In 2019, Christopher King decided to create a musical anthology with the songs of Epirus Mourning, and not only that ― a musical accompaniment for reading the book.
The editing, mixing, and production of the anthology were done in America, from Christopher King's personal collection of gramophone records. About 2,000 CDs were made.
The CDs were to be included in a new, collector's edition of the book. The author wanted this new edition to be released when he finally came to settle permanently in Greece, resulting in the book being out of circulation for about a year.
Chris eventually made his dream come true. He settled permanently in Monodendri, Zagori.
Thus, the book was re-paginated in a different dimension to accommodate the musical anthology, a new preface was written specifically for the new edition, and the CDs ― which include 19 extremely rare musical pieces ― were placed in the books by hand, at the Domos offices, in 1,500 copies, numbered and signed by the author himself.
The new, collector's edition of Epirus Mourning is released on 12/21/21.
We tend to perceive music as a form of entertainment ― as a luxury, ultimately as something unnecessary. And indeed, the music we usually listen to serves this purpose: to entertain. But what was the primary function of music? Why did people start singing and dancing in the first place?
Christopher King, an award-winning music producer and avid collector of gramophone records, argues that music in its original form is a remedy for the wounds of the soul ― something as essential as air and food.
Gradually, music ceased to have this function. The fragile cultural ecosystems within which music performed its healing work were destroyed.

With the exception of a remote corner of Greece, at the edge of Europe ― Epirus. Here, as if by miracle, an ancient way of life was kept alive, allowing music to retain its therapeutic role. King takes us on a tour of this harsh yet magical place, where music becomes one with poetry, dance, and celebration.
King writes about the history of Epirus and the grandeur of its landscape, about festivals, tsipouro, and Gypsy musicians, about collective experiences and shared memories. He speaks to us about music as lament, as lullaby, and as consolation. He speaks to us about people who know how to mourn and know how to celebrate.
Combining philosophical reflection with historical description, musicological analysis with anthropological insight, this passionate and playful narrative ultimately takes the form of a love letter to the music and people of Epirus.