I recently received this from a fellow-folker. Suitably anonymised to protect the guilty:


".... armed with a booklet on the folk scene in ____ the only place that appeared to be open last Monday was in ____! I should've known it was not going to be a great night when I phoned the guy up and asked if there was a house guitar or someone who might lend me one and got a very negative reply i.e. no and unlikely. O.K. so I'll just go and listen, you never know, once your chatting to people...

"After driving for an absolute age I realised that 1) it was much further from ____ than I'd thought and 2) I was lost. I decided to quit and pulled in to very nice looking Indian restaurant somewhere on the edge of ____. (It was exceptionally good and was run by a 2nd or 3rd generation Indian and his English wife with a Pakistani chef... but that's another story...) It turns out the owner knows the building where the club is, it's only around the corner and he draws me a map. So I arrive 10 minutes before the half-time break and as someone is performing I just slip in, no chance of any 'hello's, and sit right by the entrance where there is a desk with a man and a woman sat at it. I pay the entrance fee to the woman who never says another word to me all night. The chap stands up at half time with some parish notices so it's possible he was the guy I spoke to on the phone but he just squeezes past a few times on his way to/from the bar/loo etc. and never makes eye contact or says anything. The order of play is decided by a bloke to my right on the other side of the entrance who also appears not to realise there is a stranger in a room full of familiar faces. Now I'm used to joining a bus queue and no one taking any notice but in a folk club? Anyway, the order of play was ad-hoc so I never got in a position where I was next in the circle and, this may be sour grapes, but the quality of performance was very so so. Their loss, I'd say.

"Tuesday I phone up about a singaround in ____ - "just come along, you can use my guitar no problems". Arrive at a grotty looking pub in a grotty looking area of town and go in. The club takes place in the lounge bar, no separate room, people chatting at the bar, lads in the other bar playing pool, juke box on, pretty noisy all round. A great big bloke, Simon (doesn't look like a Simon), with a voice so gravelly he must have swallowed the quarry is in charge. "You the bloke who phoned up?" - good start! Simon kicks off. Voice so loud he drowns out the juke box and bashes hell out of a 12-string. Nothing subtle or pretentious about this guy - fantastic stuff. He told me later he uses the 12 string to 'cut through the noise of all the bastards talking at the bar'. Hands me the 12 string and I strut my stuff. Anyway a small, friendly but varied group of musicians in both styles and abilities. An audience which grew to a respectable size throughout the evening and everyone, even those chatting at the bar, applauded each performer. Altogether a very enjoyable night!

"Cheers,

"The Traveller"