With many festivals cutting back, taking time out to re-establish in a new format or in some cases packing up altogether, Shrewsbury Folk Festival grows a pace with a bill as wide as a desert horizon, comfortable in its identity and Show Ground home. The only inconvenience might just be the weather! With waterproofs, wellies and quite possibly flippers to hand Simon Jones ventures forth to face the predicted storms and find some great music.
What I like about the good officers of Shrewsbury Folk Festival is that they’re independent thinkers, they totally ignore trends, genres and press hyperbole. Their mission is simple to put on the best music that they can under – sometimes beyond- the ever expanding umbrella of roots and folk. If only there were more like them. One story from the 2026 build up gives you a hint of just how unflappable they are. After many years of wishing and hoping they were thrilled when singer songwriter Lucinda Williams agreed to play this year’s event only to have all their preparations dashed as she withdrew from her European tour due to ‘unforeseen circumstances’ in late April. With swift action they replaced her within days and soldiered on with barely a ripple disturbing their surface.
It’s Friday afternoon and having landed in the historic town earlier it’s time to have a coffee and peruse the roll call and running order. Counting the Dance Tent Shrewsbury has five stages and it’s often a case of dashing between them to get to see everything you want to, I’m not sure if it’s a trick of organisation or just plain luck but 2026 offers the chance to stay in one place longer with barely an artistic clash. Timings duly noted off to the site then.
So far all I’d heard about Powerhouse were good reports and that definitely made me nosy, put it more correctly; very interested. They were actually the first band on for the whole shooting match and rumours said that their modus operandi of mixing traditional dance tunes with heavy metal and sundry other melodies of popular acclaim was winning them friends and loads of warm approval. To the Dance Tent it was then. Live they really do as it says in the blurb, once the caller’s got everyone ready they deliver heavy duty rock chording, gritstone rhythms underlying a dancing flute and pumping squeezebox. This is metal ceilidh, Sheffield born, marginally less deranged than the tradcore of Glorystrokes. Going under assumed aliases like Judge Shredd, Robin of Rocksley, The Jenerator – you get the idea – Powerhouse wrap and warp jigs and reels whilst inserting the unusual, the Dr. Who theme, Boney M, Abba, Metallica and Iron Maiden. Yes they’re fun with a thundering capital F. More please.
You will dance! Got it? Powerhouse threaten heavy metal ceilidh.
By way of total contrast Cara Dillon entranced from the moment she set foot on the Severn stage. Strolling through Irish song she provided devastating versions of ‘Black Is The Colour’ and ‘Garden Valley,’ -the latter an unplanned item requested by a persistent fan – laughing she gave in and stunned us all with her warm vocal. The band including Sam Lakeman on keyboard and Ben Nicholls on bass were sympathetic and supportive of her voice, that of an angel, which could bring a whirling dervish to a dead stop. Somehow it was only right she finish with ‘The Parting Glass’ an atmospheric closing to an affecting performance.
As tributes go Nic Jones doesn’t have as many as say Abba or The Beatles but Sam Carter tips his hat in fine fashion. Bright, clear guitar picking and vocals which remind you that string of folk albums Jones cut in the 70s define the height of achievement for generation after generation. Warmly received Sam seemed to have a huge smile on his face through out, satisfaction no doubt in a job well done.
Speaking of the 70s, The Hunch a canny troop of Geordie veteran musicians including Hedgehog Pie piper Mick Doonan, entranced with a cheeky Tyneside version of Paul Simon’s ‘Boy In The Bubble’ as well as driving jigs and more than a touch of humour to raise the spirit as the rain became serious on Saturday. “It’s a bit like bullets at times isn’t it?” vocalist Bob Thomas smirked. Bouyed on keyboards, driven along by guitar and percussion, the mix of folk, rock, soul and whatever makes a musical cement which held together by wit and experience meant you could forget the weather, for an hour or so and just drift along with them.
Mick Doonan levitates with pipes. The Hunch mash up genres. Photo Harriet Jones.
Protest doesn’t come more personal than that of Newfoundland’s Kellie Loder. With a guitar and piano the songs told of the struggle to find yourself and be happy in your own identity and place in a world that still runs on stereo types. The vocals may have been gentle but underneath there was a steel which was highlighted by a number wherein conviction and a conversation with a younger doubt ridden soul spoke of a brighter tomorrow. “Are you in a comfortable place now?” I asked in an interview post gig. “I’m on the road towards it but I’m not quite there yet,” came the reply. Kellie Loder is all about stories whilst some are observational you are left in no doubt of their relevance and individual meaning to the performer. A set to be taken seriously, leave you thoughtful and yet light enough to lift your spirit. A rare talent.
Steve Knightley & The Winter Yards Band made the rain abate which was just as well since they were on the outside Severn stage, “cleared up just in time,” said a hooded kagoul standing behind me, the hood incidentally wasn’t lowered. Back on the stage Mr. Knightley was well in his stride delivering 21st century folk for thinking people. From trad over haul ‘Flora The Lily Of The West’ – “the ye olde equivalent of Tom Jones’ ‘Delilah’” remarked yer man and a very dark ‘Reynardine,’ to his own observant and very true, yet catchy song about Governments selling off vital State assets to the highest bidder. “Is There anything left in England To Sell?” Good question! David Delarre on electric guitar was a fizzing firework. Jon Parker’s bass anchored it all in reality, whilst Evan Carson provided a plethora of rhythmic backdrop. It was the best I’d seen Mr. Knightley for a long time. More power to him.
It was billed as an exclusive and the combination certainly seemed intriguing, the jigging snarl of Ferocious Dog along with The Celtic Folk Orchestra I had visions of rows of seated folksy instruments and musicians in suits under the control of a conductor’s baton. At least that’s what Horslips got when they meshed with The Ulster Orchestra and that worked splendidly, I refer you to the resulting CD for evidence.
How wrong can you be? There wasn’t a penguin suit in sight. There were however lots of comings and goings on stage in the gathering gloom which made people quite curious as to what would actually occur. What transpired was a mosh pit on and off stage with 700 mph folk punk powered even more than normal by the Orchestra’s extra fiddles, cello, wheezing squeezebox and multiple bodhrans. The Pogues at 78rpm, Ramones like a stream of right on philosophy, “1,2,3, diddle de dee.” There was much pogo dancing and general cavorting as they weaved in and out of each other which blurred Dog and Orchestra into one heaving mass. There were drinking songs, reels galore and much crazy hulaballoo. The overall effect was intoxicating. Musical bedlam but great to fling yourself around to. They delivered a thrash reading of ‘Matty Groves’ which ironically, lyric wise at least, stayed faithful to Fairport’s original moulding, the music was abandoned hurly burley. A brilliant way to conclude a Saturday.
Sunday is the sort of day that brings out the best in the British, you know the old ‘we’re here and we’re going to enjoy ourselves no matter what.’ It’s the kind of spirit that sees people sit in blustery conditions on the beach, on a blanket eating sandwiches and drinking tea from a hot thermos whilst a gale rages around them. Today the metrological predictions are not looking good. Frequent thundery showers most of them heavy down pours. Will it put people off attending the Folk Festival? Certainly not. From the range of clothing, footwear and equipment on display across the site, you’d have thought the crowd were preparing for a siege. All that was missing was a dinghy! Raincoats, macs, cagoules, waterproof jackets, ponchos, wellies, boots, trainers, flip flops – flip flops?- umbrellas, parasols, plastic sheeting, water proof bags, over trousers, dogs in wet weather coats, in push chairs with the hood up. Nothing would keep this crowd from the music. Their dedication was total.
The fun began with Adriano Adwale & Friends subtitled ‘Rooting & Rising.’ Amongst the chums on stage Nancy Kerr on fiddle, the ubiquitous Cohen Braithwaite Kilcoyne on melodeon. Backed by EFDSS they explored cross continental rhythms and melodies touching on the familiar and the exotic. The assembled hollered their appreciation for such a crusading project and the reception was well deserved representing the open minded/experimental approach of Shrewsbury.
Equally in pioneering her mission to bring West African roots and influences to attention across the wider world Natu Camara proved a compelling addition to the bill. With more energy than the National Grid she could have no doubt gone on singing, swaying and dancing for hours more. Her blend of traditional Guinea folk tunes with soul, rock and funk pushed the boundaries in splendid fashion blurring boundaries, finding new fusions. The guitar riffs were fluid, her lyrics full of come together intentions and heart-warming passion. Had she not informed me later that this was a band she’d rehearsed with briefly before the trip to Shrewsbury and none of them were her regular musicians, you’d swear they’d been playing together for years. Natu smiled and beamed all the way through urging all but the most- stubborn to their feet, despite the mud. You just couldn’t resist her personality. She’s a powerful new album due in 2027 and if this joyful set was anything to go by it’s potential dynamite.
Natu brings sunny vibes to sodden souls. Photo Shrewsbury Folk Festival.
Man The Lifeboats boast an inner London birth and kinship with bands like Skinny Lister. In other words using folk as a spring board for their own intelligent observant songs, which never shy away from the truth even if it’s shaming. They’re lively, bursting with vim and vigour, as well as pride when former Oyster Bander John Jones strode on to the stage to join them. Two fiddles and box at full volume the marquee nearly blew away. MTLB have much potential to fill the gritty, urban folk void which’s been lurking around this past year or so. The band are far cannier than they’d have you believe, underneath all the songs about carousing and getting into scrapes, lies an intelligent, thinking group, crafting a 21st century rock that blends easily into the folk influence. Their reputation can only spread wider.
Bluegrass quintet Thunder & Rain made jokes about how they’d end the drought, “we’ve brought the rain with us, after all you don’t want it too hot.” A brace of mountain hymns and back porch homilies enlivened by lively picking on banjo and soaring violin, their harmonies cloak around each number. There’s even a song about Wendigos – a kind of niche Bigfoot- which proved they may sound like down home girls but there’s more going on than you might think. Having made the prediction earlier appropriately an ensuing storm turned the late afternoon into a game of shelter and dodge the down pour. Vicious rain anyone?
Actually the site coped well, sure there was mud but this was no Glastonbury with individuals smeared with the stuff, no alcohol fuelled revellers, yes there was the normal variety of dance sides processing around between the showers and it was the first time I’d ever seen a Morris man dancing in wellingtons! Those who wanted to party made their way to the Dance tent as did I feet suitably encased in walking boots to catch the first of two sightings of Blowzabella. Obviously used to playing for such gatherings, it’d been several years since I’d last seen them, but it was clear from the very start that time hadn’t dimmed them one iota. The tunes tumbled from with grace and a relaxed groove, their blend of ancient and modern instrumentation was a delight, saxophones meshed with hurdy gurdies which hummed and whirred whilst pipes and shawms gave a medieval tinge to proceedings, the dance floor packed as it was, twirled and skipped in response to Jo Freya’s urging. They returned on Monday in a concert setting and those Euro tunes both traditional and self-composed, once again, bright and breezy were on offer, displaying what 40 years of togetherness produces. Special mention for Barnaby Stradling on bass anchoring the whole affair with ye olde funkiness, Andy Cutting’s melodeon pumping out the melodies at increasing speed. But this time it wasn’t all about waltzes and Breton circling, there were songs, standouts being ‘Bushes & Briars’ and the old Dr. Cosgill number – look them up folk aficionados- ‘The Topman & The Afterguard’ which showed vocalist Paul James had lost none of his dark folk rock credentials. We may be out of Europe but Europe runs deep in Blowzabella, they’re perfect ambassadors. Catch them if they’re anywhere near you, very sadly in 2028 they’ll be going their separate ways.
To cut a caper – “to frolic, dancing and leaping.” Collins Dictionary – on line. Cut Capers more than live up to that definition. They blast rap, soul with stabbing brass. “We’re a folk band” their leader tries to tell us. Yeah? Lots of up front, rhythm and blues with a cutting modernity. If Chic had been from Bristol, wedded The Commitments and had Sade as vocalist they might well have sounded like this. Then again at a push you could even find jazz in the mix. Find what you like, Cut Capers are cool and they’re the only band to dress in overalls perhaps a nod to Dexy’s fashion sense. Great stuff to shimmy and shake to but they aren’t a folk band despite what they say.
Which left just one act to close the festival. Andy Fairweather Lowe & The Low Riders opening with ‘Route 66’ took us on a personal tour of rock’n’blues. Lowe’s guitar playing is underestimated by many but known by those who matter – Roger Waters, Eric Clapton, Bill Wyman and George Harrison – to name a few. Smart suit, self-deprecating humour, subtle strumming coaxed from an acoustic guitar which looked like it had been in the wars and that one of a kind voice, all contributed to a set right in the groove. With Henry Spinetti on drums keeping things tight from knowing covers Dylan’s ‘Don’t Think Twice’ lots of gospel, blues and to cherry on the cake a louche ‘Wide Eyed & Legless.’ We drift away on a summer evening and sixty minutes flew by. Time to go home.
Afterthought. There is an undefinable something about Shrewsbury Folk Festival which you’re aware of through the build up to, during and lingers well after the event itself is over. Whilst I’m typing this I’m, aware of it. I can’t think of any angle on or type of roots music that this festival hasn’t put on. That’s quite a panorama of music. If you think about the history of the Folk Revival since the late 1950s that each facet that has occured, has been represented at Shrewsbury. I have neither the space or the inclination to go into detail but even if they’d only achieved a half of that it would still be worth celebrating. And Shrewsbury surely is worth celebrating. Within seven days of 2026’s event closing 2027 tickets went on sale. You surely know the best way to celebrate is to attend. Do yourself a favour and discover the unique atmosphere and appeal. Whatever the weather, come with critical facilities switched to open, be prepared to have a weekend of brilliant music and jump into the stream of eclectic entertainment. An addiction well worth acquiring.
www.shrewsburyfolkfestival.co.uk
