Carry On Festivaling

          Once upon a time, a group of us were sitting around, talking about this and that, when the subject settled on music, and each of us in turn was invited to reveal their favourite genre. Now, this is a tricky question for the pedantically inclined, like me. What should I say? Jazz? Yes, but not all jazz. There are reservations, and my explanation, a potentially long monologue on its origins, history and variant forms would certainly have fallen flat on the company, buzzing as it was with snappy repartee. Fortunately for me – and everyone else – my turn never came, since a showstopper was delivered by the person who claimed that their favourite genre was “compilations”.

          I’ve just spent three days at a ‘boutique’ music festival that presented a jumble of genres. Although the headline was Jazz & Blues, the subtext added Soul, Funk, Latin, Cuban and Roots (whatever that is), a bit like a menu and not at all a bad thing if you like a varied diet. It was held in a park, in the centre of the genteel seaside resort of Sidmouth, Devon, where a famous annual folk festival, instigated back in 1955, still takes place. All that accumulated expertise has been applied to this newer enterprise and it shows. It was a slick operation, impeccably managed, quite unlike the original outdoor festivals of the Woodstock era to which I was drawn.

          In comparing Isle of Wight 1969 with Sidmouth 2025, I realise of course that, apart from the obvious and intentional difference in scale, much has changed in the fields of technology, event management and health and safety legislation. One thing that does remain the same, however, is that the audience – or part of it – comprises the same people. We’re just older, pickier and less inclined to leave things to chance.

           We went to those early festivals without planning for exigencies of any kind and we were not unduly inconvenienced by the frequent late starts caused by incompetencies, mishaps or the erratic behaviour of artistes. At Sidmouth, we all brought our own folding chairs, wore weather-appropriate clothing and would have grumbled like old gits if the schedule had been screwed up.

          Being on my own, I was free to choose, without compromise, which gigs to attend, which to shun and which to leave early should I find them uninspiring. It also left me free to pop in and out of the various pubs where fringe acts were performing and where real ales and ciders helped fuel the atmosphere of conviviality that fosters friendly exchanges between strangers – something that solo drinkers are particularly prone to.

          Whoever saw the market opportunity for niche, boutique festivals threw us senior fans a lifeline. With well-appointed facilities, a town-centre location and sensible timetabling, our age-related requirements are well catered for. I chose to stay in my campervan, a healthy twenty-minute walk away, but could have splashed out for a room in one of the many sea-front hotels. Either way, one could be tucked up in bed before midnight with never a pang of FOMO and ready for action the next morning at 11.00 prompt, artisan coffee in hand. Not everyone was of my vintage, but grey heads bobbed everywhere in time to the rhythms. When dancing did occasionally break out, the perpetrators were observably young, impulsive types – which does bode well for the future prospects of the artistes performing.

          Festivals offer more than just intoxicating live music – of whatever genre. The ingredients that make them enjoyable also include a friendly crowd, competent organisation, an attractive location and, of course, clement weather. They all came together on this occasion, so I’m encouraged to take a punt on the original – the Sidmouth Folk Festival. I still have a soft spot for folk and nothing to lose but the will to carry on festivaling.