"Leige and Leaf" should not have been voted the BBC's most influential folk album of all time - as it is not a folk album.

In this respect we almost agree, WAV. Here's something I wrote about this & other related issues on Harvest Home forum back in September last year:

1) The condition of traditional song is perilous enough without subjecting them to any further interference. Treat them as listed buildings, the interiors and exteriors of which amount to irreplaceable national treasures all too vulnerable to the ravages of time and ill-advised DIY make-overs. What else is Liege and Leif but a sequence of tasteless, bland modernisations of some nice old characterful properties; the wattle & daub of the originals ripped out and replaced with mass produced breeze block and plaster board; sash windows replaced with UPVC and the open fires with flame-effect gas fires?

2) The problem is that there is a very definite cut off point between the cultural and social conditions in which the traditional songs arose, and that which exists now. We have lost the continuity in which these songs came into being and as such the only thing we should do with them is observe, and source, and delight in their myriad wonders.

In a nutshell, they are not ours to mess with in the first place - not in any way, shape or form - and God knows there is enough work still to be done (...) in simply learning and singing them with resorting to such underhand methods as addition and interpretation.

3) We lovers of traditional song are not so much the keepers of a tradition, rather the volunteer curators of a museum, entrusted with the preservation of a few precious, priceless and irreplaceable artefacts: hand-crafted tools we no longer know the names of (let alone what they were actually used for) ; hideous masks of woven cornstalks (which are invariably assumed to be pagan) ; and hoary cases of singular taxidermy wherein beasts long extinct are depicted in a natural habitat long since vanished.

Not only is such a museum a beacon for the naturally curious, it's a treasure in and of itself, an anachronism in age of instant (and invariable soulless) gratification, and as such under constant threat by those who want to see it revamped; cleaned up with computerised displays and interactive exhibits and brought into line with the rest of commodified cultural presently on offer.

But not only is this museum is our collective Pit-Rivers, it is a museum which, in itself, is just as much an artefact of a long-vanished era as the objects it contains. It is delicate, and crumbling, but those who truly love it wouldn't have it any other way - and quite rightly so.   

4) The point is that the traditional songs are already dead; they're as dead as the traditional singers that sang them and the traditional cultures to which they once belonged; they're as dead as fecking dodos the lot of them - but we must never forget...

As far as their adaptation goes... of course anyone can do anything they like with them; God knows I certainly have (though a good deal less so in recent years, m'lud) but to do so in the name of The Tradition shows a complete lack of both respect to and understanding of their cultural provenance which is pretty much the whole of the case.

One thing that's immediately apparent even in the most casual study of traditional song is the fluidity in which they once existed in their natural habitat, hence the innumerable versions and variations we know & love today. Traditional songs were shaped by the innumerable voices that sang them; passing them on via an oral tradition in which the songs evolved according to that mysterious process whereby the subjective idiosyncrasies of the individual singers interface with the objective cultural context of which they were part to create something truly wondrous.

This is primary paradise of tradition folk song; a veritable dream-time in which we find them scampering in the new-mown meadows of what some of us still perceive as an agrarian utopia, before the advent of chemicals and mechanisation. So along come the song collectors, recognising that these songs are part of a social context that even in the early years of the last century is beginning to look decidedly fragile, and they do their level best to preserve them.

Taxidermy is, alas, an imperfect science (as the recent research into the Dodo has shown), so what comes down to us in the collections tells us as much about the collectors as it does about the people they were collective from - the stuffers rather than the stuffed, as it were; because one does get the impression that these well-healed paternalists weren't altogether too concerned with the broader cultural condition of these grubby rustics whose precious repertoires they so hungrily plundered.

One finds the same thing in folklore; the paganisation we see today is the result of the self-same paternalism that was used to justify the evils of colonialism - it's there in the cultural condescension that would interpret any given folk custom as being somehow vestigial of something now long forgotten. For example, when the thoroughly aristocratic Lady Raglan first named her medieval ecclesiastical foliate-head a Green Man, she did so fully in the faith that the Jacks-in-the-Green (etc.) of British folk custom were survivals of pagan fertility rites quaintly perpetuated by an ignorant lower order of society unwittingly preserving as mere superstition an ancient belief system that they themselves couldn't possibly understand, either in terms of its true provenance or else its real meaning. That there is no real meaning is perhaps the ultimate irony; the medium is the message and their experience entirely empirical.   

To take the example of the wonderful Buy Broom Buzzems as recorded by Bruce & Stokoe in The Northumbrian Minstrelsy from the singing of Blind Willie Purvis of Newcastle-upon-Tyne; here they freely admit that they chose to omit several of Mr Purvis's verses because they considered them to be somehow extraneous to the sense of the song. What we wouldn't give to hear those extraneous verses now...

A L Lloyd did some sterling work of course, but as Nigel points out much of it was decidedly suspect; I cringe every time I hear Jack Orion (which is often sung unquestioningly as a traditional ballad) and his theories on the origin of Jazz as outlined in the introduction to The Penguin Book of English Folk song beggar belief, even by the standards of the time.