A Folk Music Virgin Goes Into The Belly Of The Beast:
Fairport’s Cropredy Convention 2006
By Guy Oddy
Let me put my cards on the table from the outset. I have never been a big fan of folk music or folk-rock. Sure, I had a brief flirtation with Nick Drake when I was a student. But didn’t everyone? So, that doesn’t count. However, with the present media fixation on the likes of Devendra Banhart, Seth Lakeman, Eliza Carthy and the nu-folk scene, and ever increasing numbers of my contemporaries telling me that “Richard Thompson is quite good actually”, my attention was recently drawn to something that I had always considered the very antithesis of rock ‘n’ roll. I found myself wondering if there was actually anything new and interesting happening here, or if the media had just zeroed in on this scene in the absence of anything else of any interest happening.
Where better to observe this hoary, old beast than at the annual Fairport’s Cropredy Convention: a three-day festival, in a field near Banbury, Oxfordshire that’s been going since 1977?
To be honest, the line-up was not hugely inspiring, the ‘star turns’ were advertised as: Steeleye Span, John Martyn, 10CC featuring Graham Gouldman and friends, Glen Tilbrook and, of course, Fairport Convention and friends. Lower down the bill were the likes of: Then Came The Wheel, Flook, King Pleasure and The Biscuit Boys, Richard Digence, Ashley Hutching’s Rainbow Chasers and The Deborah Bonham Band. In the past, people like Jah Wobble and Robert Plant have played Cropredy. Unfortunately, not this year. I picked up a pile of punk and ragga tunes, slung a tent in the boot of my car and headed south on the M40 to Cropredy.
I was fairly unsure of what to expect, however, I was surprised at how small and relaxed the set-up at Cropredy was. The organisation made Michael Eavis’ mob look like a corporate behemoth Pepsi’s stature. There was no-one trying to encourage me to sign up for a credit card or a mobile phone. In fact, there was no corporate marketing presence at all. Cropredy had the appearance of what Glastonbury might have been like thirty years ago, however, it also had the same line-up.
There was one field for everything apart from the camping. There was one stage, a sizable kids’ area, and a load of stalls selling an ocean of tie-dye clothing or hippy festival food. And that was it. No escape to a comedy tent if one felt the urge, no strange ‘artistic’ installations and no second stage of any kind. That was unless I fancied a wander down to the nearby village, where there was a ‘fringe festival’, featuring the likes of a Free tribute band. There was a huge bar though.
I missed the first day of the festival so, I was denied the delights of P J Wright, Feast of Fiddles and Steeleye Span. I was assured by many that Steeleye Span were a highlight. Feast of Fiddles were declared “Best in the Festival” by my seven year-old daughter, however. Take that as you will.
The second day of the Festival was opened by Status Quo tribute band, Shameless Quo. Who were (say it quietly) actually quite a tonic. Crikey! Was my taste-compass already being messed with, before I’d so much as seen one folkie take to the stage? Perhaps my Guinness had been spiked.
Next up were the first of a number of traditional Irish folk bands, Bodega. This kind of thing has never floated my boat and, despite being a Radio 2 Young Folk Award winner, Bodega spectacularly failed to change this.
‘Whispering’ Bob Harris appeared on the stage to rattle on to the crowd between bands. He was just as charismatic as when he used to present the Old Grey Whistle Test. I pinched myself to stay awake. Then Came The Wheel and Ashley Hutching’s Rainbow Chasers, however, were even duller. Both these bands seemed to conform to all of the well-worn folk-rock clichés in one handy package. Seriously dull songs that seem to go on forever, only to be punctuated by even longer and duller explanations before and after each of them. I was beginning to think that this trip had been a serious waste of a weekend, so retreated to the bar to fortify myself and shoot the breeze with some of the crowd.
Most were baby boomers, closing in on their retirement, and a significant number had turned up with their kids to make it a family break. These were largely middle aged (and older) hippies (and ex hippies) having a nice weekend in the countryside. They were here to see friends that they see at this event every year, both bands and punters. The favoured festival piece of equipment was a fold-up, canvass chair with a drink holder. There were rows and rows of them. No wonder hardly anyone was dancing. One guy wandered past in a t-shirt, which bore the slogan ‘Fairport Convention are to real ale what the Grateful Dead were to LSD’ which possibly sums up the problem. The Dead, boring noodlers that they could be, had some kind of edge about them. Fairport Convention and their ilk in the British folk-rock scene always seemed a bit too safe and cosy.
Just as I was beginning to dispair, John Martyn was pushed on to the stage in his wheelchair and promptly took the proceedings up several notches, with a set containing elements of blues, jazz, psychedelia and, of course, folk. Storming versions of ‘Cooltide’ and ‘John Wayne’, among others, were punctuated by jokes and pronouncements about “the war on terror”. This was more like it.
John Martyn seemed to divide the crowd of regulars, having been a bit too way-out for some, but no-one could have argued that he shouldn’t have been headlining that day. Unfortunately that prize was 10CC’s. Or Graham Gouldman and friends, which was closer to the truth. Coming on like a group of aging cabaret artists, they trawled through their somewhat limp back catalogue, and songs that Graham Gouldman had written for other bands over the years. “Here’s one I wrote for the Yardbirds,”
announced Graham, before launching into ‘For Your Love’ and poisoning it for me for evermore. 10cc deserved to be bottled off, but Cropredy isn’t that kind of place and the old hippies seemed to love it.
The last day saw another line-up ranging from the surprising to the ridiculous. ‘Comedian’ Richard Digance opened up the proceedings and things soon reverted to the early part of the previous day. That was until Wolverhampton’s finest jump blues combo, King Pleasure and the Biscuit Boys, took to the stage. After the horrors that proceeded them, it was as if Big Joe Turner or Louis Jordan’s band had started up. It seemed as if I wasn’t the only one looking to dance to something though and over the next hour or so, I reckon that three quarters of all the dancing at Cropredy 2006 was danced. Fantastic!
After sets by Dervish and an acoustic and solo, Glen Tilbrook, it was time for the headliners. A marathon three-hour show took in all aspects of Fairport Convention’s career, with various members revolving on and off the stage as required. The accent was resolutely on crowd-pleasers, however, and the 17,000 strong crowd was largely hypnotised, long after my attention had started to wander.
Having got back home from my journey into folkie-dom, I wondered if my view of the scene wasn’t a bit mean-spirited. I borrowed a copy of Fairport Convention’s BBC Sessions 1968-69 album, Heyday, and was shocked. Instead of what I’d heard over the weekend, it came on like Jimi Hendrix and Janis Ian getting loaded together and knocking out a load of nursery rhymes on their acoustic guitars. There’s folk music here, for sure, but there’s also blues, psychedelia, country and humour in there too. Let’s not go overboard though, the songs are also reminiscent of the backing music employed by the BBC’s children’s programming department in the ‘70s. Perhaps that is the inevitable destiny of all bands that have been around as long as Fairport Convention. All subtlety goes out of the window and you just ending up knocking out crowd-pleasers, like a jukebox with a greying ponytail and a back-to-front baseball cap!.
