I used to be festival goer when festivals were not the vast, heaving mass of chanting bodies they are now. They used to be smaller and more intimate. But last weekend I popped over to the nearby village of Linton where the annual blues festival was taking place over a weekend and listened to the great Maggie Bell (she must be my age and I’m not disclosing that piece of information) as well as other faces and voices from my past.
When I played in bands I gigged with the likes of Zoot Money (he wouldn’t know who I am now from Adam) and it’s great to see these guys (of both sexes) still thumping out the 12-bars. Maggie Bell’s voice is still as strong and raunchy as ever. She did a set with musicians who played with the Spencer Davis Group, Stone The Crows and the Big Roll Band. Top of the bill was the latest incarnation of that great, gritty band from Tyneside, The Animals. The original drummer John Steel was driving the band and on keyboards was the guy who must have replaced Alan Price. I didn’t catch (or couldn’t hear) the name of the Eric Burdon soundalike lead but he hammered out all the old favourites. ‘It’s My Life’, ‘Please Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood’ and ‘House Of The Rising Sun’.
There may not have been 12 bars serving beer but there were at least 12 real ales on offer. For anyone reading this in the US or Europe, real ales have become a bit like vins du pays in France – supposedly regional flavours brewed locally and having distinctive tastes. I know a bit about beer (I have done some consultancy work for a real ale brewery)and although it’s true that small breweries and micro breweries are producing their own distinctive ales, marketing has its part to play. I can’t prove it but I’m pretty sure the same ales are being re-labelled with new names and slogans like ‘Old Grumbleworzle’.
