As taken by Mrs. O.
For years I wrote for history blogs and still do. One admin asked me to write for her own blog after I commented as “occasional reader” - so the alter ego O.R. was born. These pieces were mainly silliness with an occasional rant thrown in. Since that admin sadly passed away, I thought my pieces would disappear into cyberspace. But then I decided to reprint a few and maybe – occasionally - write some more. So here they are. At least if my computer throws a fit and dies they are preserved. Enjoy?
Wednesday, April 22, 2020
Wednesday, April 1, 2020
Cambridge 2015
For a number of years the family attended the Cambridge Folk
Festival and I wrote a post each year about the event. By accident I stumbled
across the post that follows that somehow missed out on being republished.
Cambridge 2016, 2017, 2018 et al all got a reprint here, but the first one
didn't. It was in a folder covering religious history, but how it ended up in
such an incongruous place is anybody's guess. Whether it is worthy of
resurrection is debatable, but here it is - our very first experience of Cambridge.
The fact that we returned year after year means it can't have been all that bad
an experience.
So the extended Occasional family went to the
Cambridge Folk festival last week - four days of an eclectic mix of music, and
still the most prestigious folk event in the UK, running now for over fifty
years.
In America the quintessential folk event was
the Newport folk festival, where Bob Dylan horrified purists by playing an
electric guitar in 1965, and “folk” started to embrace a lot more than nasal
protest. It led on to events like Woodstock. You may remember the film of Woodstock.
What sticks in my mind from that movie are the performances by heavily pregnant
Joan Baez looking radiant, and Richie Havens and Joe Cocker both stoned out of
their minds. And the mud. And the “state of emergency”. (It rained.) It didn’t
of course change the world, and the next major festival had a member of the
audience killed by Hells Angels in front of the stage while the Rolling Stones
were performing. That was sort of goodbye to the 60s – peace and love and all
that - and a dubious hello to the 70s.
For all its pretentions, folk music of course
changes very little. It makes some of us feel good temporarily, and on occasion
it makes people think. Nationalistic and religious music probably has a far
greater effect on those with a predisposition. But that is about the limit of
its influence. But feeling good temporarily is OK with me.
But I have to say that Cambridge this year made
us feel good.
Just the look of the place made you feel
good. There were about ten thousand visitors, and most of them were there for
the long haul. In the circumstances, the venue was extremely clean. Now
festivals aren’t exactly known for this, but folk sort of blends with a
“friends of the earth” mentality, so it is all pick up trash and recycle and
save the planet while you are about it.
Perhaps one look has changed a bit since
my last major festival a few years ago. Fashions change. A few years ago it was
all portly men with bad cases of slipped chest or brewer's goiter - with bald
heads and incongruous pony-tails as compensation, and women of a certain
earth-mother shape wearing tents. (I am reliably informed that that should read
Kaftan.) But now there are lots of younger people, sporting wispy facial hair,
bowler hats, midi-shorts and snake tattoos on lower legs. And that's just the
women...
Even with my T-shirt showing me to be a
self-conscious child of the 60s, I felt somewhat improperly dressed. But of
course no-body noticed.
And of course we camped. Normally we
are used to luxury glamour camping (known as glamping) but this time managed
with borrowed tents that were small but at least you could stand up in them. We
had airbeds that gently settled down flat, battery lights, blankets, our trusty
eReaders and an interesting contraption that Mrs O in a misguided moment bought
online called a bog in a bag. No - don't ask.
We also brought away with us some strange little festival seats that we also bought online. Basically these are seats without legs or feet. You lay them on the floor and with straps holding the seat and back together you just sit down and lean back… As I surveyed the stars with my legs in the air, I was somewhat relieved that my glass of red had not been in my hand at the time. Mrs O gave up immediately, and trotted off to the campsite shop for a luxury (i.e. extremely expensive) proper folding recliner. I didn't need it, I was fit, I was able, lot of fuss about nothing... I lasted another half hour and trotted off to buy one myself. We have loads of the things at home, but home was over two hundred miles away - the need was NOW. The youngsters - daughter and son in law - borrowed our original seats and managed a lot better than we did with them.
And I have to say it made a great difference. We couldn't sit inside the huge marquees, but could sit on the grass outside and watch a little figure in the distance, or see the action close-up on video screens. I have reached the age when this is fine. I haven't QUITE reached the stage when staying home watching it on TV is preferable - but I'm getting there...
As with most festivals there were workshops for juggling, face painting, willow weaving, mysterious healing rituals, unicycle riding, and playing obscure musical instruments. There were numerous outlets for clothes I wouldn't be seen dead in, strange jewelry, esoteric fast food for the pretentious palate, said obscure musical instruments, and even one stall doing a roaring trade in ear protectors. Pardon? I said DOING A ROARING TRADE IN EAR PROTECTORS! There were CDs galore, a vinyl resurgence, and musically, four tents with stuff going on in all of them most of the time. So you had to switch around to see who you wanted to see.
So what stays in the memory now we are back at my daughter's and have had much-needed showers? Well, there was a young lady named Amy Goddard there who we have bumped into before. A late night sing around hosted by a local school teacher, some of whose former students were in the audience, which led to some interesting moments. Then there was sitting in the sun listening vaguely to new wave folk hopefuls, while wrestling with the intricacies of Pittsburgh cemetery burial registers. As you do. And funny little things like one singer having an extra couple of minutes and doing Stand by Me, and the whole audience joining in. In case you wonder what on earth a Ben E King song has to do with folk music it can be traced back to a hymn written by Charles Albert Tindley, the son of a slave who became a Methodist minister. Another of his hymns evolved into the civil rights anthem We Shall Overcome. (Pass the Trivial Pursuit board please, that’s surely worth a plastic wedge - or cheesecake as we call them here.)
I am not going to trot out a review of
all the performers, many from America, who appeared; but there are two I must
mention.
The headliner on the Saturday was Joan Baez.
Her heyday was when American teenagers and college students suddenly
“discovered” folk music in the early 60s. It had been there all the time, but
its general left-wing sentiments didn’t sit too well with mainstream America in
the 50s. But suddenly there was Bob Dylan, impersonating Rambling Jack
Elliott’s voice, and putting new words to old tunes, just as Woody Guthrie had
done before him, and a number of female singers. My favorite at the time was
Caroline Hester. She had been a friend of Buddy Holly – she went back THAT FAR
– and sang in a Texas twang with a huge vocal range. She sometimes went
off-key, but her music was REAL. Joan Baez had a voice that was very pretty; too
pretty for me. (I felt I wanted to throw a custard pie at her at times.) But as
she got older and her voice got more “lived in” she got more interesting. And I
have to say that her one hour set was good - very good. In her mid-70s she can
still hit the notes. I have heard some folk icons from her era that really
shouldn’t be let out of doors nowadays, but Mrs O felt she had been magically
transported back to the 60s.
And a bonus for me, she actually sang a John
Stewart song “Strange Rivers.” Her recorded version from 20 odd years back
changed the last line and messed up the point of the song, but how many people
really listen to lyrics anyway? And as Stewart said in one interview, the
royalties helped him pay his gas bill.
The second highlight was an old favorite of
mine, The Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain. A troupe of men and women all
playing ukuleles of different sizes, in ultra-respectable evening dress – doing
classical, rock, punk, grunge, as well as folk – you name it. All with a
completely straight face, but amusing patter in between. For me this time the
highlight was The Who’s Pinball Wizard done in the style of a British Sea
Shanty - complete with the obligatory finger in one ear.
I am a great fan of bonsai
guitars - it's the not having to struggle with more than four strings that does
it for me - but they make real music out of it. So I live in hope. I sometimes
do a parody of Old Time Religion. My uke verses go something like:
You learn music now in layers
You learn music now in layers
Even ukulele players
I’m a ukey player slayer
And that’s good enough for me
This song is three chords heaven
Try out G and then D7
Throw in C and G again then
And that’s good enough for me
Gimme that old time religion...etc.
But I digress.
But the less than burning question is - did Occasional sing? Well, yes,
in a late night club tent, and suitably mellow he was manoeuvred into an offer
he couldn't refuse by his daughter, and sang twice. Both were John Stewart
numbers. A couple of years ago now, my daughter recorded me on one of them and
made up a slide show, and posted it to YouTube. Fortunately without my real name,
I remain generally anonymous. Although at the time, news got out locally.
I have probably told this anecdote before, but you have to remember that
old people repeat themselves - so get used to it - I had been booked for a few
days' official visit to a congregation to give talks and the like. I turned up
at the Hall on the first night, resplendent in smart suit, collar and tie,
orthodontist smile, and briefcase of necessary equipment. I was greeted by
someone who I have known for rather a long time. He pointed and said LOUDLY -
"Hey - I heard you on YouTube..."
All heads turned.
There followed a pause and the best of all put-downs...
"The pictures were good..."
Saturday, January 11, 2020
Sleeve notes
(Sleeve notes for a prospective extended play recording)
In another life I had experience in public speaking,
on many occasions to crowds of thousands of people. But nothing prepared me for
being dragged by my daughter to a folk club and being asked to sing a Welsh
ballad at a rather venerable age. My confidence disappeared at the first croak.
If only the floor could open up allowing the singer to disappear before
lurching into verse three.
But I got through it. We visited more folk clubs and
my daughter’s career as a singer-songwriter took off. I got to singing with her
on certain songs, and decided that I should have done all this decades before,
rather than just being a couch potato listening to folk sounds on shellac,
vinyl, cassette and CD – let alone the more recent trusty iPod. It is good to
sing. It makes you feel good. How it makes the audience feel is – er –
variable, but having heard and seen all the others on the folk scene there
seemed room for a wide variety of people to enjoy themselves this way.
Make a CD my daughter said. Well, I’ll give it a go.
I will pick some of my favourite songs, those actually completed in a folk club
environment. So here they are.
And remember that if you dislike the sounds, CDs can
make good table mats and when strung together have been known to frighten birds
away from the fruit and veg.
As an ancient writer once noted (Ecclesiastes 1:2)
vanity, all is vanity.
Coyotee
I heard Pete Seeger sing this many decades ago.It’s
a song by Native American activist Pete Lefarge about the attacks on the animal
and its environment. Not one to attempt “live” if you know what’s good for you.
Go to work on
Monday
I heard Roy Bailey do this song at the Wickham Folk
festival. Roy’s age when he sang it (even older than ME) and the fact that the
song is only two chords made it most appealing. It is one of those songs where
the audience never fails to join in. Try it.
Bright Star
Shining
For several years running we were able to visit the
Perthshire Amber folk festival run by Dougie Maclean. One of his regular guests
was Buddy McDonald, a seasoned singer-songwriter from Nova Scotia. We also
attended a song-writing workshop by him. This is one of his songs. The track
also features Hannah Fisher on fiddle who we met at the same festival; with the
wonders of modern technology she put down her part at home on the Isle of Mull.
We never did hear Buddy sing it, but he kindly emailed the chords. It’s a really
nice song, the long and winding road, that sort of thing.
Merrie Old
England
A modern take on what sounds like an old song and an
old theme. Roy Bailey nailed it. It’s a song of disallusionment, as the
idealistic younger generation get their hair cut, take out mortgages and join
mainstream, and the problems sort of remain the same for a section of society.
Alas, there are no real solutions offered.
I Wanna be Elvis
I heard this almost throwaway song by John Stewart
on a bootleg live performance tape. I emailed John about him recording it and
actually got an email back. It was coming out on a forthcoming release, which
of course I obtained. I love singing it live at folk clubs because it’s only
three chords and the audience immediately pick up the chorus “Uh-huh, yeah,
yeah, yeah, yeah.” Move over Shakespeare…
Dreamers on the
Rise
This has been my favourite John Stewart song since
first hearing it in the early 1980s. The best version I heard was the one
recorded on the Last Campaign album with Chuck McDermott singing harmony. I am
very pleased to have Chuck on this recording, thanks to the wonders of the
internet. My daughter, Amy, also sings on this version. We have recorded it
before, just the two of us, as well as singing it numerous times at gigs. It’s
a song about the ups and downs of a lasting love affair.
Eyes of Sweet
Virginia
This is a John Stewart song about loneliness “on the
road.” Amy and I sang this together perhaps more than any other song, but she
had the opportunity to sing it with John Stewart’s old singing partner, Chuck
McDermott when she recorded it professionally. Who can blame her? But here we
are, the two of us, live at a folk club, “hang on dreams, you ‘aint seen it
all, but I don’t want much, I just want it all…”
Wimoweh
Pete Seeger first heard the recording of Mbube by
Solomon Linda and his Evening Birds in the 1940s. Mishearing the title as
Wimoweh, he did it with the Weavers. I then heard it on Radio Luxembourg by the
Weavers with a Valve Portable Radio the size of large brick clamped to my ear.
I can’t exactly say the rest is history, but I love attempting this song with a
well-contented audience. I think it was the Oysterband who said, the more you
drink, the better I sound… Just start
off in the right key, otherwise it becomes Wimo-screech, and for once –
blissfully – don’t agonize over remembering the words…
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