FWIW, a club where everyone, however special needs, gets a turn every time is one from which I'd run screaming.
OK, on non-guest nights, when it's a come-all-ye and it's been advertised as such to warn would-be punters, then let loose the shaky eggs, the 20-minute-tuners, the performance poets and the dub-balladeers. Otherwise, lock 'em up and don't frighten the horses. I'm now of an age where, should I have to sit through yet another shite performance of someone singing in a quavery voice with their chin buried in a crib sheet, I might well want to swap my ten minutes of wasted life for theirs. With extreme prejudice.
But this is a subject which has been done to death. There are bastards like me, who rarely go to folk clubs now because of the red mist problem, and any number of touchy-feely lovelies sitting in doomed folk clubs. Just be grateful that we don't meet often.