Festival time again

Have you ever pulled the wool over a nun’s eyes?
I had a once in a lifetime opportunity to do it when I was 16.
My parents lived on the other side of the world. A three-day plane journey with stopovers in Copenhagen and Singapore. A two-week delay on letters – even the flimsy blue airmail ones.
My sisters and I were at a convent boarding school in Matlock. Miserable most of the time, we were homesick for our old lives in Manchester, travel sick whenever we went abroad, and desperate for friends who might invite you to stay for the short school holidays in between.
It was a small school by any standards. Academically challenged, the nuns were survivors in a hostile world. The 1960s weren’t kind to nuns more at home with the Ireland of the Magdalene laundries than the revolutions of the swinging sixties in England. They were half-heartedly repressive, often cruel and occasionally unexpectedly kind.
As pupils we survived with black humour and a certain amount of fantasy. Letters, especially from boys, were a lifeline.
Cockroaches in the bread and marge, constant gnawing hunger, rationed baths and hair washes, mass, benediction, night prayers, confiscated underwear, infrequent laundry collections. Hormones, period pains and body odour. It’s hard to believe that parents paid for this style of neglect. No Ofsted inspections. Our joke was that the legend ‘recognised by the Department of Education’ on the sign referred to an inspector passing by and saying ‘that’s a dreadful school’.
To our amazement we were told we could take part in the Bronze Duke of Edinburgh award scheme. The level of freedom and initiative this opportunity suggested was against all the previous practice and management of the school.
My best friend in Lower 6 was a doctor’s daughter from Derby. Her father became a papal knight, which gives you some idea of the calibre of Catholic family she came from.
We chose folk music as our special interest and skill. Ironically our favourite performance song was Peter Paul and Mary’s ‘Leaving on a jet plane’.
We discovered that the Bath Festival was to be held in June 1970. The line up was a dream for anyone into American rock music – most definitely not a folk line up. This was a year after Woodstock. There was no understanding or experience of what a music festival might be, even for those of us desperate to go.
We told the nuns it was essential for our Duke of Edinburgh award. We were given an extra long weekend off school. My parents’ were never asked for permission, though my friend’s must have given theirs. Her older sister, a former pupil, lived outside Bath. We must have got tickets from somewhere. We travelled by train. Her brother in law attempted to drive us to the site, but had to leave us to walk the last eight miles along a solid traffic jam. I don’t remember having money. We certainly didn’t have food, water, a tent, sleeping bags. Websites tell me there were 150,000 there. One of the first people I met on the road was my boyfriend from Manchester. We then met with an old school friend. She was a smoker, which came in useful later. It rained in true festival style and plastic sheets were handed out. She welded them together with her cigarette to form a shelter for us.
The line up was incredible. Jefferson Airplane,The Byrds, Country Joe, Pink Floyd, Its a Beautiful Day, Canned Heat, Frank Zappa, Led Zeppelin, Santana, Dr John, Fairport Convention and more.
I have no recollection of the toilets.
I had a Nigerian blanket with a hole in the centre that I wore as a poncho. I still have it.
On the final morning we were down in front of the stage as the dawn came up listening to the Byrds – that’s Byrds with a Y.
There were no screens or other stages – I know I must have seen everyone on the line up. I didn't sleep and I didn't leave the site.
We hitched back to her sister’s house, had cold baths and got the train back to Matlock.
The nuns told us they had seen footage on the television news.
There were never any repercussions. We never completed our bronze award.
Sometimes I think “Did it really happen’?
I found my ticket in an old box of mementoes a couple of weeks ago, and i still have a flyer.

This is the festival that inspired Michael Eavis to set up the Glastonbury Festival.

Shower the people you love with love

Tonight there's a party going on in my house. It's my oldest son's 25th birthday weekend, and he has invited some of his friends from Sheffield out to the Peak District for a bit of a do - good food, good company, interesting cocktails and a lot of hilarity.
This morning I thought I might be on Radio 4's Saturday Live - I'd been phoned up during the week to say that they had Christy Moore on, and they thought there could be a story telling theme my piece would fit in with. It didn't happen , but I was keen to listen to Christy Moore - one of our family favourites.
I saw him at Sheffield's City Hall back in the early nineties. He made a joke about it being further to cross the stage at the City Hall than it was to walk from the station to the folk club venue when he'd first played Sheffield.
Rob Brydon was on talking about his inheritance tracks too -James Taylor featured, and he talked about indoctrinating his children, playing James Taylor's music in the home, the car, wherever - and would those songs become their inheritance tracks. Christy Moore played a similar role in my children's lives - Reel in the Flickering Light and Lisdoonvarna are still listened to with nostalgia and affection. I was just thinking about this when Christy struck up Lisdoonvarna live in the studio.
I saw James Taylor three times in quick succession - around the time of October Road. My wonderful friend Joyce was an even bigger fan than I was, and we saw that he was on at Bridgewater Hall. Tickets had been sold out for weeks, and spontaneous trips to Manchester were almost impossible for me with young children. But we phoned up the box office on the day of the concert, just in case - and got two tickets.It was an amazing concert - we were on a balcony over the stage, we could see the set list, a piece of A3 paper taped to the floor, scrawled with a big felt tip pen. We were so thrilled with ourselves at how lucky we had been.
We were on a roll, and saw him a couple more times, possibly on the same long tour.
Five years later Joyce died of a brain tumour, a terrible loss to me and my children. She had time to plan her humanist funeral, and I knew she'd choose a James Taylor song. You've got a Friend was one of our anthems - she'd been an amazing friend to me, helping me through difficult days of single parenthood. She'd helped me type up my MA dissertation. She was honest and true.It was even because of Joyce that I made an appearance on the Antiques Roadshow!
The funeral service was full of all those who had loved her - and she was a woman who was loved by everyone who got to know her. I was trying to be strong. Her death was a release for her. And then Shower the People You Love with Love was played.
Today is my Sweet Baby James' 25th birthday party.

Running up that Hill

Kate Bush was on the television the other night - I have to admit I wasn't sure about her at first, back in the day. I had a friend in the music business who told me about her - nowadays it's hard to imagine a record company committing to a young artist's development in that way, just leaving her to grow for a couple of years. I missed her tour, and I don't think I know anyone who went. But the programme sent me to the i tunes library to find Running up that Hill, and I realised what an amazing piece of music it is to dance to.
When I was younger, in the late sixties/early seventies, I was part of a dance troupe in Manchester, run by a wizard of the early computer age called Allan Prior. He was older than us - other members included Juliet Begley and John Flanagan. If you look at the Manchesterbeat website for the Magic Village you will pick up other people's memories of this time. It's not quite true to say if you can remember it you can't have been there! Some of us were living our lives with very heightened awareness, experiencing events that have become part of our souls. As a hippy dance troupe we were welcomed at every venue in Manchester where there was space to dance. Audiences, mostly male, tended to sit on the floor, cross legged, shaking their long hair, listening intently with eyes closed. We spiralled and sparkled around them in ever more intricate patterns, interpreting the music for them. In this way I saw everyone from Curved Air to Wings and more. We never had to buy a ticket, or pay to get in. Amazing.
I had learnt to dance at youth clubs where DJs played records associated with the Twisted Wheel - all very soulful - more Stax than Motown, and I still love dancing to that kind of music - but for a bit of shamanic self expression, I find the old hippy crazy diamond dancer is still there, just waiting to be asked.
Running up that Hill and Holgar Czukay's Persian Love have been working for me for the last couple of days. I'd love to set up a dance event for those who still love an idiot dance.

Reasons to be Cheerful

Following on from the last post, I had a couple more suggestions via Facebook, which set me off again, thinking of songs to accompany heartbreak and aid recovery.
I'm not including anything that I haven't seen performed live by the named artist. I appreciate that so many lyrics describe love lost and found, and maybe some of you out there have your own anthems and favourites for days like these.
Again, in no particular order
Led Zeppelin - Whole Lotta Love
Drive in Rock and the Rockettes - Stupid Cupid ( Cathy singing like Brenda Lee!)
Smokey Robinson - Tracks of my Tears
Jackson Browne - Fountains of Sorrow/ The Pretender/ These Days and of course Take it Easy
Joan Baez - Love is just a four letter word ( haven't ever seen Dylan do it)
Ian Dury and the Blockheads - Reasons to be Cheerful - just to remind myself what life is really about!

What Becomes of the Broken Hearted

Didn't expect to find myself here ever again. In the past I have used live music as a way of mending a broken heart, and I'm sure it will work again. It's something to do with the energy and creativity - in fact it's about using soul to mend a heart, whatever the style of music.
In the absence of any tickets booked, I started to think back over live performances I've seen that will help me through. Some are sad, and feed the melancholy - others take you right out of it.
In no particular order -
Little Feat - Long Distance Love
Curtis Mayfield - Move on Up
Joan Baez - Diamonds and Rust
Smokey Robinson - Tears of a Clown
Beach Boys - God Only Knows
Kinks - You Really Got me
Candi Staton - You Got the Love & Young Hearts Run Free
James Taylor - You got a Friend & Fire and Rain
Captain Beefheart - My Head is my only House
Patti Smith - Because the Night
Van Morrison - Someone like you
Sufjan Stephens - Impossible Dream
and last for now
Country Joe and the Fish - Here I Go Again
Not exhaustive, just off the top of my aching head. Remembering them feels quite therapeutic.

Doncaster's own

Back in 1990 I moved to Sheffield with a husband and two young children. We lived a seven minute car journey from the city centre ( I timed it door to door to the City Hall), in a green and leafy suburb. I had been nervous of moving back to a city from the wilds of West Yorkshire. There was a good reason for the move though - I wanted my children to have the experience of a Steiner education. It turned out to be a great decision. Sheffield was emerging from one of its lows. The Student Games were being held there. There was world music at every turn, a thriving folk scene, the Leadmill and of course the fantastic City Hall venue. All of this could have been a source of great frustration if we hadn't moved on to the most amazing avenue in Nether Edge.A cul de sac with a huge shared green in the middle and 75 children under 16 living there. Babysitters were legion, though we were all particularly fond of the sisters who lived next door. At the drop of a hat we could decide to go to a concert at very short notice. I saw Alan Stivell,the legendary Breton harpist at the Leadmill on the spur of the moment one Sunday night in this way. But the best last minute on a Sunday concert was when I spotted that John McLaughlin was playing the City Hall one summer Sunday evening. The Hall was half empty, but the audience made up for it with their enthusiasm. His voice had a hint of South Yorkshire still, and it was very much a home coming for him. His band were incredible. I especially remember the percussionist, and then his partner, Katia Labecque came and joined him on stage.
At a fabulous and extraordinary meeting of the Bakewell Vinyl Club last Sunday night (thanks Keith and Sue!) we played some John McLaughlin and I was reminded of that long ago summer Sunday night.

Rhythm of the Saint

I have just watched a Paul Simon concert on BBC4,filmed last June in the States. I realised that it's about twenty years ago that I saw him live. The Arena in Sheffield opened as a new concert venue in about 1991. The first artist to play there was Paul Simon, with one of the best bands I have ever seen live. He had already enjoyed renewed success with Graceland, but I had fallen in love with Rhythm of the Saints and its Brazilian influences. I first came across Milton Nascimento on that album, and I had a little fantasy that he might be a surprise guest on that tour. Sadly he wasn't, but the musicians on stage that night made up for any disappointment I felt. We were about ten rows back from the front, and the atmosphere was wonderful.
Paul Simon seemed old twenty years ago ! - no offence meant, but I had grown up with his music from childhood. To see him tonight, in the film of last year's concert, he didn't seemed to have lost anything in those years - in fact he had gained another amazing group of musicians, and a whole new generation in the audience.
Back in Sheffield all those years ago, the Arena was brand new, and the security people were taking their role a little too seriously.
We were probably a well behaved audience too, watching an old musical hero in unfamiliar arena surroundings. As the band struck up 'Call me Al', Paul Simon encouraged us to 'dance for the Arena'. I guess he knew his was the first concert to be held there. We needed no further encouragement. Everyone got to their feet.
I went to other concerts at the Arena over the next few years, Dire Straits. Eric Clapton, Bob Dylan and Van the man. I came to dislike it as a venue. I couldn't see the point of going to a live concert where you relied on cameras and screens to see the musicians.
My love affair with Brazilian music was influenced by Paul Simon and I have him to thank for that.
We went to the concert with our Sheffield neighbours. Alan had once given Art Garfunkel a lift when he came across him hitching on the outskirts of Sheffied, and my then husband had missed the chance to jam with Paul Simon at a folk club on the outskirts of Liverpool back in the early sixties, because he was 'washing his hair'! Happy days!