It’s childish to think like this, of course – it has, after all, been running several years now – but the notion of a folk festival at Butlin’s still induces a wry smile and a shimmer of startled curiosity. Maybe it’s the idea of it not being any old Butlin’s, but Butlin’s in Skegness. So bracing…
Maybe it’s the conceit of an event at Butlin’s in Skegness calling itself The Great British Folk Festival. The temptation to conjure images of faded glamour and unashamed tack and launch into full Hi-De-Hi mode is almost overwhelming. And yet, The Great British Folk Festival is a resounding success story and, as November passed into December, this surreal city of chalets set amid a colourful backdrop urging fun-fun-fun creaked while audiences queued for an hour or more to fill the two main halls as the Sold Out signs went up.
The organisers have tapped into a market of a certain age, attracted by heritage acts, a stress-free pre-Christmas weekend of entertainment on a plate in a friendly unthreatening environment at a good price without recourse to camping or other earthly inconveniences. The holiday camp has the infra-structure, the audience still has the appetite and the artists get a great stage, a good sound system and a large, appreciative crowd to buy their merch at the end of it.
Even the staff seem to like this weekend – “the folkies are very nice – you should be here for the Seventies Weekend, you wouldn’t believe the things they get up to…” said a, well I want to say redcoat, but I think they went out with Jimmy Tarbuck. And while there is a lot of down time – nothing happens in the morning and there are long gaps between acts but there is plenty to occupy you. A walk along the sea-front gazing at the wind turbines, perhaps; or a game of crazy golf; slot machines a-go-go; quality time in Splashworld… you could even buy a £10 Christmas jumper at one of the pop-up shops on site.
The daily musical programmes seem to follow a firm designated path – melodic stuff in the afternoons, earnest singer songwriter early evening, building towards what might pass as household names before diving headlong into the relative carnage of a big band closing act, the cue for the more infirm to head for their chalets. The huge queues at either of the main venues make movement between the two main stages hairy as once seats are obtained you hang on to them for dear life and popping out to see someone else is scarcely an option.
Intending to catch Saturday headliners the Peatbog Faeries I found myself in the wrong place at the wrong time as Red Hot Chilli Pipers took to the stage and was so transfixed by the sheer horror of the spectacle I couldn’t leave. The alarming sight of what seemed like hundreds of Scotsmen on stage in matching black kilts and red socks celebrating St Andrews by re-enacting the final scene from Braveheart was hideously fascinating. The full-throttle bombast of three dancing pipers, two drummers and a Tina Turner wannabe on vocals quickly sent half the audience rushing to their beds while the other half flung themselves around the dance floor with reckless abandon. “Now for a quiet one,” said Tina as they blasted into an impossibly overwrought version of Coldplay’s Fix You that strangled every last nuance of the song’s sensibility in seconds. Having barely recovered from Banter’s earlier delivery of Roxanne I made my excuses and fled to the bar.
There I kept hearing how wonderful Eddi Reader had been earlier but I’d missed her, having been unable to tear myself away from Uncle Tom Robinson and all. “So!” says Tom with an air of mischief that suggests the surrealism of this event isn’t lost on him, “this is what Skegness looks like on a Saturday night.” He’s never been much of a singer, Tom, but he can pen a fine song and he can tell a good tale…even if we’ve heard a lot of them before. A master communicator.
Good sets, too, from the younger element Joe Martin and The Trials Of Cato, while respite from the main action can be taken at the ‘Introducing’ showcasing up and coming acts, a public vote offering the best of them a place on one of the main stages at next year’s festival. Congrats on this score go to Gabriel Moreno & The Quivering Poets, a sort of Latino Leonard Cohen, who found much favour with the captive audience grouped around the stage queuing to get into Centre Stage to see Ronnie Lane’s old band Slim Chance strut their quirky stuff keeping Ronnie’s proud legacy alive.
Other moments of sanity from the splendid Pitmen Poets – a class act; and A Winter Union, donning silly hats, singing beautifully and reminding us the festive season is upon us. One last visit into the vast Reds auditorium to check on Steeleye Span, happily noting that while Maddy can still hold a note and dance (a bit), folk rock lives. Benji Kirkpatrick has slotted seamlessly into the band, they still whack out a fearsome Thomas The Rhymer and yes, they come back for an encore and do All Around My Hat. Skegness sings along with joyous nostalgia.