CAMBRIDGE FOLK FESTIVAL DAY 1
Opening day at the Cambridge Folk Festival always feels like a slow-start, a gradual awakening. It is also a great time to bump into friends, neighbours and folk and their faces you just know from the streets of our fair city. ‘Isn’t that a former mayor? Didn’t she used to sell veg in the market?’
FLYTE
It is a time before the big crowds descend, when the queues for fish and chips, squid tempura or folk fest t-shirts are still manageable. Even the beer tents are relatively quiet so that one’s £7 a pint (plus a quid for the glass) slips happily away from card to card reader.
I never fail to marvel at the transformation of our nearby city park; Cherry Hinton Hall morphs magically from peaceful retreat to mega music city. It is impossible to know where one is – is this the usual path to the duck pond? Where exactly in the park is the enormous Stage 1? There is something very Lion, Witch and Wardrobe about this sense of transformation although Aslan is replaced here by the friendly giant straw, fiddle-playing fox, symbol of the festival.
Stage 1 not being in action, I made my way to stages 2 and 3 and enjoyed the guitar playing duet known as ‘Flyte’. Will Taylor and Jon Supran have been making a name for themselves on albums and live appearances. Their gentle harmonies, catchy tunes and poignant lyrics weave their way into your musical soul. I really liked their ‘Even on Bad Days’ – a reminder of the joy of living even when things look bleak and their new single ‘Tough Love’ brought warm applause from a mesmerised full audience. One lady even had to put down her overfull falafel wrap to put her hands together.
THE SWEDISH BAND, SYMBIO
Next up on the same stage were the Swedish pair Symbio. They play a strange and rather entrancing duet of hurdy-gurdy and accordion to provide an often dark, Nordic landscape. They are making a huge name for themselves in the international folk world and though not wholly my cup of tea, one had to admire their fierce musicianship and ability to create dramatic mood music.
My short visit to the festival ended with a suprising treat – a singer whose name was not included in the programme. Nigel Wearne is a tall Ozzie wearing a Bondi Beach shirt and a feather in his leather hat. He is a whizz on the amplified guitar and banjo, has a fine voice and winning way with the audience. His songs are those of Australian rebellion – gritty narratives of poor folk beset by long sea voyages, wicked gold mine owners and dastardly shipwrecks. ‘To the Edge’ was a slinky ballad, strongly sung and embroidered with some fine guitar playing.
There were of course lots more treats awaiting but this ageing reviewer needed his rest before three long and exciting days to come up in what I am convinced used to be my local park.
NIGEL WEARNE
