The Tent Next Door


A song written whilst waiting for the train back from the excellent Warwick Folk Festival in July.  I’ve packed a few notebooks to take away with me and managed to find this in one of them. 

 

You have to imagine a vaguely bluesy tune to go along with it. 

 

The Tent Next Door

Chorus:

Babe, babe whatcha doin’ babe? 

Don’t throw my things all over the floor!

There’s a really awful row been going on for hours now

And I’m sleeping in the tent next door. 

 

She says ‘I’m in a mood and I’m really not being rude, 

But your attitude is bothering me now.’

His head is in a spin, ‘cos he’s only just got in 

To the khaki tent they’re sharing next door.

 

She says she’s in a huff and very soon she’s thrown his stuff

Out of the hastily opened zip in the door

So he’s scrabbling on the floor, even though it’s half past four

And I’m sleeping in the tent next door. 

 

Babe, babe, whatcha doin’ babe?

Don’t throw my stuff all over the floor!

There’s a really awful row been going on for hours now

And I’m sleeping in the tent next door. 

 

So they’re keeping me awake and my neck it starts to ache

It’s no fun sleeping here on the floor

And now I think I might throw up, because the sounds of making up

Are loudly screeching from the tent next door.

 

Now the morning’s not much better, ‘cos the weather’s getting wetter

And I’m lying in a puddle on the floor

But I might get some soggy peace, as there’s no sounds of gas release

Coming from the khaki tent next door.

 

Babe, babe whatcha doin’ babe? 

Don’t throw my things all over the floor!

There’s a really awful row been going on for hours now

And I’m sleeping in the tent next door. 

 

He says ‘Make me some tea, babe, I think I hurt my knee

In the ceilidh as I slid through the crowd.’

She replies ‘The water’s boiled, get up, your knee’s well oiled!’

And he whispers that she’s talking too loud. 

 

As she headed out the tent, she said ‘The money’s nearly spent

You’ve got pot noodle ‘less you get some more.’

He doesn’t follow after, but I hear some muffled laughter

As I’m creeping past the tent next door. 

 

Babe, babe whatcha doin’ babe? 

Don’t throw my things all over the floor!

There’s a really awful row been going on for hours now

And I’m sleeping in the tent next door. 

 

I head back for a snooze, but I’m soon woken by the news that:

‘Well if you don’t know what’s wrong then that’s half the problem!!’

I just have to bang my head on the floor

I can’t help yell ‘Shut up!’ and ‘Why don’t you just break up?’

There are cheers from other tents all around.

 

So when you’re at a festival and you think that it is best of all

To put your tent up here next to mine

Won’t you have consideration for the campers of the nation

Just trying to sleep here in the tents down the line. 

 

Babe, babe whatcha doin’ babe? 

Don’t throw my things all over the floor!

There’s a really awful row been going on for hours now

And I’m sleeping in the tent next door. 

 

E. Skinner 2013

Image

Beverley East Riding Festival ages ago. I have no pictures of me at Warwick, but at least this one is at a festival and includes tents.

 

Lucky the mole born into a musical family…


The title of this blog post comes from the first line of a book I love ‘The Musical Life of Gustav Mole’.  It’s not a book many other people I know have heard of, but I had it as a child and it was illustrated by my Grandmother’s friend Kathy Meyrick.  The Amazon review says ‘Gustav Mole is lucky enough to be born into a musical family, and this charming tale traces the enriching role that music plays in his life. Gustav’s musical education is rich and diverse, covering a wide variety of genres and styles. This is the perfect introduction to musical instruments, ensembles and occasions, and a humourous and sensitive exploration of what music can bring to our lives.’

Gustav starts off playing pots and pans on the kitchen floor, moves on to other instruments at school and eventually learns violin.  It’s a beautiful book in many ways and that opening line as always stuck with me.  Lucky the mole born into a musical family.  I consider myself to be a lucky mole.  My mother was a dancer, my father probably could have played instruments but didn’t, I think he sang well but it was mostly under his breath.

As I was walking back through Brackley to Turweston this afternoon I was thinking about how lucky I have been because of little things that have happened and how they have helped shape me into who I am now…  I spent years away from music because other things got in the way and I lost touch with people lost confidence in myself and then was a little scared to throw myself back into it.  But spending the weekend at Warwick Folk Festival has helped to change my perspective again.  I had forgotten the friendliness of people within this community, I had forgotten the safe, welcoming atmosphere of a good festival, I had forgotten the enjoyment you can have singing in front of an audience.

If Mum had not decided that she wanted to learn to clog dance, if Delphine hadn’t put up an ad in Brackley Town Hall advertising clog within Owlswick Morris which Mum saw and joined, if Dad hadn’t been keen on the Corries, Fairport Convention, The Oysterband, if there had never been a degree set up in folk music, I might never have taken the path through life that I have so far.

I was nervous about heading to the festival this weekend.  It’s all very well sending off an email asking for a gig when you are living on a different continent, but it’s another thing when all that’s standing between you and singing, on your own, in front of people.  I’m not going to lie, I did think about ringing up to say I was ill and couldn’t make it, but having worked the other side, I know how much hassle that would cause, even though I’m not at all known as a performer.  And were I to have done that, it would have been another example of my self-sabotage, which I am trying to avoid.

So Richard dropped me off at the bus stop, I got the train and started frantically trying to remember songs and roughly time them to help plan my sets.  There was a moment of panic when I thought I only knew 5 songs, but soon they started to come back to me.  A short taxi ride and I arrived at the festival.

My first impression was that it was relaxed and smaller than I’d expected based on the line up.  There were no barriers between the main site and campsites, giving it a more relaxed feel in that respect than others I’ve been to.

My first gig was on the Co-op stage, a small raised platform with about 25 seats in front.  The first half of the show came from The Wild Man of the Woods, who told us tales about the woodland, the history of ‘The Green Man’ and how our modern idea of him may have come about along with songs.  It was great and we had a few chats over the course of the weekend.

Then it was me.  There was one face I recognised in the audience, Maurice, who was vocal in his appreciation of the songs. Thanks for that! And when I was done thankfully people came up to talk to me and tell me they enjoyed it.  It’s always nice when people do that.

Work done for the day I had some amazing jerk chicken, pork and curried goat from the Caribbean stall (take a look at the food blog in a few days for my review) and then I watched the concert featuring Demon Barbers XL, O’Hooley and Tidow and  Jim Moray and the Skulk Ensemble.  They were all brilliant, but the highlight for me was definitely O’Hooley and Tidow, who I’d not seen on a main stage before.  Their nomination for best duo at the Folk Awards was well deserved and I bought their beautiful album ‘The Fragile’.  Although my ipod was sadly drowned in my tent during the festival, once it is either restored or replaced (more likely) I am sure I’ll be listening to ‘The Fragile’ on repeat.

Saturday’s lunchtime concert was in a cafe in town and a slightly different atmosphere.  I didn’t feel quite as comfortable and I think perhaps that came across during the performance, but it’s good practise.  My sister and her family came along to watch and afterwards we headed back to the main festival site, playing ‘spot the castle’ with Imogen.

We didn’t get far into the festival as the kids wanted to watch the morris dancers.  Having grown up with morris, Alex and I are pretty used to the inherent strangeness of it – people dressed in funny colours, bells, flowers, clogs – but the kids were mesmerized.  One asked if they could come in their van and stay sometime.  I think they will also be moles born into a musical family.

Time spent wandering around, trying to get a fiddle fixed, feeding children passed and they had to go and I had to get ready for the next gig.  This one was in the Music Department and I was so tired from being kept up by my tent neighbours I had to sit down for half of it.  I don’t think anyone minded too much and I’ve written my first song based upon those neighbours.   I got soaked heading back to the tent and that’s when I found the death of the ipod.  Let’s just take a minute to mourn a friend of over 6 years.

Sunday morning was crisp, cool and glorious.  I sat and chatted to Jan of Jan’s Van for about an hour or so about anything and everything.  I wanted to get a portrait of her and although it’s not what I had in my head, i still like it.

I had one more concert to do and it turned out to be my favourite.  A sing around style concert ‘Women’s Song’ in the title, me, Rosie Hood and Salvation Jane.  I’d not heard Rosie or Salvation Jane before so when they were singing I was just sitting and listening, almost startled when it came to be my turn.

It was one of the most enjoyable gigs I’ve ever had, relaxed, warm (atmosphere, physically I was freezing!) and I had some lovely chats with people afterwards.  (Seriously, if you ever happen to come to one of my gigs – please do – and want to say anything afterwards, please do, despite appearances I’m not overly confident and it’s helpful to hear what people want to say!)

So I could relax, wander around taking photos and was called over by the lovely Amy Davenport and introduced to her in-laws Paul and Liz Davenport, who very kindly bought me dinner, provided me with an amazing chocolate cake and gave me advice about promoting myself and getting recording.  I’m sure I’ve bumped into them before over the course of my festivals and folking, but it was lovely to talk to them.

Of course there was lots more but if I go on I’ll bore you further, but one of the last things that I heard before I left came from my former boss, Jonathan, who said that the good thing about Warwick as a festival is that children can, even for a weekend, have a bit of a free childhood.  They can go off and wander, explore, play, watch musicians and dancers, try different things in a safe environment.  I think this is part of why I love folk music so much, it’s a community, it’s a family and I’m a lucky mole to have been born into it.

‘Of all the money that ere I spent, I spent it in good company’

Jan told me to take a portrait when she wasn't looking.  This is it.

Jan told me to take a portrait when she wasn’t looking. This is it.

Men of Morris

Men of Morris

Passing on knowledge

Passing on knowledge

Jan and her Van

Jan and her Van

The Wild Man of the Woods

The Wild Man of the Woods

Crab apple or unripe apple?

Crab apple or unripe apple?

Jim Moray

Jim Moray

Teardrop

Teardrop

O'Hooley and Tidow

O’Hooley and Tidow

Slow-Mo XL

Slow-Mo XL

Belinda O'Hooley

Belinda O’Hooley

Heidi Tidow

Heidi Tidow

Demon Barbers XL

Demon Barbers XL

Clogging

Clogging

Demon Barbers XL in action

Demon Barbers XL in action

Unicycle

Unicycle

A perfect time for dinner

A perfect time for dinner

Blue skies over Warwick

Blue skies over Warwick

Amy Davenport dancing.

Amy Davenport dancing.

Fun at the Festival

Fun at the Festival

Jan's Van

Jan’s Van

For more of my Warwick Festival Pictures, take a look at my new Flickr page.

RE: Degrees of Folk


Facebook’s a marvellous thing sometimes. This morning it alerted me to a post written on another blog talking about the degree I studied. I felt I should probably reply to it…

Here is the original post:

Just lately I’ve been listening online to what’s been emerging from Newcastle University’s Folk Music degree course. Here’s a typical example of some of their third year students in action.

(For videos, please see Andy’s original blog)

I worry a bit about endless cohorts of students forking out nine grand a year and thinking there’s a living as a folk musician waiting for them at the end of it. (I worry about my Religious Studies students too, but at least they come out able to write an essay). But mostly, while the standard of musicianship is obviously high, I worry that it’s all so excruciatingly nice. Wouldn’t you rather go and see the old guy singing down the pub than something so…polished?

If folk music has a place in the academy then perhaps a bit of competition would be good for business, maybe somewhere down South. I’ve had some fun trying to think of what my folk syllabus would look like.
Obviously students would need to learn about the tradition and how to play their instrument.

But I’d get them to read up on carnivalesque theory and go hunting misericords. I’d get them to see some traditional folk customs and write an essay about it. I’d get them to jam with musicians with whom they shared no language, and then try and copy the style of another instrument entirely. I’d send them to the Glastonbury dance tent with instructions not to come back until they’d fallen to the floor in a delirium of sweaty ecstasy. I’d get them to shut the fuck up and listen. I’d make them sleep a night or two under the stars. A passionate love affair and a heart-break or two would probably be character-building. And for their final practical, I’d pack them off to France for the summer with nothing but fifty quid, their instruments and their wits to see how they got on. A bit of enforced busking does wonders for performance skills I find.

Oh hold on a minute, that’s what I did. Forgive me. I’ve committed the unpardonable sin of thinking that my life could provide a template for everyone else. Please accept my sincere apologies. Utter hubris.

But there’s a serious point here. If folk music is as relevant as we claim then it has to have something to say. It has to have arisen, unbidden and insistent out of the sheer messy fact of being alive. It has to have come up through the feet, to have lingered in the loins, rolled around the heart and soared out from the belly. It has to give voice to what the Welsh call the hwyll and the hiraeth – loosely, joy and sorrow. That’s not something you can teach, nor something you can buy. No wonder it all sounds so clean. The poor sods haven’t had a chance to live yet.

Here’s some folk music straight from the source. It’s from Gyimes in Transylvania, and is I believe a style unique to that area. The wild intonation of their fiddles may be too tart for Western ears but for me this is the pure drop.

It makes my fingers tingle and my feet itch in a way that, sadly, nothing I’ve heard from the Folk Degree ever does. If I were eighteen with nine grand in my pocket, I know where I’d go.

………………………………………………………….

And here’s my response:

Hello Andy.

I’m Ellie, I studied the Folk Degree between 2003 and 2007. I graduated with a 2:1, major in performance, and now work as a primary teacher in Tanzania, having studied a PGCE and passed at Masters level. I CAN write an essay, mainly because of the practise I had in writing them on the folk degree… Just thought I’d clear that bit up.

I was in a year group that included many mature students and many, like myself, who were 18 or 19 when they began. Before I moved to Newcastle, the only contact I had with other folk musicians was with my Mum’s Morris team. I lived in a small town in South Northamptonshire, there was very little public transport – none after 6 at night and I can’t drive. I applied to study at Newcastle, but I also applied (and was accepted) for Ethnomusicology at Queen’s in Belfast, Norse, Saxon and Celtic at Cambridge and Music combined with English and Folklore at Sheffield. I chose to study at Newcastle because I felt comfortable in the city, I wanted to learn from the tutors available and I wanted to study folk music. For me, it was the best choice I could have made.

I ended up living in Newcastle for 9 years, making friends with other students, getting to make music with them, being taught by some amazing singers and having opportunities that I doubt I would have had if I had chosen one of the other courses.

But should I have been allowed to sing folk music at 19? I had barely lived! What had I done by that point? I’d worked since the age of 14, I’d stayed up all night in the happy hardcore tent at Gatecrasher and put in an 8 hour shift in the morning. I’d had my heart broken, I’d been stalked, I’d been a witness in a rape trial, my parents had split up, I’d been to Brittany and Normandy to play with musicians there. I’d had work experience in two, rather large, West End productions, and auditioned for a third. I’d volunteered with children with learning difficulites. But I couldn’t sing a folk song properly becuase I hadn’t lived.

Whilst on the degree I had more opportunities, I got to work with musicians, singers and dancers of different styles, genres and ages. I worked at festivals both onstage and backstage. I ran a summer school with 120 participants. I went to Hungary to perform at an International Folk Dance Festival in fromt of 5000 people. I stayed up all night, each night for the week dancing and singing with Greek Cypriots, Turks, Hungarians, Italians, French, Aboriginals, Israelis…

I didn’t enjoy every single aspect of the degree, and not everyone I enrolled with completed the course. But, I have friends who have studied many different subjects at many different universities, and (surprisingly) they’ve not enjoyed every aspect of their degrees and not every member of their cohorts graduated either. Not everyone will – it’s a hard choice to make at any age, deciding what you are going to dedicate yourself to for the next 3 or 4 years. But I do not ever regret that I have done it.

My modules for the first two years were picked for me, to give me a broad musical knowledge alongside specific folk knowledge and specialised teaching in folk styles that I hadn’t had before. But in my 3rd and 4th years, I chose my modules, I chose my singing teachers. I studied Corsican and Sardinian traditional choral music, Medieval music, contemporary culture, popular music, jazz, music business and musicc teaching. It allowed me to get gigs, because I had an opportunity to meet festival organisers, folk club organisers, other musicians. My performances aren’t polished, I wouldn’t want them to be, I make mistakes, I forget words and re-write them on the spot, I talk nonsense on stage. But for others, they have the ability for excellence and want to show it.

I was never under the impression that I would have a professional career in folk music and this was never perpetuated by the tutors on the degree. If anything, they stressed the fact that very few of us would make a living from it and that we should diversify our skills. I was always going to train as a teacher, partially fuelled by a conversation with my secondary music teacher who, when I applied for the degree, said “It’s not proper music, but it’ll suit you.”

Enough people ridicule folk music and knock it down for being less worthy than classical, or jazz, musical theatre or even pop, that I think if you love the music you should encourage people for getting it out there. You may think that the performers you saw are overly polished, it’s not your taste, so what? They are doing what they enjoy, they are learning, they are developing, they have opportunities. I would not say that they are typical third years, I would say their performance is typical of them. I know them and I am very proud of them for what they have achieved (and I know that they certainly have ‘lived’ despite their young ages).

Sometimes I would like to see a bloke singing in a pub, but sometimes that can be utterly awful, out of tune and uncomfortable to listen to, but I suppose it’s allowed because he’s over 40 and being out of tune is more authentic.

I am not a fan of every performer that comes from the degree, but I wouldn’t expect to be. There is a range of style, genre and talent there (I would put myself amongst the less talented), but I am not a fan of every person I hear at a pub, folk club or festival. Variety is good, why knock people for doing what they want, if you don’t like their music, don’t go out of your way to listen to them again.

If you think that folk music has to rise unbidden then it will die away. I am teaching folk music of the British Isles to my Tanzanian students because I had an opportunity to learn about it, I am teaching here partly because I have studied it. Had I just relied on my music GCSE and A level to inform me about it (as most secondary music teachers do) then they would confidently know that folk music consists of ‘What shall we do with a drunken sailor?’, ‘Scarborough Fair’ by Simon and Garfunkle and Bob Dylan songs.

I’m still under 30, I’ve still not lived enough to sing folk songs because I’ve not busked, I’ve never been to Glastonbury, I’ve not read up on carnivalesque theory (and probably can’t spell it), I’ve not had torrid love affairs, I suppose I had better close my mouth and stop singing.

P.S. These 18 year olds that started this September don’t have 9 grand in their pockets, it’s loans that they will probably never pay back, they start to repay once they are earning over £21,000 a year but that have no impact on their credit record, applying for mortgages, loans, credit cards etc. The repayments come out at source and so, like tax and NI, could be seen as a payment that you never had. I worked as a careers adviser for teenagers for 3 years, I did read up on this a little bit in that time. But yes, if I had £9,000 in my pocket I would like to go all over and experience different things, but I didn’t so I studied something I loved instead and it has since opened those doors for me.

Please feel free to add your own comments here. I realise that my reply is rather lengthy, but it’s what I felt I needed to say…