they needed to be done. Memorable, as only the bizarre can be memorable, one particular night we performed in the living room of a mansion (actually, a well furnished house with fragile, expensive looking things perched on walls and coffeetables.) Ken was wearing a black vest, tights, and spent this entire day wearing a half-face-mask, which I recall as rather disturbing. Toward the end of the evening, following an afternoon of "safe" renaissance music played for the wine sippers, and with no warning whatsoever, Joe grabbed the dumbek, and Mince Pye readied for Ken's show-stopping "Famous Saltarello step-dance adaptation leaping, kicking, bang the tambourine on every single part of your body Dance"... ...but, before the spectacle could start, Ken panicked and said he couldn't do it without the missing tambourine, (yes the one with the 4 foot green ribbons), so at the very last minute, I dug up two brass finger cymbals from the bottom of my bag. Once the music began, he quickly found the solution; holding the tiny cymbals between thumb and forefinger next to his masked face, ringing them every so often for effect. The room was packed with guests, tables, chairs, a piano, a few cats and a concert harp, so there was no room for the usual wide swinging leg kicks, spins and leaps. Instead, Ken adjusted his dance to a wild vertical frenzy, creating an indoor earthquake, menacing every person and thing within a 5-foot zone of danger (much to the horror of the petrified hostess). One finger cymbal ultimately came loose, flying across the room, striking a Chinese vase (Ming Dynasty?!?) When it was over, Ken took a bow in the now silent room, and the dumbfounded audience gave a standing ovation. - Paul Ash
It was at a party at the Video Haven, in 1996. Mince Pye, (then being Paul Ash, Scott Long, me, and Stephen Starensier) was playing in the downstairs. In those days it was common when playing with Mince Pye, to not know who would be there on stage playing with you when you turned around... Thunder sat in with us on Djembe that night, and I believe some didgeridoo player whose name I never found out. Ken Paulson played Tenor Recorder that night, and a week later I was headed with Scott and Paul, over to his apartment on 26th Street for what would be our first "rehearsal" together. The last time I saw Ken he was wearing a white T-shirt with a New York City emblem on it, which he bought for $5 at one of those cheep souvenir stores on 42nd street. He and I had just come from playing a wedding in New Jersey, and he was eager to get into Manhattan... to hit the bars downtown... to maybe make it down to ground zero, which was still smoldering,... to make contact with the city that had just experienced the worst single day terrorist attack in history;... his one time home;... New York City. That was September 2001. I wonder now if the T-shirt was an intentional show of New York pride, or just the first thing he found on the shelf. Of course either way is ironic, if you know Ken. In the 6 years I played music with him, I almost never saw him not wearing full Renaissance regalia, complete with laced boots and velvet cape; except for the first time I saw him, and the last time. It was a hard year for all of us. The external forces of the terrorist attacks, coupled with the failing economy forcing us to scrounge for any fickle income we can get... Ken and I went through something else at the same time. Up till this point neither of us had seriously considered anything but music as a career. I had always been responsible though, always having day jobs (until Dec 2000), and always supporting myself (until Oct 2001). Ken didn't even know where to begin. It was hard to know what was really going on in Ken's life because of his constant weaving of tall tales, drama tirades, and probably albeit painfull truths. He and I went through so much together, braving the many changes of Mince Pye, united by our true love of music, and desperate to keep on performing. I really felt close to him, and although he liked to pretend that he could read anyone at first glance, like so many tarot cards scattered on a table, he really did know more about me than most people. Ken and Erika and I became the tightest unit you can ever imagine, when we started playing together. Well mainly it was the 2 of them, the giggle twins. And combined with my sober-guy personality, it would make them even more giggly. The perfect combination. I would scowl at them, just to make them giggle more. Still, when I look at my memory of Ken, which is vivid, all I keep seeing is Ken from my perspective, through my own eyes. I keep trying to imagine Ken from his own perspective. Ken had a lot of demons. When you can't come to terms with your family, then you can't come to terms with yourself. and if you can't forgive yourself for being their flesh and blood, then it effects the way you react to everyone around you. I know, because I can't stand my parents, and it's tearing apart my life. Some people see family as a better substitute for friendship. Some people see friendship as a better form of family. The number one hardship for Ken was that he had never been endowed with the mechanics that it takes to solve problems. I really think he wanted to solve them, but he must have felt a lot of hopelessness in his life. I wish I could have been there with him at the end. Maybe it wouldn't have been the end, but even if it was, I think that having Joe Matzzie there, the musician he had played with for 5 whole years, it would have made him feel good. I wouldn't have kept him in this world, cause this world sucks, but for the time that we had together, to let each other down, I'm eternally grateful. Knowing Ken has influenced my life profoundly. Ken was unendingly generous, had an unparalleled capacity for humility in times of conflict. Ken was open-minded to all walks of life. When he played the dulcimer, you always heard his soul. Music flowed intensely through him, and he was always up for playing, and sharing joy with those who had that capacity in them. I don't know where Ken might be now, but if there's any joy in the afterlife, I'll hope he finds it. - Joe Nutty-Pye Matzzie
I knew him as Kenny. Sometimes as “Fruity Pye.” (Joe was “Nutty Pye” and I was “Q.T. Pye” — a Mince Pye take on the Spice Girls). We spent two and a half years playing our respective tinkly instruments side by side. We had a lot of laughs and a lot of fights, as most co-band members do. We traveled, ate junk food, philosophized, danced, explored, performed, recorded, learned, bitched about men — but mostly we joked around. If I had to choose a word to describe Ken the most, it would be “playful.” He laughed so easily, at just about anything. When waiting for our turn to perform at the front gate at the faire, we’d end up cracking each other up so much that we could barely make it up the stairs (much to poor Joe’s exasperation). We got “in trouble” more than once for giggling uncontrollably in the studio when recording Pye to Go. One time, after a severe chocolate fix at Jekyll and Hydes, we were on such a sugar high that we ran around Manhattan for the rest of the night singing at the top of our lungs — I admit it, he was a better soprano than me. But as much as we loved to laugh, there were times when I was sad, angry, in pain — and Ken was always supportive during those times. If I were cold, he’d give me his cloak. If I were sad, he’d ask me what’s wrong and listen with a sympathetic ear and a hug. He always knew, too, when something wasn’t quite right. I’ll never forget when we played the Maryland Renaissance Faire and there was a stage that seated about 200 people, and it was packed. I went out on stage, took one look at all those people in the audience, and turned green. I had never played for so many people before! I turned right back around and left the stage, and it was Ken who soothed my fears and gave me the pep talk I needed to get over my stage fright. Ken was a gifted hammered dulcimer player and composer. His ability to play three recorders at one time never ceased to amaze me. The carol that he wrote and would perform with Mince Pye was beautiful and haunting. I wish we had recorded it. He would teach renaissance dances to hesitant audience members, and by the end of the dance, everyone would be laughing and having a great time. He so enjoyed the sound of the hammered dulcimer and harp together. We loved to play Irish airs together. The last time we did was this past September at the NY Renaissance Faire. It felt so good to play with him again, two years after Mince Pye broke up. We agreed that we would do so more often. But that wasn’t to be. Ken lived in a different world than most of us. He told a lot of elaborate stories, some of which had some truth to them, some which didn’t. If given a choice, he’d choose renaissance garb over jeans any day- he loved his renaissance faire persona. It was a strong persona — very wacky and in-your-face. His imagination was as varied and open as a child’s. People who didn’t know him were easily offended by some of his antics. And sometimes it was hard to tell what was real from what was a part of his fantasy world. That was fine with me — I knew that it was his way of dealing with his difficult past. But one thing I wish I had known the truth about was his illness. He never talked about it, and when I asked, he would fluff it off, saying he’s been HIV positive for eight years and would probably live to be a hundred. I never knew him to take any meds- when we traveled with Pye, he certainly didn’t bring any bottles with him. He didn’t eat right, and he chain-smoked. I don’t think he exercised at all, other than carrying his heavy hammered dulcimer around the faire. Ken’s death came as a shock to me. He was only 34 years old, and it’s the first death I’ve experienced among my peers. I didn’t know how sick he was. I just saw him a couple of months ago and he was dancing up a storm at the after-fair party. He had asked me to join another band with him, and he told me he was buying a bigger dulcimer. I had no idea it would be the last time I’d see him. I’ll miss Ken a lot. I can’t imagine the renaissance faire without him. And I doubt I’ll meet a musician who can play the dulcimer like he could any time soon. I’m grateful for the memories I have of him, and I’m grateful I had the chance to know him and be his friend. Kenny, I just have this to say to you… 9-e! - Erika Lieberman
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