Adaptations are turkey. I mean, tricky.

Even solid source material, in this case the heft and humour of Stuart McLean’s The Vinyl Cafe , doesn’t guarantee creators of a new form will be gobbling up accolades.

Settling into the plush, red seats of the Citadel main stage on opening night, I wondered if I would be able to get the slow, soothing drawl of the legendary radio raconteur out of my head long enough to let the new musical — a world premiere — into my heart.

But by the end of the opening number, At the Vinyl Cafe, which gave the audience its first peek through the front door of the storied record shop, I was immersed in the new world. Not only that, the tale took me back into my own Christmas past, and reminded me of the spirit that forms the spine of each yearly celebration.

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