Sidmouth Folk Diary - Sunday

Show of Hands is no more. Long live Dream in Colour. Spelt British style:

the last song involved singing “o o o” and “u u u”. And it abbreviates to DIC, and like Cyrano, they have already covered all the jokes. And there was a very rousing Battlefield Dance Floor, and even an encore of Galway Farmer. And some new songs, including one about wild swimming and one about the post office scandal, which isn’t quite AIG, but probably could be with repeated listens. What there wasn’t, of course, was Phil Beer. Instead there was Johnny Kalsi (huge Banghra drum) Bennet Cerven (extreme fiddle) and Eliza Marshall (flute and flute adjacent). So it’s a lusher, less overtly folkie sound. Two things immediately struck me: how recognisable a Knightley tune is,l regardless of what it is being played on; and how distinct and even strange Steve’s voice is. Perhaps the banter isn’s as natural as the old days - the fiddler was trying just that little bit too hard to fill Phil’s boots, but it’s clearly a joyous new direction for my favourite act. Just the same as it always was but at the same time completely different.




Perhaps Barbara Allen wasn’t hard hearted after all. Perhaps sweet William was hanging out in the bar with women of ill repute. Perhaps the kiss was an obvious ruse. Apparently in the gypsy version, her parents had forbidden her in advance from going near him. And that lad who was sent off to college for a year or two while he was growing — was fourteen or sixteen or eighteen? I spent the afternoon listening to Ballads in the hotel and Ballad Session in the hut. Which is a lot of ballads. A youngish guy named Seb Stone did an utterly compelling Tam Lyn, unaccompanied. One of the floor singers did a chilling George Colins. (“if we catch her will crop her she’s a perjuring whore”.)




Having not found much singing in the Swan, intended earlyish night. Stopped off at Bedford, where a singing session was in full swing. The aforementioned Seb Stone was singing, as was the aforementioned aforementioned Dera Yeates. After a few minutes, Eliza Carthy joined us. For some reason I was not called on to sing.




Lady in coffee / bakery shop said to a troop of morris dancers, pointing at me “be careful, he’s going to write about you.”




My singing “jumps between key’s alarmingly”, apparently.




Pastie - 1

Trees they do grow high - 3

Barbara Allan - 2

Beer 2.5

Total hours listening to music - 7