On the Road Again

Two days ago my car Myrtle and I, loaded up with camping gear, a library of about two hundred CDs, and the absolutely essential laptop, embarked on the first leg of the adventure.

Where did I end up? Start laughing now...
Tamworth Country Music Festival.

Yep, they get 'em in nice an' young.

There were country hats everywhere. Leather ones, pink ones, sparkly ones with fluffy edges. You name it, some tryhard dickhead was wearing it.

The entire main street was closed off for buskers. You walk down the middle and it's an aural mixing pot of the lot of them all at once. I did it after hitting the town with a mate the night before, and hell was it a mistake. My head was already hurting, and then it was asaulted from all directions by 1/5 basslines and the occasional busrt of yodelling. How on earth does a child discover the talent for yodelling and succeed in being nurtured in the art, without being told to shut up and sing properly?

What I wanted to see was the people. I'll have to admit I've been to the festival before. It's a time where every single pub is open every night with bands on all through the day. I love that. If you don't like the music in one pub, you down your beer and walk on down to the next. I just love the fact that there is music everywhere. We'll skip on the quality of some of it, though...

But the people...

I have to admit to having a truly shit photography day. It may have been related to not being able to open my eyes to more than asian squint level. Or my pounding head. I wanted to sit around and take pictures of all the weirdness, but instead I just took it all in.

People carry camp chairs around to all the buskers, and if they like them, they set up camp and have a listen. It's all pretty laid back and easy going. There was a guy sitting on a swag, camp mug in had, reading poetry. Another, pictured here, was running a wood engraving market stall. He was nursing a guitar and on his head was a replica of a shed with a can of rum held onto it. On top of that was a chicken. A real one. He just went about his work engraving and ignored the bunch of people taking photos of him.

I spent some time sitting on a hay bale, listening to a family Jug Band. All the kids were involved and it was brilliant stuff. They were excellent performers. Then you move a little further down the street to find the Indian guy crooning along to a backing track... and walk a little faster, fearing for the safety of your ears.

Next on the list of experiences for music festivals is the East Coast Blues and Roots festival. Four days of absolutely everything. It costs an absolute fortune but I'm trying to get in as a volunteer. I hope to get there somehow, anyway.