For those of you who love shanty singing and a drinking song or two, Old Songs, yep, the over-organized multistage folk extravaganza, actually was the place to be this year. Ok, so you had to find the unscheduled all night sings at Chez Jake's in the make-music-all-night camping area, but that made it all the more interesting, not knowing where to make a stand. An ever-changing cast of characters kept floating in, sharing a song, and floating out. I say floating, because there was a bit of juice flowing. The highlight of the Thursday night sing was a series of young 20-something singers joining in with some fine voices and leading interesting songs. We ended early that night, and I rolled into the trailer at some time after 3. The birds were a-twittering.

Now Friday night was a hoot. I was ready to call it a night at 2 am. Then Peter and Joanne Souza and Alison Kelley showed up and we let loose a shanty blast that literally blasted campers from their beds. Well, the story is that a worker at one of the music stores was a first-timer at this folky event. When the shanty blast hit, it knocked her tent down, blew it and her into her car, and started it rolling down the road to the exit. Her boss shared the story with me and there were no hard feelings, although they were short handed. Another couple, in the Scamp next door to Chez Jake's, vowed to find peace quiet somewhere else next year. I think they were just mistaken. My wife said she'd be quiet, and I said I'd be peace. Anyway, we traded shanties with the late arrivals and to my surprise we didn't even stop after Peter led the Sailor's Prayer. At 4 am the chorus, whose bottle rattling bothered the Scamp folks the most so they said, told me I led over 10 songs after I said I was tired and leaving at 2. What do they know—they were too busy rattling bottles.

By this point in the festival, the wife and I were turning on the trailer's AC before we went to bed and sleeping until noon. The world looks different on this schedule. You watch the sunrise, then go to bed. When you get up, lunch is breakfast, dinner is lunch, and you start singing after drinking your breakfast at 10 pm.   Or something like that.

Saturday night at Old Songs there is always an unscheduled sing in Creature Comforts after the evening performance. I like that it is unscheduled, secret, known only to those in the know. Ha! There is something special about Creature Comforts, with its barn like décor and holiday lights and, well, a keg for the volunteers. This sing is always large, unpredictable, and worth the admission ticket to Old Songs. Last year I sang with Lynn Noel and a goodly crew of singers until well after the birds made their appearance. We stood in the morning sun and sang those special songs of friendships and daybreak. I have to say it was going back into a hot tent miles from the bathrooms that made me buy a festival trailer the next month.   My neighbors, who think their country club is next to heaven, think I've gone over to the dark side.

But this year it was all different at Creature Comforts. Of course, I was rested and ready to go. We started as usual with a shanty blast and all sorts of other a cappella songs. The crowd thinned, but the numbers were still surprising, and by 2 the group went on a new course, somewhat more religious than I like, involving beautiful songs that only Alison Kelley and folks with a voice like hers are meant to sing. I broke some kind of a personal record by not leading a song from 3 until the sunrise songs after 5. I just couldn't. The songs were all just plain beautiful to listen to. One of our very young Pickin' Singin' Gatherin' lads, Robin, led a song, and Alison was obviously floored by the awesome quality of his voice and his interpretation of the song. She, Robin, and another young person—ok, when you're my age your grandmother looks young to me—started playing with harmonies on songs I never heard before.   I think what I liked best about that last two hours of singing was that the singers who couldn't leave had this obvious joy in being there sharing songs. You've seen it before—like when Barry or Jon lead a song at Mystic.

Oh, there is other singing that goes on. The Old Songs paid performers get the crowd to join in. There are one or two sing-arounds scheduled in the Dutch Barn. Our Pickin', Singin', Gatherin' folk club has an hour on the schedule at the Street Corner. April schedules a funny song sing and, this I don't get, a sing at 8:30 am on Sunday. Maybe that's for people who are left over from the Creature Comfort's sing from the night before.

For now, the wife and I are planning on a return to Portsmouth and the Press Room next week for their regular Friday and (3rd) Saturday session. We look forward to seeing Tom and Linn and Barry and Charlie the Souzas and the rest of the singers and players. I'm so pleased that one of Judy's Mystic pics had me mis-identified as a Gloucester guest. These are good people to be mixed up with. I'd throw a line around the Press Room and bring them all back to Albany if I could!) The Portsmouth Maritime Festival at the end of September is just a hyper version of what they do every month, heck, every Friday in Portsmouth. I think John Roberts will be there this year, if I am remembering correctly. I'd go anyplace to sing with John.

That's my review of Old Songs. Maybe I forgot to mention that all the stage stuff was great too, but you already knew that. If my own plans are any indication of how I feel about Old Songs, we are extending our stay through Monday next year. By the way, if you want to plug into the Capital Region folk scene, send me your email address and I'll send you a PDF of our PSG newsletter, which includes a sign-up form.