Cambridge 2007
Allan Wilkinson
Once we arrived at the festival, set up camp, had a few beers, got acquainted with the neighbours, downed a pot noodle or two and had a kip, the heavens decided, quite un-prompted by anyone in the vicinity, to unceremoniously open. I can't remember rain like it. By early evening on the Thursday we arrived, it was like Woodstock; well okay, a tiny corner of Woodstock, you know, up there in the corner 'by the hamburger guy who had his stall burned down last night', as Wavy Gravy would put it.
We had a good first night after the rain stopped, but the ground was unsuitable for doing anything on, and in particular, sitting on. Okay granted, Woodstock was 'a sea of mud' so this by comparison was just a 'puddle of Mud' but still unfit for human habitation all the same.
We went over to the relatively dry club tent and caught the opening act of the festival Emily Maguire. Seasick Steve attracted a bigger crowd than was necessary on the Radio 2 stage, but there again he was exposed on Jools Holland's Hootenanny last December, never does you any harm that, coupled with the horrible mud in the open fields. I think that did the trick. I don't think Alabama 3 performed their theme song to The Sopranos, but I may be wrong. I was pretty stewed by the time they came on. First night at Cambridge is always a bit gratuitous when it comes to Guinness.
Yes we did it. After all the years of doing Cambridge Folk Festival, since 1989 to be precise, we never thought we'd dare get up on stage and do our bit. It nearly didn't happen though. We saw the queue developing outside the club tent just after Steve Earle's Mojo Interview and decided to make some enquiries. 'We sign up nine acts at 4pm if you want to join the queue, you'll be eighth if you join it now'. After a short conflab with Liam we decided what the hell, let's do it. So we queued up for four hours, fortunately in the blazing sun and in earshot of the main stage where we heard Alison Moorer, Sharon Shannon and Oysterband, before being ushered backstage, where we signed up and did all the PRS stuff. By 6.45 we were standing onstage in front of a healthy audience ready to play our little hearts out. Doesn't sound much I know, but let's put it into some sort of context; playing Cambridge Folk Festival to us, is like an Elvis impersonator getting an invite to play at Graceland.
We were shown to a tiny tent, where we were left alone to tune up and have a moment. People kept sticking their heads in to see if we were alright and make sure we hadn't died of fright. Pretty silly really, for we were totally relaxed and ready to go.
We couldn't have been more democratic in our choice of material. We were going to do Cherry Hinton Hall, but Liam preferred his Yet She Cries. Of my songs, Breakfast on Bourbon always seems to go okay with the audiences we play to, and as a finisher, we chose The Beatles' She's Leaving Home, one that we are always asked to do.
The photographs were taken by one of the backstage crew who knew we had no 'supporters' with us and thought we'd like a record of the event. Cheers! whoever you are.
And now onto the good stuff..
There's a couple of ways you can do festivals, one way is to flitter around the site catching bits of this and that, peering over large bulky shoulders at the back and listening to what comes through the extended surround-sound speakers scattered randomly around the site. The other way is to get hot and sweaty and barge your way down to the front, even if this means trampling over the seated hoards who still insist on the insane idea of taking fold-up chairs into the packed arena, creating senseless obstacles for others and generally making life uncomfortable, except for those in the chairs, whose life is fantastically comfortable thank you very much. The organisers make announcements at the beginning of each set, even threatening to have stewards come down and help them make their minds up to remove their deck chairs, tarpaulins or Persian carpets in order for the rest of us to stand shoulder to shoulder and get a fair chance of looking up Kate Rusby's nostrils.
When I can be bothered with the hassle, I opt for the latter. I had in mind exactly the artists I wanted to see during the weekend and with the possible exeption of Joan Baez, whose populariuty made it impossible to get anywhere near the front, I managed to get in to see most of them.
There's a couple of ways you can do festivals, one way is to flitter around the site catching bits of this and that, peering over large bulky shoulders at the back and listening to what comes through the extended surround-sound speakers scattered randomly around the site. The other way is to get hot and sweaty and barge your way down to the front, even if this means trampling over the seated hoards who still insist on the insane idea of taking fold-up chairs into the packed arena, creating senseless obstacles for others and generally making life uncomfortable, except for those in the chairs, whose life is fantastically comfortable thank you very much. The organisers make announcements at the beginning of each set, even threatening to have stewards come down and help them make their minds up to remove their deck chairs, tarpaulins or Persian carpets in order for the rest of us to stand shoulder to shoulder and get a fair chance of looking up Kate Rusby's nostrils.
When I can be bothered with the hassle, I opt for the latter. I had in mind exactly the artists I wanted to see during the weekend and with the possible exeption of Joan Baez, whose popularity made it impossible to get anywhere near the front, I managed to get in to see most of them.
The first event I wanted to attend on Friday was the Mojo Interview. This started as a regular feature three years ago with Loudon Wainwright III and I've attended each one since, taking in Jimmy Webb and Richard Thompson along the way. Steve Earle was this year's chosen interviewee and unlike all previous Mojo interviews, he made sure it was just that, an interview, refusing to appear with a guitar or perform any songs at all. It was really a Q&A with some predictable questions from the audience, which gave Steve the ideal opportunity to tell us all what's currently wrong the world and in particular America and the Bush Administration, and who would expect anything different? The reason Steve appeared like a reincarnation of Allen Ginsberg was apparently due to the fact that he's currently appearing in an American tv drama called The Wire, where he plays a recovering drug addict called Walon where he 'pawned my bike, my pickup truck, a national steel guitar, lost a good wife, a bad girlfriend, and the respect of anyone who ever lent me money' - typecast again eh Steve?
Much of Friday was taken up queueing outside the club tent in order to sign up to play later in the evening and so I only caught the rhythms and beats and vague leakage from the distant sound system of Le Vent Du Nord, Allison Moorer, Sharon Shannon and Oysterband, none of whom appeared on my 'must see' list. The only performances I was interested in seeing on Friday was Show of Hands and Steve Earle who were appearing on the main stage later in the evening.
Show of Hands are the quintessential English duo whose pedigree is unquestionable. Rising up from the smoking ashes of the Arizona Smoke Revue (hardly a quintessential English name granted), Steve Knightley and Phil Beer have undertaken the role of spokespersons for our generation of English folkies, with a clear determined voice and with hardly an ambiguous message, and nowhere better said than in Roots:
'And the minister said his vision of hell
Is 3 folk singers in a pub near Wells
Well I've got a vision of urban sprawl
It's pubs where no one ever sings at all
And everyone stares at a great big screen
Overpaid soccer stars, prancing teens
Australian soap, American rap
Estuary English baseball caps
And we learn to be ashamed before we walk
Of the way we look and the way we talk
Without our stories, or our songs
How will we know where we come from?
I've lost St George in the Union Jack
It's my flag too and I want it back!'
Can't argue with that!