Thursday, February 14, 2013

It would be hypocritical to suddenly decide I was a huge fan of Fisherman’s Friends. They are probably better than, for example, the Brtistol Shantymen – but not a million pounds better. “Basically a quite good male voice choir” I said, which was actually a bit mean – they are always on my playlist of “folk music to play to people who think they wouldn't like folk music”. A whole evening of them involved rather more sea shanties than more people want or need, and could lead to an outbreak of double entendre fatigue. But I have very, very fond memories of their Sunday morning set on the main stage at Glastonbury ("the old man's novelty slot")  in front of a lot of enthusiastic early risers draped in St Piran’s Crosses. And I'll never, ever forget Fisherman's Friends joining Show of Hands on the last night of the first Bristol festival to sing the Cornish Anthem "Cousin Jack" (my fifth favourite song). I still think that was the single most magical moment I've experienced since I started going to live folk gigs.

Steve Knightley talks about songs being “refreshed” by events; something happens in the news and a song takes on a new, slightly different meaning. And man oh man, is it going to be hard to listen to that song about the whale ever again.

Trevor Grills Obituary - Guardian

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