Folk and Roots Music - Whose Roots Exactly?

My mate and famous science fiction author Tony Ballantyne prompted this post with his own writing about the Valeta; not some form of motor scooter, nor a type of ice cream dessert but a dance popular among working class people who had their entertainment in Working Mens' Clubs up and down the country.

Tony and I are fans of folk music, or roots music as it has come to be known among the middle classes who like to associate themselves with whichever tradition they find most appealing sat in the audience at Cropredy or Cambridge Folk Festival.

But listen to the Copper Family speak about how they passed songs from generation to generation through times when they were truly out of fashion, before the current revival of interest in 'folk' music, and you begin to understand how cultural heritage really works. Their motivation for passing on songs was rooted in a mortal fear of their heritage dying out: the songs said something about what made them the people they are. So when popular culture scorned their songs they persisted, not of some desire that they should become universally popular, but out of a desire that their heritage should be preserved.

So, what's my musical heritage? Despite my own love of acoustic music, sea shanties and Bellowhead, I can claim no heritage from it. If I am to follow the example of the Copper family and trace a line back, in order to preserve the tradition of my forebears, I must anchor my ship to the memories of Edge Lane Methodist Church Hall and the sound of feet scratching and swishing across the salted hall floor as dancers joined in songs made famous in Oldhams Adelphi Music Hall. Songs that made Gracie Fields famous, or the songs of George Formby, the songs that helped people forget the stress of life in Post-War England. And as I sit here writing I can hear the communal singing and can join in as I sing along too, the memories resonating in a way that prove the point.

So, do I put my money where my mouth is and next time Tony and I get together, he with his accordian, I with my guitar, do we knock out a Valeta tune before launching into a technically more complex but authentic version of 'Leaning On a Lampost'?

Or do we check the latest Bellowhead album for a song we both like (and can play)?

I'll let you know... "Turned our nice again..."

My Famous Friends

What is it about fame and celebrity that, no matter how we resist its allure, we still can't help crowing when we have famous friends. Take the other week, for example I learnt that only one floor away from me at work, was the bass player from the punk band Fast Cars who were nearly famous in the eighties; in fact Stuart has a photograph of himself and Paul Weller in his office. Listening to their tracks on MySpace I'd forgotten how much fun that thrash power pop stuff was; if you get chance have a listen by following the link above.

The thing is that despite the fact that I don't really know him, I now tell everyone about him. I like to think that it's something to do with being pleased that someone is creative because if it was simply that Stuart had been on Big Brother I certainly wouldn't bother, so in that vein - creativity - here are two other people I know who are remarkably creative (and also nearly famous...not that it matters, you understand).

Tony Ballantyne actually is famous, if you are in to science fiction. He is a real writer with real books on sale at Amazon; he was also nominated for the Phillip K Dick Award for science fiction this year and went to America for the ceremony. If you meet him ask him about the American sense of humour that simply drew blank looks at this snippet of conversation:
"Congratulations on your Dick, Tony"
"Yes, it's magnificent isn't it".

My other recent discovery was that someone I had known for a while was actual a relatively well known local artist with things wrote about him by proper journalists on the web, not just us bloggers. Chris Maidens creates incredibly intricate artwork that defy description. They are little worlds of their own that, in one article, were described as doodles; but after you have experienced the way that his work draws you in with it's detail and challenges you to see more and more in it, 'doodles' just doesn't do it justice. I was hoping to put a picture of his here but the website that features Chris's work is a bit funny about copyright and all that so it wouldn't let me, follow the link above to see it; and in the meantime I'll have a word with him about displaying one of his pieces for you.(I asked him and added this one on 2nd October).

One day if I'm famous maybe someone will tell their friends about me; maybe they already do, but for all the wrong reasons...hmmm.

Like Knights of Olde

When I read Simon Armitage's translation of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight I was struck both by the fabulous muscular language that he injects into his writing and also by the way a tale of a manly quest still has the power to grip. It was to such a quest that the gentlemen of St John the Baptist Church, Hey went on Saturday evening: the inaugural Annual St John's Crown Green Bowls Tournament.Ten men stepped out on to the velvet sward at Springhead Liberal Club; but only one returned victorious.

Crown Green Bowling differs from it's Southern cousin in that there is little or no dress code (flat caps are, I am afraid to say, not compulsory) - there is no requirement to wear white; and the task of getting your bowls, or woods as we call them, close to the Jack, or block as its known by the cognoscenti, is made more difficult by the obstacle of the raised centre of the green: the crown. Of the ten combatants no one declared themselves as having existing skill, indeed many declared themselves - as I - a Crown Green virgin; but as the evening progressed it became clear that four players had hitherto hid their lights beneath their proverbial bushels.

The semi-finalists 'I helped organise this but haven't played before' Phil; 'I've only ever played a couple of times' Steve; 'I only know what I've learnt from t'internet Andy; and 'how can a Geordie IT teacher be any good at this' Tony; battled it out to the death leaving Tony and Steve to enthrall the crowd, gathered in the encroaching dusk, with a thrilling fifteen point climax. In the end, churchwarden Steve proved the mightier and, just like head boy at school, showed he was good at everything. Magnaminous in defeat Tony accepted his runners up cup (actually it was a mug) with only whispered mutterings about the next contest being a science fiction literature quiz and seeing who'd win then.

All in all given the high quality of last weekend's sport: Rugby World Cup, Football International and Italian Grand Prix, I know which classic conquest was my highlight.

Me? I was knocked out in the quarter finals by the eventual victor.