MOSELEY FOLK GO BLOWIN' IN THE WIND

10-09-2006

TonightArtfest reaches its denoument in Birmingham City Centre, butit isn'tthe city's only major cultural happening of the summer.Martin Longley, music critic for The Independent, refelects on last weekend'sinaugural Moseley Folk Festival...

Too late to gain its funding for this year, L'Esprit Manouche didn't happen, preventing the now expected July dose of gypsy jazz guitars in a normally private Moseley Park.

But all was not lost, for the Moseley Folk Festival made its inaugural appearance only two months later. Of course, this meant that the weather was an even riskier proposition, and indeed, most of the first day's gigs took place amidst heavy drizzle and whipping wind. Fortunately, the organisers had erected the kind of marquee coverage that held off the drips, but wasn't claustrophobically enclosed.

In the last few years, folk has captured a more youthful crowd, partly through a wave of equally young performers, and sometimes because of an infusion of electronic practices, a subtle laptopiary twinkle. This has the side effect of granting renewed respectability to the grizzled old guard. It's all right now, to suck on month-old real ale encrustations from within a writhing mass of greybearded fuzz.

Moseley Folk Festival enjoyed a vibrant balance between established and newer artists. It's main failing was a bias towards the singer-guitarist singer-songwriter, and a lack of interest in hardcore fiddling or fluting: the ancient art of jig-pokery was mostly absent from the roster.

Local performers were well-represented, however. Scott Matthews (vocals, guitar!) moved his set forward at short notice, to cover for a delayed Mi & L'au, and then compere Janice Long spent much of the next few hours promising a second set, keeping us abreast of his quaffing progress. In the end, Matthews appeared measured, calm and in control for both halves. Everyone seems to be influenced by Nick Drake these days, but the skill is in disguising this source, then adding personal personality touches to take that sound forward. Matthews has a relaxed, affable demeanour that makes his songs sound very appealing.

Steve Gibbons played a solo set, with quiet electric guitar, concentrating on his Bob Dylan side. He too is good with a crowd. Mi & L'au hail from France, and don't even acknowledge the audience. Mister L'au sports shades and hanging hair, emanating an aura of wounded truculence. The Finnish Mi (they met in Paris) sometimes laughs at him. None of this prevents their music being superbly atmospheric, full of lovingly suspended spaces, its silent parts being just as important as voice, guitars and violin. They're signed to Michael Gira's Young Gods label, and promise to be spreading their music further sooner.

The Destroyers provided the only real potential for dancing, but this didn't quite happen, possibly because the crowd had already drained off the festival's tiny stockpile of organic scrumpy. Fortunately, the cider land rovers arrived at six, with a much larger consignment, although this too was destined to vanish by the Sunday evening. Eastern European gypsy music is also spreading fast these days, and the spirited Destroyers manage to point out the similarities between Mexican mariachi, Jewish klezmer and Balkan brass, as well as adding a few dashes of performance poetry from Paul Murphy.

Tunng are growing a catchy selection of tuneful songs these days, and have a very distinctive three-part vocal harmony front-line, augmented by electronic trimmings. They're in danger of showing up the older guard represented by Saturday night headliners Pentangle and The Incredible String Band as having descended into bland lounge-jazz fusion. The latter seem to have lost all of their old exotic multi-instrumentalism.

This is apparently their final gig, ever. Coming close to the end of Sunday, we could possibly see the reason why former members of these bands, John Renbourn and Robin Williamson, are no longer involved. Their set was a festival highlight, burred by an improvisatory edge, as harp and guitar courted each other, Williamson singing in his ancient bardic drawl.

The crowd ran forward to suckle beneath their beards, and the old traditions lived on...