I recently asked Hannah Martin, one half of the innovative duo Edgelarks, and member of the fantastic Gigspanner Big Band, our current Artists of the Month, whether she’d like to write a guest post for Folk Radio which she agreed to. Below, she talks about her introduction into folk music, trips to Sidmouth, playing in folk sessions, and the ongoing topic of how to get young people interested in folk music and its continued relevance. It’s a great read.
Gigspanner Big Band’s latest album Natural Invention is out now (reviewed here) and can be ordered here https://www.gigspanner.com/shop
When I was very young, I used to lie in bed and hear my parents singing downstairs. It was just part of what they did; my dad would play the guitar, transcribing lyrics of all the songs he liked into these messy files of papers, and my mum would sing along. The memory is all tangled up with the lovely warm, safe feeling of a lullaby.
They also had a record player. It was ancient and sat on top of an enormous old hi-fi. The selection of a record from their extensive 1960s and 70s collection was a delicate ceremony. I was liable, with my sticky child’s hands, to crumple the thin paper sleeves, or crease the cardboard; and being taught to place the needle oh-so-carefully in the right place was quite an honour. But then the magic began. I remember sitting for hours, listening, listening, trying desperately to figure out what happened in Joan Baez’s version of “Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts”. Likewise, Tam Lin was a puzzle, a window to other worlds I couldn’t quite understand but was enchanted by.
In the summer, we would be loaded into the car for the interminable journey to Sidmouth. It seemed so, so long! Perhaps two hours, in summer heat, driving my parents’ mad asking if we were nearly there. But then we’d arrive, park up in the long grass, and stumble down the hill into the arena. I remember the special treat of falafel for lunch, and staring intently at fiddle players hands, hoping to absorb the secret knowledge of why a tune worked when they played it (whereas when I played it, it was just the notes). I have a vivid memory of extreme pre-teenage angst, when someone tried to make me join in the ceilidh at the back of The Anchor – I was way too shy, and there were these brilliantly cool older kids throwing some serious shapes. I remember the sense of excitement when queuing to go into a big arena show, the hum in the air, the anticipation. We stood for hours once waiting to get a spot up on the hill to watch Steeleye Span, and then suddenly out of a stage door came the band, and my mum took me up to get their autographs. I can still remember how kind Peter was, and how excited me and my mum were (just imagine how excited my mum is now I’m in a band with him!)
My parents had musical friends, and one day we dropped in on one of them, a well-known singer called Maggie Duffy. We had been on the way back from one of my violin lessons, and seeing my violin case, Maggie suggested I jam along with a song or two. My lessons were classical, and at first, I was at a loss. However, I gradually overcame my shyness and began to enjoy following my intuition, feeling my way to where the next note should be. I was very lucky to be brought up in such musical company, and soon Maggie was asking me to accompany her to gigs. We played in old folks homes and pubs, weddings and parties; and I learnt about the joy of live music, the connection you can forge with an audience – and a lot about the fundamentals of playing a gig.
Later, we ran a regular session, at a now fairly legendary pub which came complete with chamber pot collection and parrot. The parrot was particularly aggressive and would creep along the wooden panelling until he was close enough behind me to grab my bow mid-song, which always gave me a jolt. Pat, the fierce Liverpudlian landlady, would bring out heaps of delicious roast potatoes, and regulars such as Les Noden and Mike Weed would pass round songs and tunes. We’d often continue late into the night, Maggie’s beautiful voice serenading us through our lock-in “sad song club”, where we’d reach from Leonard Cohen to tragic traditional ballad – usually interrupted at the saddest moment by the bloody parrot, demonstrating its grasp of both colourful swearing and comedy timing.
There is an ongoing discussion about how to get young people interested in folk music. I was lucky enough to be brought up in a house where music was truly loved. My parents probably wouldn’t have called themselves folkies – there was a lot of rock music in that LP collection – but they taught me how to listen, and how to love a story, not by lecturing me or trying to force me to appreciate something, but simply by doing it themselves. There was no patronising separation of music ‘for children’. I was merely in the room, as Bob Dylan followed Shostakovich followed Springsteen followed Steeleye on the stereo. I was taken to places where other people loved music, where people played music well, which made me want to do it too. There is surely nothing more inspiring for a child trying to learn an instrument than absorbing the excitement of the live experience – seeing someone you can look up to do what you are learning to do, and do it well. That is why inclusive representation is so important, in order to keep the scene alive. For me, I saw players like Nancy Kerr and Eliza Carthy, just a few years ahead of me, and it opened so many doors.
I was, of course, very privileged to have such a childhood. But the conditions for it weren’t as rarefied as they sound. My parents both left school at 16 and had no musical education themselves. They simply found things they enjoyed and shared them with me. And that sharing is at the very heart of folk music. Accessibility for all is the profound and wonderful centre of music that is by the people, for the people. Perhaps if that were kept in mind as a guiding principle, it would help encourage younger generations to take an interest. There are of course many other barriers, and many of these have nothing to do with the way the folk scene operates, agonise over it though we do. For most people younger than 40, time is at such a premium, and work hours are so long, that the idea of being able to give up a whole evening to something they aren’t quite sure about called a folk club, seems ludicrous. Money is also tight; and if people reach a more secure financial position where they might start going to gigs, then they usually start having children!
However, perhaps there are things the folk scene could do to improve the age range. The format of many folk clubs can seem intimidating to outsiders; a sense of “we do things this way, and we aren’t prepared to change” can come across and straight away scare off new members. Open mic nights tend to have a younger attendance; perhaps folk clubs could combine with these events, or invite promising young performers from them to the club. Production values are also important. Younger people who don’t know the folk scene are brought up to expect a certain slickness; an over-lit and cluttered back room with terrible sound provision won’t encourage them to come along. Likewise, while maintaining that everyone can be part of the music, it is also possible to curate floor spots in a well-organised manner and keep them to a reasonable length. If someone has paid to see a certain act, they will inevitably be put off by having to sit through two hours of ramshackle bodging! Many folk clubs do these things fantastically well. But I have also been to folk clubs where, even as a performer, I’ve felt quite unwelcome, and using our carefully thought through sound and lighting has been a problem.
Festivals are perhaps the most obvious gateway to our folkie world, and young people tend to be much more in evidence at these. It just goes to show that the majority of the problem is not that young people don’t like folk music, but rather that the structure of modern life makes it hard for young people to express this appreciation in the same ways as people have done in the past. It raises big questions for the industry overall; but I prefer to think of things in a more hopeful light. It’s not that there is a finite love for folk music, housed mainly in the older part of the population. It’s that, for most people, they reach a certain age, perhaps around their mid-40s (except for early bloomers like me); and at that point, they realise there is a folk-shaped hole in their lives. They are no longer represented by the uniform tween pop of the charts. They find a “gateway drug” – maybe they happen to be at a festival, and fall in love with some music on the trendier end of the folkie spectrum. One thing leads to another, and before they know it they own a banjo, and a tankard, and come to all the Gigspanner Big Band’s shows!
If anything demonstrates the continued relevance of folk music, it is the fact that we recorded the plague song Betsy Bell and Mary Grey on the new Gigspanner Big Band album, before any of us were aware of COVID-19. Such an old, old story; and yet terrifyingly pertinent. Singing these songs, playing these tunes, are ways in which we tell ourselves who we are. Ways in which we understand the world. There are no new stories; just the same ideas, coming round again, dressed up perhaps in new technologies or different clothes, but still there in fundamentals. As long as that holds, folk music will be relevant, and as long as it is relevant, true, and well played, I believe it will find an audience. So, whether you are over 100 or under 10, I look forward – very soon, we all hope – to seeing you at the next gig.
‘Natural Invention’ is released on April 10th 2020 and is available from https://www.gigspanner.com/shop
The Gigspanner Big Band are Peter Knight – Fiddle, Vocals
Roger Flack – Guitar, Bass, Vocals
Phillip Henry – Dobro, Slide Guitar, Harmonica, Vocals
Hannah Martin – Fiddle, Banjo, Tenor Guitar, Vocals
John Spiers – Melodeon, Concertina, Vocals
Sacha Trochet – Bass, Percussion, Vocals
www.gigspanner.com
www.edgelarks.co.uk
www.johnspiers.co.uk
Photo Credit: Steve Stoddart