Numerous musicians this weekend muse on how long this festival has been going. It seems that since it passed its 50th anniversary it entered the realm of the established, for the closest year anyone guesses is 1968 while some just go for the generalised “it’s been going on forever”. Now the actual first year was 1965 which may not quite justify labelling it a relic from ancient history; still, it does mean this is an annual event with enviable pedigree and reputation. On the opening Thursday night in 2019 the headliner actually celebrates the 50th anniversary of his first Cambridge Folk Festival appearance. Judging by the large crowd numbers, there’s an eager anticipation for the appearance of Ralph McTell too. The opening day doesn’t have quite the full Cambridge experience as the main stage isn’t open, stage 2 is though as well as other smaller arenas ensuring there’s a plentiful supply of first-day action.
What this gathering, basking in the afternoon sun, needs is a bearded hip-priest to take things by the scruff of the neck and focus attention on the thing that has made this events name, exceptional music performance. Ben Caplan is that man and his captivating set provides the first “did you see” talking point of the weekend. It wasn’t just of the “now that’s what I call a beard” variety either (although some of it was admittedly). Caplan is one of a large Canadian contingent appearing this year and his music possesses just enough gypsy swing and swagger to act as a passer-by magnet. The curious wandering the fringes of the stage 2 tent stop by to see this raucous action and the numbers begin to swell. After opening with some gusto and fanfare, the set does charter some reflective moments midway before hitching up its britches and dancing to a close. Pick of the bunch was ‘The Truth Doesn’t Live In A Book’ which stuck in the head as we filed out. A witty critique of those living rigidly by the words of the bible, it’s message fires straight for the point with lyrics such as “ask for consent before you put your dick in, ain’t nothing wrong with homosexuality”. Go and check that one out if you don’t know it, it’s a track that would surely lighten your day!
The Rails keep the fire burning on stage 2 next. Fronted by husband and wife team Kami Thompson and James Walbourne, they arrive on stage to an audience primed and ready to receive an act with some legitimate folk heritage. It’s all too easy to make a comparison to Richard & Linda Thompson with this pair (Kami is their daughter) but its entirely justified even without the direct parentage. Similar to her mother, Kami’s voice has a yearning, lush tone that adds depth and resonance to the material she delivers. There’s a sadness to her voice that never descends into the morbid; it aches but beautifully so. By contrast, James is an agitated presence on guitar and vocals; he perpetually has an eye out for some rockin’ to do, putting out a nervous energy which balances his partner’s serenity delightfully. Like many an act I catch this weekend, The Rails don’t shy away from tackling current issues. On ‘Save The Planet’ they flip the refrain of “save the planet, kill yourself” to “kill the planet, save yourself” and prove that some messages work even with all subtleties shaved off. Today The Rails look like folk-rock royalty in the making.
The Den is a tiny stage located over near the Cherry Hinton campsite area. Over the years it has acquired a reputation for featuring artists on the first rung of many an acclaimed ladder; Jake Bugg being perhaps the biggest example from back at the start of this decade. With its living room interior stage design, this can be one of the most chilled locations to retreat to over the weekend. On Thursday the schedule includes notice of a secret set at The Den where, as the numbers begin to swell way past capacity, its clear people have worked out that Nick Mulvey’s about to appear. “So, it’s a not-so-secret set then” this year’s guest curator observes as he prepares himself on stage. If he’s been expecting a looser, opening night informal jam situation, then a re-think is required. Nick quickly adapts to the numbers, focuses himself and delivers an assured solo acoustic session. Selecting songs from his catalogue that complement a summer nights sunset, it’s an absolute treat to bask in ‘Unconditional’ and ‘We Are Never Apart’ as their shimmering glow engulfs us. Mulvey’s music has the happy knack of always making you feel so good; he seems an inspired choice to be this year defining festival presence. I spot him numerous times over the weekend, getting stuck into that curatorial role. You’re never too far from the sight of Nick engaging with people, dancing in the club tent, interacting, introducing and performing across all the other stages. In fact, the words ‘secret set’ did become code for a Nick Mulvey appearance but with a local artist as talented and basically just damn likeable as this guy, that little bit of saturation was in no way a problem. Wherever you encountered him at Cambridge 2019, Nick Mulvey seemed to be spreading warmth, colour and music to lift the spirits.
Ralph McTell’s musicianship alone always guarantees him to be a magnetic performer. This is a festival audience hungry for a moment of connected unity to live long in the memory; luckily, Ralph has the ultimate ace up his sleeve to cater to their needs. He plays ‘Streets Of London’ as the penultimate number, showing all due deference and humility towards a song that must surely feel like a weight on his shoulders at times, inviting warm and faithful audience participation. It works a treat and suggests that a folk legend such as McTell probably deserves better than to be tucked away as the low-key Thursday night headliner, but then there is some strong stuff just around the corner.
I’d been eagerly anticipating Tunng over on stage 2 for Friday night but come the day spotted the irresistible chance to catch some of Graham Nash on the main stage first. An artist who always came across like the most approachable of the CSN&Y combo, but could a man so renowned as a harmony singer cut it solo on the big stage? Performing with just a couple of accompanying musicians, Graham has a couple of factors on his side that ensure this crown are quickly eating out of the palm of his hand. Firstly, he’s a charmer with plenty to say between numbers. Enigmatic speaking in code is not the Graham Nash way at all; he’s only too pleased to explain song inspirations and make all the right noises about “this amazing festival that even goes back to pre-Woodstock. Why didn’t the Hollies play here?”
Secondly, for Nash, those fifty-plus years working at music’s top table offer him an enviable catalogue of songs to dip into. The rowdy responses to ‘Chicago’ and ‘Teach Your Children’ alone make plain that Graham Nash is one of the greats and yes, he really should have received a Cambridge invite before 2019. Meanwhile, over on the second stage, Tunng have a fight on their hands. My impression is that their ground-breaking fusion of electronica and folk doesn’t fully penetrate this Friday night festival audience initially. It’s almost like they’re playing behind a glass wall; the connection isn’t easily realised. Most of the time there are three acoustic guitars across the bands front line, but the sound of them still sits rigidly behind the metronomic electronics in the mix. What’s needed is a strong personality, much like Graham Nash over on the main stage right now, to break through and give the slightly inattentive audience something to grab hold of.
What happens next with Tunng is really rather impressive, for the band fightback from the brink. Front three of Becky Jacobs, Sam Genders and above all Mike Lindsay seize their moment and somehow blast this performance up high into the stars. From the moment Lindsay goes all Gabriel-esque and performs in a giraffe’s head for one tune, that audience barrier is shattered. Suddenly Tunng are no longer a genteel backdrop but a bouncy, unison-handclapping, throbbing hairy beast of a spectacle. Ahead of closing with ‘Bullets’, they show some gratitude and humility too, with Lindsay joking “thanks for watching us, I’d rather be over watching Graham Nash. That’s where my mum is”.
Earlier I’d been loitering around the Den area when I spontaneously chanced upon my first genuine festival discovery of the year. The enchanting sound of Chloe Foy (who has just premiered her new video on Folk Radio) came drifting across the afternoon air and I had to go in and investigate this ethereal voice. I found a band playing bruised, indie-folk songs-craft with a warm current. The singer Foy is a poised, focused artist assured in her undertakings. A cover version of Mazzy Star’s ‘Fade Into You’ was a massive signpost to the roots of this sound but that’s totally fine, everything comes from somewhere. The main point was I love a real, unexpected festival revelation unearthed a little off the main drag and here was that very thing. That is why it is so important to stage wander at these events if you just schedule things already known some potential festival memories that could live on for years have zero chance of happening for you. It is not a huge leap of imagination to predict that one day, I may well be telling disbelieving friends that I once saw Chloe Foy play for around fifty people in a tent. She’s a real talent, be sure about that!
However, Lisa O’Neill came as no surprise to me; I was already hugely expectant as far as her appearance was concerned. I made damn sure there would be nothing preventing me from being there to witness her Saturday afternoon set on stage two. I’ll nail my colours to the mast right now and state categorically that this was my outstanding highlight of the whole weekend. Every ounce of natural ability and empathy for the material I heard on last years ‘Heard A Long Gone Song’ was on display right in front of me, just as I’d hoped. Commencing with an acapella vocal laid bare not only the intensity of her greatest instrument but also Lisa’s wrought-iron grip and command of a room. When the crowd were on side she did slide a few laughs under the door; reciting her song about Violet Gibson (who shot Mussolini in the nose) she deferred the inspiration credit to a friend from Lankum who had suggested the topic for a song, before slamming that story shut with a dismissive “so I wrote it… song about Violet Gibson…. job done!”
O’Neill does seem to be receiving the appreciation the crowd are offering. She calls this festival “the best of the lot” and frequently throws in a sort of bizarre reverse scissor-kick with her left leg (the oddest folk performer dance move I’ve encountered since seeing Dylan’s wobbly leg twenty years ago!). ‘Rock The Machine’ was both rousing and devastating. The whole set left me believing that I’d just seen proper, hardcore, traditional folk music played in its purest form by an artist who could easily create some of folks most important work of the 21st century. People, get right with Lisa O’Neill immediately.
Sometimes a festival experience like that can leave your receptors a little dulled to the other delights that surround you. I had certainly enjoyed the Amy Montgomery set on stage 2 earlier; she rocked out in a way that the folk festival rarely sees. It was raw, rough and a little seedy and it also proved that this event has moved way beyond the confines of just one musical genre. In all but name Cambridge is a roots festival nowadays. Later Nancy Kerr was absolutely trad-tastic on the main stage and the audience were positively elated to see Maddy Prior appear as one of her special guests. Gruff Rhys was up after this, formerly of the Super Furry Animals; his melting pot of acoustic pop, soundtrack production flourishes, lavish balladry and quirky acid-folk is a mellower continuation of his old band’s journey. Sadly, for me it didn’t exactly ignite today, somehow Gruff’s seated and rather detached disposition didn’t quite land right. You can’t fault the ambition of his work though so maybe it was more a case of wrong set, wrong moment.
Nick Mulvey was next on the main stage, capping his solo triumphs from earlier in proceedings with the full-on, bells and whistles, Mulvey experience. Later that night the big arena welcomes Lucinda Williams (interviewed here in 2014 on Folk Radio) with a bewildered (and often bewildering this weekend) compere referring to her album “car wheels on a gravel (drive)”. Fortunately, Lucinda is so lost in her own zone (mostly in a good way) that she seems to have heard a completely different introduction. Her’s is an authoritative set of crunchy Americana pumped out loud by a masterful three-piece combo called Buick Six. At times Lucinda just stands to the side of the stage and lets them riff freely. That in itself is entertainment enough, but there’s honestly no reason for her to duck the limelight. Consider that she can just cherry-pick jewels of modern country from her catalogue like ‘Joy’, ‘Seeing Black’ and ‘Drunken Angel’ (she furnishes us with the detail that the song is about Blaze Foley) and there’s no denying that Williams is an artist of true class. Her rousing encore whips up a gospel fever, she wants to get right with god and she sure does the same thing with Cambridge tonight.
I ended my Saturday with some Unthanks in the club tent, like music blowing in from the folk gods and blessing us with its loveliness. There’s also some music blowing in from the main stage, a soundclash that hardly adds to the Unthanks experience but increasingly seems to be accepted as a fact of the modern festival scene. I pass the silent ceilidh on my way back to the campsite. Seeing all those people having fun in funky headphones makes me think that maybe that’s the future if other stage interference continues to blight quieter performers at festivals. It also might be a solution for every time I get annoyed by other people talking their way through gigs.
First up on my hit list for Sunday was Jack Broadbent. Rumours abound at events like these and the whisper was that Jack had also been making a name for himself at the festival on Saturday, but maybe not for the right reasons. You can tell the second you lay eyes on him that this guy’s a bit of a loose cannon. Maybe that’s why his Dad’s on stage with him? Making sure he hits the stage in a semi-coherent state perhaps? Speculation aside, Jack’s Dad’s contributions on the low-end, deep bass grooves under his sons zinging slide guitar work are a positive, foot-tapping ingredient. So yes, Jack may well be giving off the impression that playing a festival set is an indulgent detour away from a perfectly good weekend partying, but there’s no disputing his talent and that he can deliver the goods when the mood takes him. This is blues that cracks the heat out of the can as it drives on down the road again. It’s quite brilliant actually; whether covering Van Morrison and Little Feat or tip-tapping a route into his own compositions. If Jack Broadbent lets his love of music triumph over his love of the sauce, he’ll have a bright future.
I briefly managed to catch a great sounding back called Crooked Weather at the Den (see Purbeck Valley Folk picks posted earlier today). Honeyed female vocals with distant highway guitar and the unexpected visual spectacle of a topless Johnny-Depp-A-Like drum-monster at the back, they’re another band I’m quickly marking down as ‘ones to watch’. Still, my main mission now is getting to the main stage to catch Richard Thompson. He’s in solo acoustic mode today and as dependable as ever. The only song played from last years ’13 Rivers’ is ‘The Rattle Within’, so we’re treated to a career-spanning, fairly random resume. ‘Vincent Black Lightning 1952’ gets the biggest cheer and it was a lovely touch to play ‘Who Knows Where The Time Goes’ and precede it with a speech about what a writer Sandy Denny was. An unfamiliar song about crocodile tears and how “crocodiles kill their victims in less than a minute while you keep yours alive” brought out the laughter.
Following this, the closing stretch on the main stage spoke definitively to what a broad church the Cambridge Folk Festival is these days. The Blind Boys Of Alabama with Amadou & Mariam is a winning fusion of gospel, blues, traditional African folk and pop. They coax the large Sunday evening crowd into a multi-coloured dance and celebration to what has been a vintage year. Then to close proceedings, I had intended a last-ditch wander of the tents to allow for a potential final musical discovery. But instead, I ended up staying put, primarily because the Irish charm and musical bonhomie of Daoiri Farrell’s All-Star Celtic Session gave me all the sweet, musical desserts I needed to conclude a fantastic weekend. Folk music at its collaborative, inclusive, communal, spiritual, uplifting and joyous best. Bringing it all back to where it began in 1965 at Cherry Hinton Hall in Cambridge.
Photo Credit: Martin Bond