The Point of Country Dancing

[tamaranth]

Long, long ago, when I was at primary school, we had a term of Country Dancing lessons. This involved a selection of folk records (those big round black things; older readers may remember them) being played on the creaky old record-player, which had a tendency to stick, with hilarious consequences. It was just like a Molesworth cartoon: fifteen or twenty dear little children (yes, dear reader, I was a dear little child once) prancing around, holding hands with members of the opposite sex (ewww, Boys) and surreptitiously kicking one another. My parents, I recall, found the whole thing profoundly amusing.

The point of this anecdote is that last night I found a use for this long-forgotten tuition. We were at the Tsunami Aid Ceilidh in Kentish Town, and a man in a skirt kilt (black denim, distinctly unfeminine) was calling out instructions, largely unheeded by the majority of the audience as they (that is, we) crashed into one another, approximately in time with the music provided by the cream of the British folk scene -- Eliza Carthy, Martin Carthy, Norma Waterson, Billy Bragg, the Oyster Band and miscellaneous others. Just like one big happy mosh pit, but slightly more sedate.

I convinced gummitch to dance, despite vociferous protests that it was more fun to watch. "C'mon," I said firmly, "it'll be funny."

Oh, it was.

Excellent evening, anyway. We missed the first couple of acts, but arrived in time to see the utterly splendid Eliza Carthy: first she proved she could Do It (an acapella number, then a couple of songs with self-accompaniment on the fiddle and accordion), and then she proved she could do Modern Stuff too -- aided and abetted by DJs Max Reinhardt & Rita Ray's Shrine Synchro System, providing samples, processed beats and even a brief excerpt of the Doctor Who theme. (Reminded me of Loop Guru in places). Eliza very cool, standing there all blue-haired and utterly unglitzy (quite unlike some of her album covers) and oooh, that voice.

Later, we got to see the family doing things together. Martin Carthy, Norma Waterson and Eliza: star line-up. At one point power to the stage went out, and after a beat of surprised silence they simply carried on: impromptu acoustic set. The power came back less than a minute later: the band played on.

Billy Bragg played an anti-fascist set, in defiance of the publication of the BNP's manifesto yesterday -- St George's Day. Made the very good point that St George was an asylum seeker: "those three lions on your shirt / they never sprang from England's dirt." He was joined by the Carthys for 'John Barleycorn' (this and 'New England' are the only songs I remember for sure, I'm afraid. Beer.)

And then the Oysters, for whom we left our comfortable seats (my knees aren't up to prolonged standing) and went downstairs. They rocked.

And then the Ceilidh.

And then I finally went over to say hello to bohemiancoast and malwen, who I'd spotted some time before right at the front, but been unable to get near.

After this the evening is a bit of a blur. Cherry beer? Wandering around Kentish Town at 2am? Worldcon programme discussions? Surely the hallucinations of a mind broken by country dancing.

My knees hurt. Great gig. (And mention must be made of MC Andy Kershaw's shirt: truly nasty.)