It’s a lovely idea; a folk festival with none of the hassle of having to camp, get muddy or walk eight miles from the nearest bus. And in the grounds of a stately home (Hatfield House) to boot.

Unfortunately for Folk By The Oak, all these factors transpire to make it not [...]]]> Review by Hazel Davis

It’s a lovely idea; a folk festival with none of the hassle of having to camp, get muddy or walk eight miles from the nearest bus. And in the grounds of a stately home (Hatfield House) to boot.

Unfortunately for Folk By The Oak, all these factors transpire to make it not really a folk festival at all, more a Proms In The Park with a different beat.

For this year’s third annual Folk By The Oak, the sun was shining, the lineup was cracking (Jackie Oates, Mawkin:Causley, Bellowhead, Martin Simpson Quartet) and the activities manifold, if bewildering (archery, knock-the-tin-cans-off-the-shelf, hot stone massage). But none of it quite came together in a Proper Folk way.

The green camping chairs were out, of course, which added to the Proms In The Park feel. Megson opened the show with a few weak jokes and a complete failure to whip the crowd (I say “crowd”…) into a frenzy. Things picked up a bit by the time Jackie Oates came on, with her clear bell-like voice just as sweet live as recorded, Emily Smith’s set was pretty but forgettable, but the Martin Simpson Quartet (of which there were six…) really ramped things up with a foot-tapping Mississippi set and by the time the headliners, Bellowhead, came on the audience were almost in the mood for a folk festival. Bellowhead, as ever, were on top form, parping out London Town, Fakenham Fair and Jordan with their usual charisma. The evening rounded off with Proms-style fireworks, reminding us that this was a folk festival for people who sort of like folk (so long as it’s the safe sort and there’s sparkling wine).

Review by Hazel Davis I definitely can’t deny that I’m prone to extreme emotion at folk festivals. Last year at Beverley it was the divine Jeni and Billy (more on them later) who prompted an outpouring of my love and this year it was Eddi Reader. Not that [...]]]> Beverley Folk Festival (June 2010)

Review by Hazel Davis

I definitely can’t deny that I’m prone to extreme emotion at folk festivals. Last year at Beverley it was the divine Jeni and Billy (more on them later) who prompted an outpouring of my love and this year it was Eddi Reader. Not that I wasn’t expecting THAT of course. I have seen her live a thousand times but she topped a thousand wonderful performances with a blinder worthy of the closing and not the opening concert (Proclaimers Schmoclaimers).

No matter. It put us all in the mood for what was to come. Dedicating the French-inspired (and by that I mean accordion-heavy and Piafesque) evening to Susan Boyle “Who just woke up one morning and just thought ‘I think I’ll go and sing for Simon Cowell’”, Reader, gorgeous in blue with red flowers in her flame-orange hair, was breathtaking. Leezy Lindsay made me cry, as did Dragonflies and Muddy Water and her only-she-could-get-away-with-it closing monologue-song-medley sent everyone out into the night in a Mike Leigh (the other one…!) haze.

But there was more to this year’s folk festival than Eddi Reader and the next day (despite extreme consternation that she wasn’t performing) Barbara Dixon enthralled in the Acoustic Tent with tales of her folk-to-showbiz transition.

As ever, I gravitated mainly towards the open-mics and a mix of the awful, endearing, try-hard and green and the downright amazing (Anxious Andrews – the reason folk exists – and his tear-jerking rendition of The Old Triangle). Andrews was one of my personal festival highlights. As he jittered up on stage and started ranting about his council house being demolished I sunk into my chair, embarrassed. But I sat bolt upright as his clear and plaintive voice rung out rendering the tent both angry that we’d even bothered clapping the earlier double-denimed John-Not-Denver and teary that Anxious might actually be telling the truth when he said he’d been sleeping rough.

The Moonbeams Tent played some blinders. My newest crush Boss Caine, with milky-blue-eyed Daniel Lucas’ womb-scrapingly gravelly vocals (fuck knows what he was actually singing about but I bloody hung on every word as Joan Baez to Bob Dylan) and the delicately-tonsilled Edwina Hayes whom I have had rammed down my ears by friends for years and have recently fallen in love with a bit).

Elsewhere, Dogan Mehmet and his Deerhunters (Turkish-English gypsy-punk fusion) were amazing, showing Manu Chau-style future superstar quality, and I LOVED The Why And Wherefores’ blinding blues set at the Americana Party. Said party also featured folkingcool darlings Jeni and Billy, whom we will never tire of writing about (and not just because they dedicated a song to me –SCREAM). Mixing stuff from their last two albums with a couple of newbies including Windmill (NEED), a gorgeous tale of dustbowl survival, they delivered each performance like it was their only one and made each audience feel like it was the best EVER.

Roy Bailey and Tony Benn on the main stage were great value, if predictable (worth it for Bailey’s still-brilliant voice) and the impromptu village-green activity was entertaining, if, like last year, a bit haphazard. But we don’t mind haphazard when a festival is a fun, friendly and welcoming as Beverley. Counting the days till next year…..

‘Go and see Lail Arad!’ honked the folkingcool ed. ‘Lail’s amazing!’ Being called Joy, I obviously can’t help but be naturally cynical, negative and suspicious. When my expectations are raised this multiplies and I end up being all worried that the gig’ll be crap because I know I’m supposed to [...]]]> Review by Joy Thomas

‘Go and see Lail Arad!’ honked the folkingcool ed. ‘Lail’s amazing!’ Being called Joy, I obviously can’t help but be naturally cynical, negative and suspicious. When my expectations are raised this multiplies and I end up being all worried that the gig’ll be crap because I know I’m supposed to like it. To calm myself I decide to stalk Ms. Arad on MySpace and watch the video of Who am I? This was a totally rubbish idea – the video paints her as a typically irritating, middle class North London girl and I decide sorrowfully that I’m probably going to hate her.

And so I arrived at the veggie café in Camden Town where Lail was playing. Oh naivety! Oh innocence! It’s a vegetarian music café in north London! Of COURSE it was going to feel creepily wholesome, wanky, and superior. I sat down feeling very out of place amongst the we-buy-all-our-clothes-in-Oxfam-to-look-cool-but-we-live-in-a-massive-house-in-Hampstead crowd.

URGH, then. The Joy-pal and I cowered in a corner with our eye-bleedingly expensive organic lager and cheered ourselves with an excellent chinwag and some frowned upon marlboro light runs (I’m sure rollies would have been fine). The staff with their brown rice halos kept tidying away our unfinished beers which didn’t help matters and we were a bit frowny by the time the lights went low and we realised that Lail was coming on. We folded our arms, raised our eyebrows and prepared to listen to come kooky pampered princess la-la-laing to a smug crowd of the arty rich. URGH.

Accompanied by a chap on guitar, Lail started the set behind a keyboard with songs that rhymed in a really annoying way. You know when you’ve never heard a song before but it’s so predictable you can sing along? That. The Joy-pal scrawled ‘Regina Spektor’ on my notepad and she was right. Fine, Lail, but come on love, have you got owt else? Sigh.

And then… hang on a minute…

Things started to change. Lail surveyed her crowd and sang a song along the lines of ‘If I’d had it harder and had been a bit more fucked up then I’d be able to write nonchalantly about the horrors I’ve seen… but to be honest I went to a nice, arty liberal school and I like my parents so that’s that then.’

She mooched out from behind the keyboard, came to the microphone, blew her nose and took a gulp of water. And before I knew it Lail Arad had blown my bloody socks off. She is just … personable, nice, self aware. And she’s FUNNY. She’s got a sitcom writer’s eye for the nuances in social funnies and has an ability to make these delightful, clever and satisfying songs that have you hooked onto her completely.

She drumsticked (drumstruck?) a chair whilst singing the slightly bonkersville Everyone is moving to Berlin. She held her maraccas the wrong way round to clonk along to another song. She sang about terrorists, carpooling and putting the heating on. Where was the rubbish rhyming from the start? It was like a different person from the Regina-alike behind the keyboard.

Reminds Me Of You is a perfect example of a song which is intimate, tender and almost a bit sad .. but then dead funny at the same time. The same can be said of Someone New and Winter. The humanity of her humour, the knowing acknowledgment of the flaws and bumps of life is so attractive. Kind of opposite to the atmosphere I’d picked up when first entering he vegetarian café-land. And opposite to what I’d assumed she’d be.

A cover of Leon Russell’s If The Shoe Fits finished me off in terms of abhorrent shame at myself. ‘Can you get us in free, my girlfriend and me, we like the songs but we hate to pay…’ Gah. Ok, ok, you’ve got me, Lail. Well done.

She finished her encore with a treat of a new song called Pickled Love which made me beam with absolute wonder. United with the people around me who I was so quick to deride, I clapped and whooped her offstage, looked around and felt dead grateful to be where I was. Is Humble Pie vegetarian?

Chorlton St Clement’s Church, Wednesday 26th May 2010

Churches seem to have to diversify to survive in today’s times and this Chorlton church seems to be very much a church-to-hire. Host to various regular exercise classes and toddlers groups, it is a major sponsor and one of the main venues during Chorlton [...]]]> Review by Ruth Rosselson

Chorlton St Clement’s Church, Wednesday 26th May 2010

Churches seem to have to diversify to survive in today’s times and this Chorlton church seems to be very much a church-to-hire. Host to various regular exercise classes and toddlers groups, it is a major sponsor and one of the main venues during Chorlton Arts festival. On Sunday 23rd May, a select crowd enjoyed the quirky sound of Beth Jeans Houghton. Benefiting from a famous lead singer, the Bad Shepherds drew a full house, despite the mid-week slot.

Adrian Edmonson, in case you didn’t know, used to be famous for being the ‘punk’ character in TV’s Young Ones and for his comedic work with Rik Mayall. He’s pretty much been off the radar for a while and now seems to have reinvented himself as a musician – lead singer of the Bad Shepherds. Formed just a couple of years ago, they were nominated this year for Best Live Act in the Folk Awards.

What makes the Bad Shepherds different is that, instead of playing traditional folk, they play punk/pop and new wave classics in a folk style. Curious as to how, and if, this could work at all, I ambled down to see them at the sold out church – a fitting venue for such a band name!

It is difficult not to smile and laugh a bit as the band open with perhaps one of the best known punk anthems, Anarchy in the UK. Two things soon become apparent as band rattle through some of Britain’s best known 45s of the late 70s and early 80s. Firstly, this is most definitely not an amateur project; Edmonson has surrounded himself with three fine musicians, particularly fiddler Andy Dinan whose fingers deft fingerwork and bowing leave me in awe. Secondly, this is no comedy covers band. These are full-on folk reinterpretations of originals rather than the lazy folk-punk covers band that they could have turned out to be.

Some songs definitely work better than others. My favourites included The Model, Once in a Lifetime and Rise. Where the lyrics may have been equal in importance to anger and attitude in the originals, they stand out here and when it comes to masterpieces such as the Jam’s Down in the Tube Station at Midnight it works. However, other songs, initially rousing singalongs, suffer when that anger and attitude is taken out and they become bland folk ballads. There are a few mash-ups of trad tunes with the songs and the audience show their appreciation whenever the band launches into a full-on traditional tune.

Still, punk songs share plenty of common ground with folk songs and I’m left wondering whether folk is the inevitable progression for middle aged punks? It seems that way if this Manchester audience is anything to go by. Overall, I’d say this was an inventive, musically accomplished set and I expect to see more award nominations as they expand their fan-base during the festival season. There are plenty more gigs on this tour, so check them out and make up your own mind.

www.thebadshepherds.com/gigs.php

www.ruthrosselson.net

Review by MR Wallis

“If it’s not teenagers, it’s fucking hipsters,” blurted my friend Grace. We were sitting on the eighth row of The Lowry’s purple Lyric Theatre, surrounded by old men and women, posh people and throngs of twelve-year-olds with large bushes of hair, smelling of bubblegum: “I love music, but I hate people who [...]]]>

Review by MR Wallis

“If it’s not teenagers, it’s fucking hipsters,” blurted my friend Grace. We were sitting on the eighth row of The Lowry’s purple Lyric Theatre, surrounded by old men and women, posh people and throngs of twelve-year-olds with large bushes of hair, smelling of bubblegum: “I love music, but I hate people who love music.”

The supporting act, Sydney’s Boy and Bear resembled a sofa.
Their gangly, loose-limbed dancing and guitar-thrusting – seen before in the guitars and voices of Mumford and Sons and Noah and the Whale – coupled with their single Mexican Mavis gave the sofa a nice upholstered cover but nothing more. Unfortunately the venue was less intimate than they’d been used to: “It’s hard to be raucous in a purple theatre.” Hammersmith’s Alessi’s Ark were a post-vocal-nodules Joanna Newsom with a bit of whalesong added. Although poetic and enjoyable, I couldn’t help think that she was missing a spark of confidence.

Marling has been peddling her heartbreak and poeticism through two albums now, her voice spread with folky markings. (But why does someone so gifted have to resort to an Irish twang?) Marling wandered onto the stage, a tiny thing. The uplights cast the band in an ethereal glow, Laura singled by a spotlight – her bones shadowed and goblinlike. Dressed in a black shawl she sang with perfect pitch.

The band left us alone in the theatre, the melancholy and mythical story-telling which we associate with Marling shining through. She performed a new song followed by a cover of The Needle And The Damage Done but messed up laughing. Although abrupt, it was still a heartfelt performance that pleased old fans. She continued with Failure and then Night Terror, where she improvised the fiddle section by whistling through her teeth. She ended her solo with Rest in My Bed and Made by Maid. The band returned to perform Goodbye England (Covered in Snow) and What He Wrote, both hauntingly beautiful and topped by Alpha Shallows and Alas I Cannot Swim, which sparked a singalong.

“We’re chums right?” Marling said, “I go to a lot of gigs, sometimes I pay for them.” Did we want an encore? She didn’t understand why bands would hold back songs when you’ve paid. A man told her to get on with it. Marling sulked, “I’m not doing an encore … but I love you,” finishing on My Manic And I and I Speak Because I Can.

MR Wallis

http://somethingeveryday.tumblr.com

First things first: Cara Dillon has a Proper Lovely voice. Nothing new in that comment, but her voice really is extra-special. It sounds so effortless, so clear and makes you lean into it in order to stuff as much as possible into your ears. This tour has [...]]]> Joy Thomas longs to get out of the stalls

First things first: Cara Dillon has a Proper Lovely voice. Nothing new in that comment, but her voice really is extra-special. It sounds so effortless, so clear and makes you lean into it in order to stuff as much as possible into your ears. This tour has seen Cara’s voice being more at the forefront than usual; rather than a full backing band she has just been accompanied by her husband, Sam Lakeman-with-his Lakeman-jaw, who contributed piano, guitar and facts.

Now then, I do confess that possiblymaybesometimes I have found Cara Dillon to be a bit twee. However I don’t know whether it was some magic cast by her live performance or the fact the music seemed more pared down but I was definitely much more impressed at this gig than I am when I listen to a CD.

Cara is so personable and comes across, along with Mr Lakeman, as being Really Awfully Nice. She apologised for having a bit of a tickly cough and, whilst Sam paused to re-tune his guitar, chattered happily to the audience about playing with her twin sons on the morning of the gig. Her comfort on stage and love of the music was unquestionable; here is a woman doing the job she was born to do.

But… (oh come on, there’s always a but) there was just something a bit soulless about this music being performed in a theatre space with everyone sitting neatly in rows watching in reverential silence. Tales of broken-hearted girls becoming crazy recluses, of homesick sailors remembering their distant home, of friends divided by The Troubles; these tales all felt a bit sanitised and removed, something I feel they wouldn’t have been if we’d been in a more initimate venue. To me, folk music will always work best in pubs, clubs, or at least more ‘democratic’ rooms where people jostle and share space and seats. In fields, in tents, in front rooms, in sheds. Not in a hushed theatre. It almost felt like we were watching the memory of something that was exinct, almost a tribute to folk music. Like seeing artefacts laid out neatly in a museum; there was something final about it, something pickled, labelled and preserved.

Having said this, people did join in with some songs when Cara encouraged them, but it was low and polite and controlled. The low, sorrowful hum accompanying There Were Roses was quite moving … but I didn’t feel able to lose myself in it in seat H3 of the stalls. At no point was there a chance of anyone getting carried away, of talking to her, of shouting suggestions. And if they had it would have felt really inappropriate.

Cara and Sam were obviously very comfortable and pleased to be in the space and expressed a hope to return. I do concede that the sound quality was more professional than you could ever hope for in a more coarse venue; the excellent sound system (and Techie) meant each note reverberated and almost quivered in the air which could be pure joy. And ok, looking round, it seemed like the clientele were possibly more inclined towards theatre rows than rickety bar stools or muddy fields so perhaps she’s aimed it exactly right for her die-hard fans. Nonetheless this gig confirmed that, for me, however powerful and talented the musicians, a large part of live folk has to do with the atmosphere created, the roughness around the edges, the shared sense of the grubbiness and mistakes of humanity.

Joy Thomas

You’ll know Holmfirth as the location for Last of the Summer Wine, the endless BBC sitcom that featured lovable pensioner rogues Compo, Clegg, Dopey, Happy and Not At All Funny and always used to be on at your gran’s when you popped round on Sunday.

But Holmfirth has so much more to offer than guided [...]]]> Hugh Wilson

You’ll know Holmfirth as the location for Last of the Summer Wine, the endless BBC sitcom that featured lovable pensioner rogues Compo, Clegg, Dopey, Happy and Not At All Funny and always used to be on at your gran’s when you popped round on Sunday.

But Holmfirth has so much more to offer than guided tours of Last of the Summer Wine country. Thank God.

The pretty West Yorkshire village, nestling in picturesque rolling countryside a few miles outside Huddersfield, is also home to the Holmfirth Festival of Folk (7,8,9 May), an event that grew out of the ashes of the Holmfirth Folk Festival (splitters!) in 2005.

HFF is small and perfectly formed. Most of the action takes place in pubs and on the streets and the vast majority is free. It’s fair to say it’s not a starry occasion, but acts already confirmed include Belshazzar’s Feast, Jeff Warner, Miriam Backhouse, Muldoon’s Picnic, Ray Hearne and Ray Padgett. Expect lots more.

It all makes for a bumper weekend of good folk and a very good excuse to spend more time than usual in pubs. Take time to visit Nora Batty’s famous tearoom if you like, but we wouldn’t advise it.

For more information visit www.holmfirthfestivaloffolk.co.uk

Bwa, ha, ha! Silly old trusting folkingcool, allowing me to review the BBC Folk Awards last Monday 1st February. It was too exciting NOT to be a bit naughty…

First things first. Yes I did touch Jackie [...]]]> Joy Thomas brings disrepute on the good name of folkingcool but has a nice time in the process

Dear Reader,

Bwa, ha, ha! Silly old trusting folkingcool, allowing me to review the BBC Folk Awards last Monday 1st February. It was too exciting NOT to be a bit naughty…

First things first. Yes I did touch Jackie Oates but I don’t think she noticed. I very nearly reversed into Ralph McTell. Chris Evans is taller than you’d expect and sort of perfectly cared-for looking, like he’d been taken out of some cotton wool, given a polish and send out for the night. Is this what happens when you reach a certain level of fame, o Reader? Richard Hawley confessed that Norma Waterson reduced him to a “puddle of piss” and never once took his bloody coat off (maybe some piss stains to cover up?). Kevin Whately wore the moustache of a knicker-elastic-selling spiv and Lembit Opik just stood there, as per usual. (It should be a verb, “to Lembit Opik”).

After a rousing (pink!) champagne reception accompanied by some morris dancers (many under the age of 30, please note) we “chosen few” were allowed into the Inner Sanctum to hear Mike Harding tell some really shit jokes. The Bad Shepherds were the first band of the evening to play with their blah folk version of I Fought the Law. I managed to keep my opinion to myself and clapped politely. All that changed as soon as Show of Hands started winning awards, however. Best duo? Piss off. Best Original Song for Arrogance, Ignorance and Greed??? WHAT a load of bollocks. No song with the lyrics “your probity you betrayed for greeeeeed” should even be considered for such an award. And then they only went and bloody well sang it didn’t they? Good LORD.

When Bellowhead failed to win Best Group I managed to refrain from booing as I rather like the winners, Lau. Darling Bellowhead did win Best Live Act and Jon Boden picked up Musician of the Year. Boden thanked the landlords of all the pubs which had allowed them to sing and play (and drink, I presume) until 3 in the morning. Rather charmed me, that did.

A Lifetime Achievement Award went to Nanci Griffith after Bob Harris read out some of her dreadful lyrics (sacrilege maybe, o Reader, but it’s just my OPINION so stop complaining). Dick Gaughan won the other Lifetime Achievement Award which I thought was a bit more like it… but then I was distracted by Observer music journalists not putting white wine back in the wine cooler. Thankfully Dick managed to swing my attention back by being Just Ace and singing like a bloody hero.

Sadly my beloved Jackie Oates came away without an award (how I roared with pain, Reader) but Cara Dillon sang beautifully, accompanied by her Lakeman husband with his Lakemen jaw (Sam, on piano) so I decided it was ok for her to take album of the year. She’s older than Jackie, after all.

Reader, I booed, I bitched, I cringed, I roared and I accidentally guffawed with laughter when Bob Harris talked of his and Nanci Griffith’s battles with cancer (my guffaw was UNRELATED and BADLY TIMED). And then as the Transatlantic Sessions, winners of the ‘Good Tradition Award’ were quoting Horace (art is in hiding the art’ – nice) I noticed another journalist’s dictaphone on the table. And, like a hero, I fled. So, dear sweet Reader, you ain’t seen me and you can’t remember my name. Ok?

Joy Thomas