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Spiro
when he explains them to me but which escape me now. I suspect
it may just be a cunning ruse for him to sneak Walking The Dog
into his set when, looking showered and fresh, he goes on stage
with the appropriately named Reluctant Ramblers.
Playing in a stripped-down acoustic three-piece with broth-
er Steven and Inge Thomson, Karine Polwart is spot-on as
always; Peatbog Faeries get the main hall lurching in a swirl of
pipes, kilts and grungey beats; and the hugely likeable one-
band singalonga clogs ’n’ ballads fun fest that is Demon Barbers
demonstrate again exactly why they won that best live band
gong at the BBC Folk Awards this year.
Then there’s the big question. Who’ll be the first person to play
a ukulele on stage? This turns out to be Rosie Doonan, Saturday’s
first act, who gives way to Delta Maid, a Liverpudlian who looks
and sounds like an extra from Brookside and then delivers a rather
fetching dollop of country blues, Lancashire style. No time to hang
around, though, there’s people to see, places to visit, recycling bins
to fill as you roam the grounds in the sunshine (either the gardens
are on a slope or that real ale is really something special), repeated-
ly checking the programme to ensure you don’t miss the lively re-
emergence of Blyth Power, the infectious girl-band energy of The
Shee or the wondrous Diana Jones in the main hall. If there’s a
matron saint of lonesome music, it’s Diana Jones.
S
ee, this is the festival that doesn’t check you in at the
door, putting labels on you and measuring you up for a
musical straitjacket. Despite all the red herrings that get
flung around about genesis and history, the strength of
the scene that produced Oysterband and their ilk was
eclecticism and old-fashioned virtues of fun and insensibility. This is
the heart of a festival that steadfastly avoids the F-word in all its lit-
erature. And it’s why I get to sit in the balcony at the De Montfort
Hall swept away by the uncategorisable sound of Greta Bondesson
playing bottleneck banjo and pedal drums with her two sisters
(Sunniva, who sings like Janis Joplin and Stella, who plays upright
bass as if her life depends on it) in the Swedish band Baskery.
“Three Swedes being fake Americans – what’s the point?” com-
mented somebody who shall remain nameless (ok, it was the editor)
but I beg to differ, your honour. I stay rooted up there for the rest of
the evening as Eliza Carthy leads a community soundcheck sing-
song of I Do Like To Be Beside The Seaside before her set proper,
which she introduces with “I’m going to sing a lot of rude and mis-
erable songs – this is about peeping toms in Edinburgh”. It’s all her
contemporary stuff (which gets a few grumbles from those who like
to grumble) but it’s good to hear a couple of the much-maligned
Angels & Cigarettes tracks reborn; she returns for her encore like a
smouldering nightclub singer to deliver a soulful, slowed down
piano-accompanied version of her magnificent The Company Of
Men. Or, as some of us affectionately refer to it, The Blow Job Song.
Meanwhile, over in the Big Tent, there’s a small step for bands
and a major leap for bandkind as the Oyster Ceilidh Band, driving the
frantic dancing presided over by Gordon Potts, transform into
Edward II mid-tune, the sound crew crawling around dismantling
bits and bobs as the constituent members of Edward II magically
materialise in front of their instruments to take over the tune while
the Oysters gradually vaporise. That half the dancers don’t even
notice and the morphing drummers don’t miss a beat is a trick Paul
Daniels might wish to study and replaces Billy Bragg’s busking chal-
lenge as the talking point of the weekend. It’s already a YouTube hit.
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