Alice's Wanderland - Saturday
Saturday is equally as hectic. I spend the morning taking in the site while it is finally dry and surprisingly warm, and my first real port of call is Rachel Unthank and the Winterset, whom various individuals have recommended to me. The first surprise is the bands hilarious onstage banter, which contrasts so beautifully with their plaintive ethereal music. Their songs are traditional but, looking around the audience, I can see young and old faces completely entranced.
Ruthie Foster, who is yet another friendly face on the stage and who has possibly the biggest smile that I have ever seen, follows the Winterset performance. Her music is understated gospel blues with just a guitar and a man accompanying her on guitar who looks like he should have been in the Sopranos with an Alabama 3 soundtrack the night before, yet he winks at me pleasantly from the stage when I point my camera at him (I have had this a few times from the stage over the years; maybe it’s the novelty of a teenage girl in the pit, or perhaps they pity my small camera in comparison to the professionals with their telescope-sized lenses). At one point, Ruthie Foster holds a note for longer than can surely be humanly possible. Up until now I had believed the story that Whitney Houston held the record for the longest note during her enjoyably-hideous rendition of Dolly’s ‘I Will Always Love You’; now I refuse to believe that it can be anybody other than Ruthie Foster who holds this record, especially when surely she was using the bag-pipe style of continuous breathing.
I take a breather after this and head back to Coldhams Common to restock on supplies, but am so ashamed to be seen beside our wonky tent that I quickly return to the site in time for Bellowhead’s lively performance. I had previously been impressed by their performance last time I had seen them at Cambridge, but having been hyped up further in my mind with words such as ‘burlesque’ and ‘energetic’, I was expecting a performance somewhere near that of Gogol Bordello but received anything but. Perhaps they save their more impressive dance moves for after the cameras have gone, but I didn’t feel the energy that I remember last time.
Fiddlers Bid, on the other hand, are far more traditional folk music, and there are members of the audience who obviously adore this performance. These, presumably, are the same people that stamped along to Blazing Fiddles on the same stage a couple of years ago; the atmosphere is almost exactly recreated, and it is a perfect Cambridge Folk Festival moment. I generally don’t tend to listen to this sort of thing on my iPod, but it stirs up that feeling that I only get at this festival so I can’t help but enjoy it, especially when it is followed by Cambridge favourite Kate Rusby. This may quite possibly be the fiftieth time that I have seen her live (a slight exaggeration but not by far) and she holds the audience’s attention perfectly after the energetic afternoon they had up until then; the tone of the afternoon calms briefly, just in time for the next act.
Fanfare Ciocarlia make up for all the energy that Bellowhead lack on this hot afternoon; a few members paraded past me backstage playing their instruments marching band style, and this same humour prevailed onstage. It is fast, sometimes verging on the chaotic with rumours telling me that sometimes they hit 200 beats per minute, but tight nonetheless. This really is the Romanian gypsy party that I had been hoping from Bellowhead.
I don’t have time to stop for breath as I run to Sharron Shannon to see her second set of the weekend, in the crowded Stage 2. By now the rain has started again, cooling everybody down after a hot afternoon of dancing. Sharron is even more enjoyable up close in the more intimate folk-club atmosphere of the smaller stage, unlike Joan Baez on the main stage who gives an epic performance of classics, much to the delight of the few rows of delighted fans at the barrier who sing along with every word, and discuss loudly what songs she might do next in the pauses. Evidentially we are in the presence of a very influential icon, but I do not know the songs and am glad to take a break before clambering into the photographers pit for the last time tonight to see Toots And The Maytals unbelievably sprightly performance. Cambridge may be a folk festival but definition, but every year it is the more diverse acts who really lift the atmosphere of the festival as a whole. Another perfect Cambridge moment when I look over my shoulder at a packed audience bouncing along, shoulder-to-shoulder, to ‘Pressure Drop’ whilst to my left the backstage area contains almost all of the other performers of the day using the extra space they have available to pull off every thinkable dance move. There is a real community spirit to this festival; I get the bus home on a high (with various groups of drunken revellers on the bus home singing Bob Dylan at full blast, including a particularly excitable man who swings from the aisle-poles and does a full solo rendition) on a complete buzz.