Annually,
the BBC Radio 2 Folk Awards evoke a maelstrom of feelings,including a
lot of controversy. I don't ever bother with it, because for me it is mostly
boring, heady, Arty Farty Showbiz Glitter and something I neither
aspire to nor care about. This is true of most BBC productions
claiming to showcase “Folk Music”-a few documentaries providing a
rare exception.
For
me the Awards remain symptomatic of a Class Divide between what are
perceived to be “Amateur” and “Professional”
aspects of the same genre. A gulf which epitomises all that is
both good and bad about the Folk World. A few misguided full time
musicians continue to look down their noses at the thousands of us
providing free (or reasonably priced) live entertainment at a local
level, 365/7. However,the majority of these performers are bright
enough to realise that without the “Amateur” operating part time
and unpaid at grass roots level, there would be no ladders no rungs
to climb, no arenas to learn their trade in, nowhere to hone
instrumental technique, or to learn how to hold an audience. Without the Club and pubs, the coffee bars and Student Halls, the jams and singarounds, Bob Zimmerman would never have written “Blowin' In The Wind.” A sobering fact.
Oh
there are a lucky few who, as the offspring of Folk Royalty can
bypass this route, and they do, leapfrogging their way into the
Media's Inner Circle of Trust. But the rest of us just have to swill
around in the Bear Pit, hoping that one day our innate talent will be
recognised. Or better still, not really giving a damn about that at
all, as long as we can sing and share and have a laugh a few times a
month.
Folk,
Acoustic,Open Mic and all their spin-offs-that organic style of music
where people like to sing and play collectively for the joy of
performance-is tiered. It always has been. At the coal face the
majority of us busily construct access routes to better things for
the Others. We see them all come and go. We see the younger ones on
their way up to Fame and Fortune. We see the older ones on their way
back down, reluctant (or unable ) to change, unable to let go. The
same tiered system operates with Festivals. Some remain homely,
friendly gatherings where music and fun are the most important
criteria for booking guests. Others have become huge, exclusive,
unwieldy Behemoths, where cliques, snobbery and elitism have become
the oddest bedfellows imaginable of a genre which once prided itself
in accessibility.
It
would be nice to think that whilst The Luvvies are backslapping and
partying afterwards they might give some brief thought to the heads
they walked over to reach the pedestal they now stand upon. But I'll
not hold my breath. Their world is so divorced from Reality, so far
away from mine, that I doubt few can remember, recall or even care
where they once sprang from.
