The women took centre- stage on the second night of the Barbican’s Folk Britannia extravaganza. But if the Blakean reference in the concert’s title suggested that we were in for an evening of earnest gender politics, Eliza Carthy’s breezy performance as mistress of ceremonies soon laid those fears to rest.
No one was particularly in the mood to lecture. What we got instead was an easy-going celebration of the folk tradition that stretched from the venerable English ballad Fair Margaret and Sweet William — hauntingly sung by the magnificent June Tabor — to the outer fringes of contemporary singer-songwriterdom, as represented by Tom Waits’s Strange Weather — performed by Carthy’s mother, Norma Waterson.
With half a dozen artists squeezing into a venture premiered — with a slightly different line-up — at last year’s Cork Festival, there were almost too many changes of direction. Fortunately, Kate St John’s stylish band arrangements went a long way to holding the various elements together. With Martin Carthy and Neill MacColl in the line-up, the sense of the torch being passed between generations was palpable.
Kathryn Williams seemed intent on taking that mission literally, arriving from the wings in a state of imminent motherhood. While her original number, Tradition, was pleasant enough, it was her feathery version of The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face, sung with Neill McColl at her side, that instantly raised the temperature in the hall. Sheila Chandra, the ex-Monsoon vocalist who went on to become a cult property on Peter Gabriel’s Read World label, was not quite able to work the same magic on Scarborough Fair. Never mind. Martin Carthy’s gentle accompaniment reminded us where Paul Simon originally found his inspiration, and Chandra sounded more at ease on her treatment of Reynardine.
While Vashti Bunyan appeared stricken by nerves, June Tabor more than rose to the occasion in a bilingual rendition of Lili Marlene, Huw Warren adding delicate piano accompaniment. Eliza Carthy, who had earlier added a touch of vivacious fiddle playing to Lou Rhodes’s performance of Beloved One, was even more ebullient than usual in the raucous Willow Tree, and came close to overwhelming her mother on the jazzy riffs of Ain’t No Sweet Man. For a second, the Barbican became the back room of a pub.