What makes the Cambridge Folk Festival different from the pack is its relaxed, friendly spirit. From the impromptu pipe, bodhran and fiddle sessions in the Guinness tent to the broad range of music spanning three stages. There can be few UK festivals where the artists can, and do, perform on three stages. Catch an act on the main stage one day. Perhaps the second, smaller stage the next night and even the packed club tent on the final day.
This year the Isle of Wight contingent camped en-masse, three tents plus a dormibile at Coldhams Common campground. At two quid per tent it was an absolute bargain. Up to Cambridge for the first time was Pete Byrne whose love of Irish music is only matched by his thirst for Guinness. Pete assumed he was coming to a traditional folk festival. He was taken aback by the range of music combined with the atmosphere on the Cherry Hinton Hall festival site.
I passed on the Larry Garner band giving my ears a rest for a wander around the Cherry Hinton site to check various corners of the site. Time for a Guinness in the snug that is the best beer tent at Cambridge. Already on Friday night a collection of Irish people had gathered their chairs to sup and play the night away. I made it back for Billy Bragg on the main stage.
Billy Bragg was in a take no prisoners mood. Fatherhood may have calmed the ravages of his song but his banter to the crowd was as sharp as ever. His allusions to Blake, to Rudyard Kipling, to his place as an estuarian from the Thames were every bit as patriotic as the Last Night of the Proms. From William Blake to William Bloke stripped clean of pompous Sunday supplement journalism. Songs punctuated by his trademark stop go guitar chords. Stage hecklers splatted with a passion. Still coming up with gems like Red Into Blue to document the political malaise. A perfect choice to end Friday night on.
After Billy Bragg it was off to catch a late night free bus to Coldhams Common. Here in the food tent the ladies are serving up chips and hot tea with a smile that belies the lateness of the hour.
Planning a day of music at Cherry Hinton is aided by the superb programme printed up by the council. It fits neatly into a jean pocket. Packed with information. Catching all the artists you would want to see is always a problem. After another Guinness in the tent to deplete the 32,000 pints of stock. Then it was down to the club tent.
The tent had a handful of punters in it at this hour. A guy from Birmingham lightened up the afternoon with a whaling song. He looked more like a bank clerk than a folk singer but his humour was sharp. The whaling song began in the unlikely port of Solihull and ended up somewhere off the Isle of Wight. That had us rolling about.
Pete Byrne and I had come here this afternoon to catch Australian Penelope Swales who had a guest slot on the Mayflower Folk Club's bill. Penelope had been in my neck of the woods playing to an unsympathetic audience at a local traditional folk festival. Her visit to the Isle of Wight saved by an invite to play with local wild boys of folk, rock and pop, the Wayward Sons. Both Pete Byrne and I had missed her performances at the Rose and Crown but she had left a tape.
As with Club Tent guest slots Penelope was given just three songs. It was her second song that caught our breath. The lengthy Already Begun rooted us to the spot. The emotion swelled in her vocal, the tears welled up in our eyes. Grown men crying in a beer tent? You had to have been there. Unsure of what to end on, she asked for requests hardly expecting any replies. I shouted for Stone Cold Sober. "Part one or part two?" she asked. Part 1 would be fine and she gained a healthy round of applause from the small but appreciative audience. Just time to introduce ourselves to grab an interview later before making off to catch Peter Rowan and Gerry Douglas on the main stage.
Peter Rowan and Jerry Douglas
The main stage had been pulled out from under the marquee into the sunshine. The set began with sound problems. A sound engineer forgetting to turn off a Sharon Shannon CD that caused the guitars to howl. The audience aided the peformers. A red faced engineer reached for the switch. That aside this was a blinding set of music.
Rowan's songs rolled like tumbleweed over his dry dusty plains voice. Douglas's dobro playing had the crack of a bull whip. He just seemed to magic notes out of thin air. Against the flat picking of Rowan's acoustic the effect was rivetting. Rowan dug into his back catalogue for On The Trail of The Navajo, The Free Mexican Airforce even that old New Riders of the Purple Sage classic he wrote, Panama Red. With these he mixed material from Yonder his collaboration with Douglas. I felt as though I was in some dusky cantina in the wild west. Rowan playing Butch Cassidy to Douglas as the Sundance Kid of the dobro guitar.
Sinead Lohan
From cactus country I continent hopped to the club tent to catch Sinead Lohan again. She was accompanied by her guitarist Adam Kirk, who wove subtle phrases behind her vocal. Lohan's songs were reminiscent of her home County Cork. A gentle soft burr devoid of the bustle of Dublin or the harshness of Belfast. The pair played Dylan's For Ramona but a new song was one that stuck in the ear. It may have been titled Mermaid. It conjured the freshness of salt spray, the cry of summer gulls around a fishing harbour. Beautiful.
It was time to catch up with Penelope Swales for an interview. She had travelled from Australia had spent time in Spain and was travelling around the summer folk festival circuit surviving on gigs and CD sales. Her spot that afternoon had been too early to make too much of an impact. One of the festival staff was trying his best to organise another spot but the chances of an unknown folk singer playing two sets in the Club Tent were not that high. The Australian did however have a slot on Cambridge local radio which was set up in a corner of the site. This excellent little radio station broadcasts throughout the festival presenting musicians and chat. Penelope sang four songs to passers by and was interviewed by a girl presenter who warmed to her performance.
After just hanging around the local radio caravan, sifting through the CDs on a nearby stall I drifted over to Stage Two. Here I caught the last of a jam session which involved Aly Bain, violin, Phil Cunningham, accordian, Jerry Douglas, dobro and Peter Rowan, guitar. It was like a re-run of the excellent Transatlantic TV Sessions which blended the heritage of Scotch, Irish and American musicians. On stage judging by the smiles they were having a gas. That spoke volumes for the music too.
There is an intimacy about Stage Two. The audience bound tighter in a smaller space. Sinead Lohan and band played their last set here around teatime. She captivated her audience with songs from that first album Who Do You Think I Am. The band of keyboards, bass, drums, and guitar a loose, jazzy, perfect fit wrapped around her emotions. A fine set which received roars for more and a request of 'The mermaid song'. Sinead declined to sing it because the band had not rehearsed it. The lack of Sinead Lohan CDs to be had at the record stall denoting the artists popularity this weekend.
Vic King and I managed to share an interview with Sinead Lohan afterwards by the generosity of Cambridge regular Neil King who produces Roots magazine. Neil asked Sinead "You played on all three stages this weekend on which do you feel at home?" Sinead laughed: "On the biggest of course, the biggest for the biggest ego," as we collapsed with laughter. It was now time to dash to the main stage for Townes Van Zandt.
Townes Van Zandt
My taste for lonesome cowboys singing about highways, trains and lost love in the real America is more than satisfied by Townes. Word is that Townes ain't feeling too well this trip. His reputation as an erratic often drunk performer is well documented. For all this there isn't a Nashville clean cut, stetson hatted, industrial cowboy singer that's worth a spit to seeing Townes Van Zandt sat on a stool before an audience. Sat there clutching his big acoustic guitar taking swipes at backstage advice to cut the jokes and get on with the songs tonight.
Amongst the songs I am familiar with are Loretta from one of the finest albums that Townes ever made Flying Shoes. There is also Pancho and Lefty, often heard, as covered by Emmylou Harris and countless country rock singers but never better than when delivered by the songwriter. Townes does manage to squeeze in the often repeated stage patter. "I asked Lightnin' Hopkins once 'What's the blues?' He said 'It's mix of the greens and yellows . . ." My favourite song tonight is Tecumseh Valley. Townes paints this sparse, sad tale about a girl called Caroline from, what I figure is, the Virginia mining hills. That was where my imagination took me as he unfolded the song. Magic.
More drifting around before I settled on the start of the Rankin Family's set on Stage Two. The Rankins came over better in this smaller setting than they did on the main stage the next day. They had all the charm of an Irish show band complete with the dancing Rankin sisters. Celtic soul aplenty from Nova Scotia. I only caught the opening numbers figuring to see the band the following afternoon.
Alison Krauss and Union Station
I could not resist catching Alison Krauss and Union Station. Krauss live was as startling as her records. A voice like Tupelo honey, Alison Krauss just tore at the heartstrings. Her violin playing aching somewhere between country and bluegrass. Union Station looked like they just walked out of the TV from the Waltons. Their playing was awesome, evoking memories of Bill Monroe and the Stanley Brothers. Standup bass, mandolin, guitar, banjo sounding relaxed yet stunning topped by Krauss's peach of a voice. Wow.
Dar Williams
Once again I was cutting a set short to catch my first sight of Dar Williams in the Club Tent. Saturday night in the club tent is a raucuous affair, the party timers swelled by Dar Williams longstanding fans. The couple by me know every song of her short set. I know none of her songs. She is having to work her set hard over the rowdy bar. One that strikes home is a song called The Christians and The Pagans, a whole can of worms brought to the table at Thanksgiving. I have heard enough to know that the double Grapevine compilation of her first two albums is the bargain to be had. It was and two sets by this Masachusetts songwriter would later confirm her talent.
Anders Osborne
Familiar with the Saw Doctors, who can be guaranteed to give a kicking show, I fancied diversifying to catch Anders Osborne and his band from America. Stage two was packed but it was a big mistake on my part. What the band played was competent enough but like some of the blues acts this time it was so predictable to become laboured. To me they sounded like a cross between Santana and the Electric Flag at the Fillmore circa 1969. Cambridge is, however, as marketing man Tim Holt asserts 'a bit of this, a touch of this, something to suit all tastes'. It is, so I left Anders Osborne to get on with it.
Eddie Walker in the Club Tent
The Saw Doctors were well into a rousing set on the main stage as I passed headed back for the snug of the Club Tent. My mate Pete Byrne had spent alot of his day with the pipes and bodhrans in the Guinness tent. Here he had met Tom the Irishman who kept him supplied with an endless supply of jokes. We were now stood in the relative comfort of the Club Tent where we ended the night listening to a great performer called Eddie Walker.
No spring chicken by any means, Eddie Walker, could teach many young hopefuls about performance. There was an air of slapstick vaudeville to this guy. He picked rollicking wayward guitar as he danced and sang. Eddie topped off my Cherry Hinton night for me. He spoke of the late Steve Goodman who played at Cambridge in the early 1980s. He did my favourite Steve Goodman song, The City of New Orleans. One of the great train songs about that historic route from the Crescent City to the Chicago stockyards.
As Saturday night's official music ended the Island contingent met around the tree outside the Guinness tent listening to various pickers and pipe players until the hour got late and a free bus ride back to Coldhams Common beckoned.
The Chipolatas
Back at the campsite the tea tent could not be passed. Once inside the evening was truly rounded off by The Chipolatas who were performing a late night cabaret. Wacky stuff accompanied by a maverick disco beat that included an accordian player. The finale, a bedtime story called 'The night the devil's music came to Grasmere' was an inspired folk tale. The musicians at a Lake District pub failing to heed a warning not to play a hornpipe which results in the song going on through the night. "In the morning the owner came down into the pub to find two scorch marks where they had sat, in the corner was a gleaming new juke box and that is how the Devil's music came to Grasmere . . ." Superb end to a great day of music.
In keeping with after match traditions we repaired to Cherry Hinton Hall to reduce the number of Guinness chalked up on the board. The first real music I caught was Eileen Ivers. Not given to keeping up with the smuck of London shows I knew nothing of Riverdance so Ivers was a revelation. She sounded like a cross between Frank Zappa's two great violinists Jean Luc Ponty and Sugarcane Harris. Ivers had that combination of classical violinist steeped in bluesy based jazz. Accompanied by a guitarist and a drummer this was one superb instrumental set that swarmed with inventivness.
Eileen Ivers was followed by the Rankin Family who never quite captured the magic of the night before. Perhaps the wide open stage lost some of the intimacy of their set but it was still good music to be lulling around to. The rain dulled much of the afternoon.
Ray Davies
Ray Davies the original Muswell Hillbilly was a great choice for a festival although his reminder to the audience that he was a millionaire was a bit of a dampener. Most of us were content to wallow in those primal songs from our youth like Sunny Afternoon and Waterloo Sunset. For all Davies extensive catalogue he will be always caught by his past.
Having spent time watching events around all three stages I stayed around the main stage for this final evening. The range of music was diverse. The quality top class. American Chris Smither had a bluesy, rocking acoustic based guitar style that sounded like it was raised somewhere on the Mississippi bound for Memphis.
Aly Bain and Phil Cunningham played some excellent fiddle and accordian acoustic music from the Highlands of Scotland. They were followed by another cracking set from Peter Rowan and Jerry Douglas who carried on where they left off the day before.
During the Penguin Cafe Orchestra with the rain pelting down again Vic King and I took an opportunity to interview Jerry Douglas, Aly Bain and Phil Cunningham with Steve a journalist from Surrey. We were sat in a backstage caravan as the rain emptied out of the skies above. (the Interview will be here soon)
The Penguin Cafe Orchestra
When the interview was over we returned to the action to watch the Penguin Cafe Orchestra. The sound was reminiscent of those classic Savoy Hotel Palm Court Orchestras with madcap timings and a bizarre sampling of strings, woodwinds, keyboards and percussion. The rain dripped down onto the stage which made the set kind of eerie. It was one wild wacky vamp of a set.
The Oyster Band closed it with a powerhouse kicking set to cast away the rain. Their straight ahead cache of songs put a fitting end to what had been a weekend of varied and entertaining music. As we followed the crowds out to catch the buses to Coldhams Common the musicians were still playing under the tree. The Guinness Tent had long since closed having managed to sell out it's 32,000 pints of stock. One lone musician stood amongst the departing crowds playing rough guitar chords to an equally appalling version of a Bruce Springsteen song. "Can't you arrest him for singing out of tune," I asked a passing policeman. "Afraid I can't," he smiled. Such is the lightheartedness of Cambridge.
The next morning clearing Pete Byrne's muzzy head with hot tea I asked him how he had enjoyed himself. He said: "When you said it was a folk festival I had visions of lots of Steeleye Span and Morris dancing but the music, the food and everything has been so incredible. I'm bringing the whole family next year." With that we saddled up and moseed on home.
Mike Plumbley