Geoff Lakeman: folk patriarch and newspaper man

I'm sure he doesn't remember, but I met Geoff Lakeman - father of Sean, Sam and Seth - when I was a trainee reporter working out of the Bodmin office of the Western Morning News. There had been a huge drugs bust - some entrepreneurial soul had been growing acres of marijuana in poly-tunnels somewhere near Padstow - and the police were so proud of themselves that somewhat against the grain they'd invited us all down to have a look - and a sniff (it was powerful strong-smelling stuff, my lover). Geoff, the Daily Mirror's westcountry reporter, was working out of the back of his car using one of those enormous mobile telephones that resembled a brick. This was still practically science fiction in 1996 and left an ineradicable impression on my young mind.

"I was made redundant about eight years ago," he says on the telephone from his Dartmoor home, sounding genuinely like a man with no outstanding issues relating to that event. "They paid me to go away after 28 years on staff, which I wasn't complaining about, and then continued to pay me for another seven years while I freelanced for them. Stupid isn't it? After the Maxwell robbery the unions and company had to pursue about 40 different civil court cases around the world and got back about half of the missing £800 million that he half-inched. My pension, I'm relieved to say, is intact... for now."

Lakeman has led an enviable double life. As well as holding down a high-pressure full-time job on a national newspaper, he has also been a folk musician and is these days the patriarch of something akin to a musical dynasty. His three sons and their extended family are a mini Who's Who of the folk world: Seth has been nominated for a Mercury award, Sam is married to Cara Dillon, Sean to Kathryn Roberts, Kathryn's brother Jamie was up against her for a folk award this year... The list goes on. "In fact, the only member of the family who doesn't sing or play is Hannah, Seth's wife. She's a nurse," he said.

It's astonishing to me that that Geoff has had the time and energy to do both things - journalism and music - as his chosen trade is notoriously demanding all on its own. I remember whispers of his alternative existence among my colleagues at the WMN, which gave him something like local hero status in the office.

"But I don't think many people on the folk scene knew I was a journalist, even when I was on the Telegraph," he ruminated. There must have been some clashes between his two worlds, though? "Horrendous. Joy and I would be doing evening gigs, when I had already done a full day's work, and I would be paged. I'd have to rush off stage at half time, call the coastguards and police about some dramatic rescue happening 100 miles off Land's End, file the story by phone to a copytaker and then go back on stage to perform the second half.

"My worst experience was doing a lovely set at Dartmoor folk festival - in the middle of nowhere, where there was no pager signal (this was pre-mobiles). We started driving home in a leisurely fashion, only to be contacted by the office to say that Simon le Bon and his crew were upside down in their yacht after capsizing somewhere off the Cornish coast. So I drove like a maniac straight to west Cornwall to chase le Bon, who had been rescued by this time, only to have him, his wife and crew members promptly jump out of a hotel window to avoid me! Never liked his music anyway - although I used to play folk with his auntie in Cheddar. Christ... this is a load of old piffle, isn't it? God knows what you, or the rest of the world, will make of it."

Maybe go back to the beginning?

"I'm a Cornishman," he explained. "I was born in Penzance and brought up in Newlyn. I left school at 16 and became a cub reporter but grew up to the sound of male voice choirs. My mum went to school with Brenda Wootton and I used to take her daughter out.

"I eventually moved away and got a job at a news agency near Heathrow airport and then moved on to the Press Association, on Fleet Street. It was while I was there that Joy and I married - she was a teacher then. We got involved with the Herga folk club in Harrow, organising and playing, and there was this period when I was going off for PA for a month at a time, dodging bombs and bullets in Northern Ireland during the worst of the Troubles. Then I would come home and help out with the folk club: we'd be putting up Martin Carthy,  Dave Swarbrick... Peggy Seeger was sometimes around. So I had this strange double life.

"When I left PA I helped start LBC and was one of the first two independent radio reporters. I took a young Jon Snow on his first trip out of the office and eventually introduced him to some musicians in Northern Ireland. My time in Ireland meant that when Sam married Cara Dillon I already had all these Irish music connections lurking around in my past... It was the Telegraph that said would I come back down to the Westcountry?

"So we moved to Bristol, where we became regular players at several clubs in the city. And I'd been at the Telegraph for three years when I was poached by the Mirror."

Nice.

"We moved to Devon - to the village where we are now - and I just stayed with the Mirror. As soon as we arrived, various clubs were giving us bookings and in particular there was a Plymouth club called The Navy which was really good. Floor singers would have to book two weeks in advance if they wanted to get a slot. At that point Joy and I started having children."

Right. The kids.

"The three of them definitely chose their own instruments. Joy is a very talented violinist and probably that propelled Seth towards the fiddle. Sean definitely wanted to play guitar and then Sam took up the keyboards. Joy taught Seth the rudiments and then sent him to a teacher as he got a bit older. But we were still running folk clubs at that stage, so once a week we'd come home - even during their holidays and half terms - with musicians. So the boys were used to being around The Oyster Band, Peter Bellamy, Tom McConnville and Chris Newman. They were learning their instruments but also learning how to be musicians by a process of osmosis.

"We had a family band..."

With a hint of impishness, he's provided this picture of The Lakeman Family Band, taken during a performance at the Who'd Have Thought It folk club in Milton Coombe in about 1990. 

This would make Sean, right, about 14, Sam, left, 12, and Seth, in the middle, 10 or 11. Ain't parents grand? That's Joy with the fiddle and Geoff at the back with the squeezebox: not that there's any mistaking who the daddy is in this picture. Uncanny resemblance, eh?

"Once we went on holiday with Chris Newman," Geoff continued. "I still think he's one of the best six-string guitarists in the country. Anyway, we would all go busking together on this holiday in France, so the boys were picking up some stuff that would be useful. Plus we used to make quite a bit of money...

"Then when they got to their early teens they started performing together as The Lakeman Brothers and at that stage we just let them have their own musical lives. Joy and I went on holiday without them once - we left Sean in charge because he was old enough - and when we came back they'd used this little recording studio we had in the house and made their first CD together, which was called Three Piece Suite.  

"I'd imagine it's a bit of a collectors' item now as it had all their own original music on there. They'd got Kathryn Roberts in to do some vocals but it was mainly instrumental. Seth wasn't singing at that time."

 

We had a brief discussion about whether it would be possible to upload some of the CD, which Geoff has a copy of at home, to Soundcloud so I could put a link on here. But the upshot was that the copyright of their early music is complicated these days and uploading it may make a rod for someone's back. Anyone know whether Three Piece Suite is available for listening to on the net?

"The CD got played on the radio and attracted some good reviews, enough to get them some slots at festivals. Then they met Kate Rusby and it all went a bit bonkers for a few years when they formed Equation. The rest is history, more or less."

 

He was off in a minute to play at the wake of someone he'd known as Dave the Heckler, he said, at the request of the guy's family. "Seth and Sean, who live in the next village along, have just flown off to Australia to play festivals for a month and I'm looking forward to playing a gig on Saturday at the Peter Tavy village hall nearby with Speakeasy, an old-timey jazz band I'm in."

 

I asked about the move between the Telegraph and the Daily Mirror all those years ago, provoking a profession of greater comfort at the left-wing paper. "I've always been a socialist and the Telegraph at that time was an arch Tory paper - these days it's just full of the crowd from the Daily Mail, isn't it? It was very much 'And will Mr Lakeman be writing today?' when I was there."

In fact, what I'd been wondering about was the difference between writing for a broadsheet and a tabloid? "The thing I was most grateful for after the move to the Mirror was that it didn't half hone my writing style. I became a far better writer, having to precis stuff down."

And what's he been making of the Leveson inquiry? Some of my thoughts are set out here.

"I've had the luxury of sitting through some of it in real time on TV and it seems to have got bogged down now with a whole load of irrelevant stuff... The money that changed hands: that was shocking. It's tempting to think that I'm being naive about it all - but then again I wouldn't have survived at the Mirror as long as I did if I were. But I had no knowledge of that kind of dirty dealing during the course of my life in journalism. 

"Phone hacking? I didn't have to. I was best friends with the chief superintendent of the local police force. When you went out on a job you banged on doors and within ten minutes people would tell you who you needed to speak to. I didn't have to go around hacking phones because if you have your contacts you can find out what you need to know. 

"I don't think many people I know could have been involved. I mean, you can't work for 48 years in journalism and be naive." This thought clearly haunts him. "And yet some of these things I have found shocking. I was disgusted by the venality and the sheer laziness of it all. 'I can't be bothered to get off my arse and talk to people, so I'll sit here and hack phones and eavesdrop instead.'" There was revulsion in his voice. 

"They've tried to smear and besmirch the Mirror, haven't they?" Well, I replied, Piers Morgan has certainly drawn attention to the paper by boasting, weirdly, how much he knew about phone hacking. "But they haven't come up with the stuff, have they? I don't see exactly why everyone else has been tarred with the same brush as News International. I'm almost glad to be out of it. I mean, I've had a fantastic career but it's moved on in such a way that I'm just glad I'm out of it now. I can immerse myself in music without worrying about having to make a living.

"Oh look!" he said suddenly. "Nic Jones is walking past the window." Jones lives in the same village as Geoff and Joy and I got the sense that Geoff was waving at him through the window. "I taught him to play the spoons, you know, but he's yet to do that at any of his gigs. I take him to the folk club in Bodmin, and to Totnes and Liskeard. He loves going and people love to see him. I call him 'The Nick Drake who didn't die'. "

Righto. I expect he loves that, does he?

"If Nic hadn't had his accident I think he would have just gone off like Richard Thompson and Ry Cooder: wouldn't have stuck with the folk so much. He's a big Radiohead fan, which tells you a lot about the kind of music he likes."

Trust a newspaper man to change the subject. I'm reminded nonetheless of an interview I did with Kathryn Roberts at the Bristol festival a couple of years ago during which she described her husband Sean's great strength as his ability to be supportive of others, musically and otherwise, something that impressed me more the longer I thought about it. I wonder now whether he gets it from his dad? Geoff Lakeman certainly appears to have done something right.

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Karine Polwart: 'I'm more Deadwood than Disney'

Karine Polwart was between sets at the Shrewsbury festival - one on each main stage. She'd dramatically underestimated the number of people who wanted copies of her new CD signed, so she was running late, and the couple who were last in the queue were warming up for a domestic incident. The husband was telling his wife that she was useless in front of the famous singer with whom they'd both like their picture taken, and the wife, unsurprisingly, was getting upset.

She wasn't the only one. It was a bit stressful.

So Polwart was a trouper for picking up two plastic chairs and setting them down behind the signing tent, where fewer people would spot her, for a brief chat.

Her song Sorry (above) really reminds me of something from the American TV series Deadwood (below), I told her.

"That is so weird. I was obsessed with Deadwood." I suddenly had her full attention. "Being a musician I can never watch anything on a weekly basis because I'm always out working. So there's an underground trade in HBO box sets on the Scottish folk scene and that one was on my mind for months. At the moment it's Borgen and The Killing."

And we're off... So it seems that Scottish female singers are having a bit of a Disney moment, what with Julie Fowlis doing all that work on Brave, and Cara Dillon writing a song for Disney World as well as doing the narration for Tinkerbell. With a cast of mind that appreciates the operatic levels of bloodshed, betrayal and alienation in Deadwood, could Polwart ever see herself doing Disney?

"Well, I think it was a bolt from the blue for Julie. It's the kind of phone call we all dream about getting. But both Cara and Julie have bell-like voices. They have the kind of voices that, if you were to think about folk and you didn't have a notion of what was about, you might think of beautiful voices like theirs. Mine is a bit too screechy - it doesn't have the same cut-glass quality. And they come from a different tradition from me. They are both a part of the Gallic or Gaelic song tradition and use their voices in a completely different way.

"Julie Fowlis is a tremendous musician - she has a degree in cultural studies and musicology. And, let's face it, there are only so many ways that a folk singer is likely to be given an opportunity like that. It's a massive opportunity. It's every songwriter's dream to have a song of theirs used in a film or on TV because it puts you before an audience you wouldn't ordinarily have and allows you to transcend your genre.

"One of mine - Cover Your Eyes - was on a television documentary recently called You've Been Trumped, which was about Donald Trump and the golf course, and Sigur Ros were on the soundtrack as well. So that was good.

"But I've written an album of songs about child murder, so I'm probably not the right person for Disney."

Um, why did you do that?

"I have two little kids and it's my worst nightmare. And I write from a place where everything has to matter to me. So I'd probably be a rubbish person to write something to a specification for someone else. I'm not sure I could write in the abstract."

But surely writing something to a specification isn't writing in the abstract?

"I have friends who write songs for Nashville. What I mean is that I can only write music for myself. However... I worked on the Darwin Song Project a while back and the one that I kept was the one that meant the most to me, which was We're All Leaving (below). That's another one about child death."

Yes. I can see a pattern developing here.

"I'd just had one baby and I think I was pregnant again... I write about the risks that are most relevant to me at the time."

So do you ever write political songs?

"Sorry would probably be the closest to a political song that I've written. I've never explained to anyone what that's about, which was an accident to start off with. But then I really liked the responses that I got to it. People would interpret it and the interpretations were more interesting than my original idea..."

She's clearly really enjoyed seeing the song take on a life of its own, so much so that she was pretty reluctant to say where the original thought came from. 'Sorry' won't pay for this loss, the lyric runs.

"It was of a time when there was a lot of George Bush  and Tony Blair and the Iraq War in the air. That may have been what kicked it off. But I like that the song is a bit enigmatic. That's my choice when I write about political issues: I like to make other people do the work.

"I studied philosophy and for a long time I was all about community-based philosophy, which would be going on in schools and pubs. That was what I wanted to do with my life - but no one wanted to fund it. And yet I feel that is what I do with my life, oddly. There's work to be done making these things - the things we habitually talk about - meaningful.

"Don't get me wrong. It's not that I find talking about politics boring. I find it fascinating. I just don't think it's my job to deliver a lecture. I don't like preaching to people."

She's actively involved with the Green Party in Scotland, which she says is in favour of independence at the moment. "And I'm swaying to a yes on it too, though it's about having more power residing locally for me. I'm not a nationalist."

Local for her is Pathhead in Midlothian. "There are sixteen professional musicians in a village of only 900, including Martin Green from Lau. We've got folk, jazz and experimental musicians - Inga," who plays in Polwart's band, wearing the headscarf to cover alopecia, "Inga lives in Pathhead too. There is a session on a Thursday night in the Foresters' Arms on the main street and we have fiddles, box players and a pipemaker who plays in a band with some Indian musicians," which sounds as if it would be worth seeking out if one were touring Scotland by car, for instance.

So does Polwart dance?

"Oh. What a question. Dancing makes me very uncomfortable - unless it's ceilidh dancing of course, in which case it's genetic and everyone does it. But I'm not one for dancing in clubs, no."

And what's she listening to these days?

"If I'm listening and really listening, my favourite at the moment is Anais Mitchell. Her new album is mighty, just mighty. I love it. And then there's Laura Veirs, who trained to be a scientist of some kind - was it meteorology? - before turning to music, and so all of her images are science-based images and they're just absurdly beautiful.

"And, of course, I have two small children - a five-year-old son and a two-year-old daughter," with her sound engineer partner, "so there are lots of counting songs. And I like Gillian Welch."

This leads to a discussion about Louise Mensch, the former Conservative MP who's husband, Peter Mensch, manages Welch (as well as Metallica). "I liked Louise Mensch. I'm sorry to see her leave parliament," said Polwart. "She's articulate and she didn't mince around with her words. I was enjoying seeing a woman in public life - on the culture committee, wasn't it? - who spoke her mind even if I didn't always agree with her."

Me too. So what's next?

"I really need a project. I like being asked to do things and at the moment I really need a project for when I've finished touring with this album. I'm thinking that it might be time to focus some of my energy much closer to home musically than I have been doing. When I got into music it was through the community in my village - I was in a band as one of about eight singers. And I have a strong sense of obligation. There is a bank of young ladies in Pathhead of 11 or 12 years old who would go for it, if we set something up. It seems only right in a village full of musicians."

And with the admission that I'd come to the end of my line of questioning, Polwart sprang to her feet and, whirling a plastic chair over head, was gone in a trice leaving only a few pages of my notebook blowing in her wake.

* You can buy a copy of Karine Polwart's new album, Traces, here.

* And here are a couple of other posts from Shrewsbury. Firstly, this and this about the webstreaming, which is continuing now the festival's over, on a requests basis. And this about a young band called Blue Horyzon, who were busking there.

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Cara Dillon is an elf

I am aware that the balance of probabilities is very much against the existence of elves. After last week's detour onto Game of Thrones territory, I thought I should say that for the record. But if elves existed - I'm just saying if - they would look and sound very much like Cara Dillon, as demonstrated with as much force as one of the fairy folk could muster on Thursday night at Cecil Sharp House. As evidence I submit the following.

Firstly, she was able to sing almost exactly like this...

... despite having tonsilitis, which is surely evidence of magical powers.

Secondly she had one of those Lakeman boys in tow, one I hadn't previously been aware of called Sam, brother to Seth and Sean.

I have chosen to regard this as a small miracle - evidence perhaps of the abundance of the universe - and am very much hoping that there may be even even more of them to go around than the three I've seen with my own eyes. Perhaps one called Saul, who would be willing to perform marginally useful tasks around The Glamour Cave while singing and playing a guitar?

And thirdly - this is the killer - I'm not the first person to have spotted this. Those clever people over at Disney got there first, and let's face it: they know a thing or two about fairy folk. Not only did they induce Dillon to speak up for her kind two years ago by narrating Tinkerbell 3 and composing a lullaby for it, but they recently capitalised on their discovery by summoning her again, this time to sprinkle a little fairy dust over Disneyland Paris. For the next twelve months a song written by Dillon will be playing twice daily during its "night time spectacular, Disney Dreams", which should keep the entire Dillon/Lakeman hoard in guitar strings and little pointy hats for a while.

It was a great gig, one that brought a lump to my throat very early on - though I suspect that with tonsilitis the lump in her throat gave her considerably more trouble.  She and Sam were ably supported by Jack Harris (who went first) and a band that included Luke Daniels on squeeze box, Emma Sweeney on fiddle, and both Ed Boyd and James Fagan on guitar. When I saw Fagan come on I knew we were in for a treat. I mean, if he's in the band, how good is the main attraction going to be?

In a word, magic.

* Catch them at the Bristol festival, Bearded Theory or Folk by the Oak this summer.

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Jim Causley: more Devon than devil

Jim Causley has a new album out called Dumnonia, which is a reference to a pre-Roman tribe based in the westcountry, and it's got a whopping 18 songs on it. The unifying force of this avalanche of riches, according to the sleeve notes, is that he set out to make a kind of Devon specific CD, although with the proviso that it's Devon as he sees it. This is a useful get-out clause, since there's a version of She Moves Through the Fair on there, which I think of as Irish, probably because the two versions I know best are by Cara Dillon and Sinead O'Connor.

Causley is an interesting character. Best known for his deep, honeyed tones, youth and time spent singing with Mawkin:Causley, he's a graduate of the Newcastle folk course. Both times I saw him with Mawkin:Causley (note the interesting punctuation) I got the impression that he was somehow on his best behaviour and wished that he'd let the rest of the band do the history bits in the intros because they weren't his strong point (the singing was). Having said that, he was clearly enjoyed by the audience, which is a great deal more than half the battle. 

It's obvious from the sleeve notes that he's got an interest in the collecting side of the music, although in a way that makes one suspect that he's slightly anxious to show that he's applied himself. He says that he's avoided a lot of the obvious stuff and then names a handful of songs - including Childe the Hunter and Widecombe Fair - which is interesting because I wouldn't necessarily have known what the obvious Devonian stuff was. I guess there's no point having a degree unless you can use it, right?

My favourite track on the album is Exeter Town, which is the story of a "wild and wicked youth" who robs and shags his way through life and ends up getting hanged for his transgressions. The song suits Causley because you believe him when he's singing it. Elsewhere there is sometimes a kind of codgerish-ness to the material (and I include in this Honiton Lace, a first-person story about a lace-making spinster) that makes him seem like a young man in the service of a tradition rather than a musician making the tradition his own. Also, I was thrown by the upbeat nature of his version of She Moves Through the Fair and its teaming with a lewd story about an adulterous German horologist. Having thought about it for quite a long time, I can't see an upside to the suicide of one's fiancee, who then returns to haunt you. You'd have to miss them a very great deal for that to be a good thing and the thumbnail sketch of the situation contained within the brief, brilliant lyric suggests that the singer doesn't really know the object of his/her affections very well. We've all been there, right? That's why it's a classic.

It would be great to see Causley embrace his raffish, dark side and choose material that plays to his strengths, which are his youth and the twinkle in his eye. And what's not to like about that?

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