FOLK FESTIVAL!

It's a sunny showery Shetland Sunday, and the tanker "Petroatlantic", which has been at anchor in the bay of Quarff for the last few days, has just slipped her mooring and is slowly making her way out to sea, no doubt to load a cargo of crude from the oilfields west of the islands.

And no doubt there will be a few sore heads around the islands this morning, as Shetland Folk Festival enters its fourth and final day (final if you disclude the Final Fling tomorrow night, which is for invitees only). For the first time in more than a quarter of a century, I have not been involved in it at all. Perhaps I'm getting too old for this energetic event - I don't know. I just seem to have lost interest in it. Don't get me wrong - I still think it's a wonderful thing for the islands, but, for me, it has somehow lost its appeal. It has changed (some would say evolved) over the years, partly due to extraneous forces, partly because of the input of subsequent committes of organisers, and partly because of other factors.

The smoking ban was a killer blow for me, as it has been for other social events. A folk festival held in a clinically sanitised environment seems like an atmospheric oxymoron. The system of running the Festival Club changed in other ways too. They ceased to have free concerts in the main club-room about ten years ago, and this was really what made my club membership worthwhile having. They had a mix of local acts and one or two visiting artists at these events, and I enjoyed these to the full. And the Final Fling concert itself has been later and later starting. It used to get going with the raffle draw at about 8.30 rather than the 10.30 kick-off which now seems the norm (possibly due to a later licence). The final blow for me came last year, when they ceased the "tradition" of the real ale bar being brought up and run by people from the mainland, all folk enthusiasts themselves. The person in charge was usually the allocated guest for accommodation at my flat, which is situated right across the road from the club. Over the years, the bar staff became my friends, and I looked forward to meeting them year after year. Last year the local manufacturer of real ale took over the bar facility, and Bill Morris, from Glasgow, and his colleagues, became surplus to requirements and consequently history.

Another reason has been my encroaching disability. About three years ago, my right knee began to give serious problems, and soon I was unable to walk more than a hundred yards without collapsing in severe pain. Looking back on this time, I don't know how the heck I managed. I live in a second-floor flat, and I could only descend my stairs on my backside, having launched myself from a chair at the top! Just over eighteen months ago, I had an operation on my knee, which restored my mobility to a degree, but not to the extent that I can participate fully in social events - I have become something of a hermit. Up until last year, however, I always made my spare bedroom available for a Folk Festival guest. This year, however, the event has gone ahead without me - somehow I don't think I'll be missed!

My love of folk music goes back to the late 1960s and the early days of the "revival". Bob Dylan and Joan Baez were developing their music in the US, and following closely in their wake were Judy Collins, Joni Mitchell and a name that has been largely forgotten, it seems, but who had the most remarkable voice of them all, Carolyn Hester. On this side of the Atlantic, Martin Carthy (still going strong as far as I know) had teamed up with Dave Swarbrick, formerly of the Ian Campbell Folk Group, and I attended one of their concerts at Aberdeen's Music Hall in 1967. If I hadn't been "hooked" before, I was played, netted and landed after that. The Humblebums (Billy Connolly's Group) also made an appearance at the venue around then, as did the McCalmans (still with Hamish Bain in the line-up) and a little-known female traditional singer/guitarist called Barbara Dickson. My own favourite genre was the singer/guitarist, with the instrument being properly finger-picked by such people as Carthy, Ralph McTell, Bert Jansch and John Renbourn. Their sweet and economic expertise was such that I actually took up guitar-playing in a classical style some years later. I didn't persevere, and I will never perform - I would much rather listen to people who CAN play - but I know that acts appearing at the Shetland festival have influenced many people here to play, and some of the best musicians in the folk idiom now hail from these islands. Power to their elbows, fingers, mouths and vocal cords, I say! I hope they've had a brilliant weekend.