Eliza Carthy... on morris dancing and the future of folk music

I was brought up in a singing household. Traditional music for me when I was growing up was very much the communication of stories, and my mum, passionate as she was, had very particular ideas. Chiefly that she saw no merit in instrumental music played at seated folk concerts. “What’s it for?”

Mam felt, as do some what you might call older-school folkies, that folk or traditional music fell into two categories: ballads and songs for telling stories, and instrumental music for dancing to. The Watersons may have started out as a skiffle group complete with banjo and guitar (and she herself played piano, guitar and concertina at various times in her life), but when they sang the Yorkshire songs they loved so much they used nothing but their voices and were responsible, with a few notable peers, for the hearty unaccompanied group harmony singing that many characterise as English trad.

A few years ago, a trend emerged in English instrumental trad called ‘chamber folk’. I must admit that, as a headbanger, I didn’t like it. Having been dedicated to jumping up and down to beats, and enlisting English virtuosos like Martin Green (Lau), who had grown up with fast Irish tunes and barrelhouse piano, into the tradition in the hope of ‘elevating’ our instrumentalists like the contra players I heard in America in my teens, the insularity and quiet disturbed me somewhat. I didn’t get it. Hearing about English Acoustic Collective camps that included baking bread and lying on the floor visualising just one note… It made the salty barmaid within me bristle; I won’t lie.

I am far more excited about what’s happening in morris right now. For the first time, the current makeup of all the morris dancers in the UK is majority female. Women have been flooding into the dance in recent years, as have young people, and it looks like the healthiest part of a folk scene that is still trying to find its feet post-Brexit and post-pandemic. Much like the community choir trend of a few years ago, this is not a commercial, saleable thing; it seems very much borne of a need to express something very fundamental, something ancient, spiritual and unifying.

Onto the recent Boss Morris album – here come the Mary Neal-honouring women (look her up, as they say, on the internet) – which features two-thirds of Leveret. Despite my misgivings around ‘chamber folk’, I love Leveret. I do not always follow my Mam, who loved many wonderful things! Please give yourselves the experience of Leveret, a listening pleasure, and the new Boss Morris. The latter is heavier, earthier, tethered to dancing feet. Recorded in a room with the moving bodies of the Boss Morris dancers, it’s a different thing entirely. When we play for dancers, it is not the same as internalising listening music; there is a rhythmic focus, you have to make different artistic decisions.

I wonder if dance, allied to a new virtuosity, will lead a new English revival. The earth and weight applied to the three virtuosos on the Boss Morris album – Sam Sweeney, Miranda Rutter and Rob Harbron – balances out the airiness. I love the exploration and hope that the whiff of excellence will not be confused with the idea of inauthenticity in the future. Why would it be? My father always railed against the awful idea that tradition carriers were stupid just because they couldn’t read music; of course they weren’t.

The idea that dance could lead a new virtuosity is not new. John Kirkpatrick & Ashley Hutchings’ Morris On albums inspired generations: ‘Valentine’ on Boss Morris represents a traditional tune [also known as ‘The Gallant Hussar’, under which name it was recorded on 1976’s Son of Morris On] given a beautiful new sheen. Generations have learned how to play the morris because of the Morris
On albums, and a great deal of them have had no interest in being commercial musicians.

Sam Sweeney: “I like to think in terms of musical competency, or perhaps fluency in the language of music. True fluency in folk music isn’t about showiness; it’s about instinct, immersion, and a deep understanding of the tunes themselves. Some people will undoubtedly criticise the Boss Morris album as being virtuosic, somehow inauthentic or too clever. In reality, it’s the sound of three musicians playing some tunes from a tradition they have a great love and respect for in exactly the way they want to. There is no pretence; it’s not trying to prove anything. Isn’t it a sad thing that the album might be automatically discounted by some just because some of the tunes are in Bb, Eb or F instead of D or G? We’ve explored different fiddle tunings; it’s (hopefully!) played in tune with the best tone we can make. We’re really enjoying exploring where the tunes can go rhythmically and harmonically… I could go on.”

I hope he does.