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Copper and his son John singing at Lough- borough Folk Festival, instantly capturing the evocative beauty of a rich seam of the tradition that soared beyond all the gener- ational and geographical divisions of time, place and taste.
In those days, Loughborough was part music festival, part seminar with a ceilidh or two thrown in for good measure. I recall the venerable A. L. Lloyd delivering a lecture entitled ‘Davenport’s Dictum’, stim- ulated by some statement or other made about the folk revival by Bob Davenport – something to do with the middle-class enthusiasts being overly protective and precious about what they perceived as the folk tradition, while real traditional musi- cians couldn’t actually give a toss about strait-jacketed definitions. Bob would reg- ularly underline his point by singing Chuck Berry’s Memphis Tennessee or perhaps an old music hall song.
Open air drumming at Towersey and indoor sessions at the English Country Music Weekend…
In truth, Bert’s lecture was crushingly boring but the spirit of learning and shar- ing knowledge encompassed by the con- cept certainly contributed to the feeling that in this weird folk music thing there was a genuine sense of community.
There was also a heated debate when Steeleye Span played at Loughborough and the earnest denizens of the music took aim over the thorny merits or other- wise of folk rock, with its controversial addition of electric instruments to tradi- tional folk songs. When one stray speaker suggested their motivation was fame and money, Steeleye’s Martin Carthy took umbrage and got very animated, offering to show his bank statement to show how much – or more pertinently, how little – was in his account.
… and always a grand finale – this one at the Rainforest World Music Festival.
oughborough subsequently became an annual fixture in my calendar, irrespective of guest list, beginning on Friday night and closing on Sunday after- noon with a finale led by Eric Winter singing a peace anthem called A Soldier And A Sailor to the tune of Pleasant And Delightful. He wasn’t much of a singer but we wallowed in the sentiment.
L
Those old festivals seemed wonderful- ly informal and spontaneous, too. I was at a festival in the Reading area and chanced upon A. L. Lloyd wandering across the field. I went up to him and asked if he would sing Tam Lin in his set later that evening. Oozing charm and amiability, he looked at me kindly and said, “I’ll do bet- ter than that, I’ll sing it for you now…” and right there in the middle of the field in the early afternoon sunshine he did just that, delivering the great ballad with all his characteristic nuance and guile. It’s a long song and, by its conclusion, quite a crowd had gathered and he did an encore.
Do such things happen anymore? Maybe. The blessed Jon Boden took to doing unscheduled little performances at Cambridge a few years ago, while the man they call Passenger played an unan- nounced set in the bar. This sort of thing used to happen all the time at Cambridge. You daren’t retire to your tent for a second lest an unannounced guest turned up on one of the main stages.
Photo: Ian Anderson
Photo: Ian Anderson
Photo: © Judith Burrows
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