Folk By The Oak – Sunday 20th July 2025
A day in the park finds full f(l)avour from across the board, with even a muted yes from the weather gods.
Hatfield and the what?
Hatfield House, Park and Gardens are a real estate wet dream, smack in the middle of Hatfield and opposite the railway station. Lord knows how many acres, but a lot, and none of it’s getting built upon, at least any time soon. The grounds used to be one of Henry VIII’s deer parks, of which he had a few, before his daughter, Elizabeth I, gifted them to Robert Cecil, who built the house, finishing in it 1611. She herself had spent some of her childhood in an earlier building, the Old Royal Palace of Hatfield. I mention all this as it seems apt that now it should be famous as the site of a longstanding folk festival, hoping there may be songs sung that could have been sung, back when Liz was a girl. (Which may not actually be as far fetched as it sounds.)
a hardy annual jamboree
Spread over the course of one day, 2025 saw the 18th iteration of this jamboree, a hardy annual since 2008, give of take covid. And it is clearly quite a big old day in the park for the locals, given the numbers of picnic baskets being touted, families bringing in enough vittles to feed old Henry himself, with seats and blankets spread as far as the eye, and even a gazebo area, for those so inclined, extra protection and no small one-upmanship, a veritable tent village for the entitled. Having said, fair play, given the weather forecast…….
But look beyond that, and this is as vibrant a reflection of the current folk scene as any bigger event, and, with two stages, craft areas, a market place, workshops and a ceilidh tent, most tastes could be accommodated. To say nothing of the line-up, encompassing the similar generous definition of folk as applied by the likes of (just resting?) Cambridge, Shrewsbury and even Sidmouth. As will be shown.
Exquisite harmony, large and mighty
The familiar figure of Jim Moray bounded onto the main stage, a large construction at the dip of a slight hill, filling a natural amphitheatre space, to start the day. The patron of the festival, he wasn’t playing, but was to be MC for the day, taking no time to welcome all, back or here for the first time, and bring on Melrose Quartet to start the day. Diving straight and deep into the tradition, this four piece consists of two couples: Nancy Kerr and James Fagan, and the Arrowsmiths, Jess and Richard. All four sing, usually together an in exquisite harmony, with, where needed, the instrumental heft of two fiddles, melodeon and guitar. In full torrent, the sound produced is large and mighty, as they swiftly proved.
entertainment, education and inspirational
Kerr we know well from Magpie Arc, one of her side-hustles, and, here, in a band of equals, she effectively takes the lead, handling most the introductions. This was also their launch of ‘Music, Heritage, Place’, a project designed to examine the history of songs and how they travel, with several songs taking convoluted routes along the way. One song had begun life in Italian opera, ahead of becoming a sacred song, in the U.S. Fast forward, to last century, and over here it became that staple of English folk song, a drinking song! A 45 minute set prove equal parts entertainment, education and inspirational. My first sighting, I now see why so many make such a fuss.
One of the delights of FbtO is the timing, whereby the two stages alternate, meaning that it is possible to see all participants, one show starting as another ends. This also means a healthy step count, by the end of the day, although distances weren’t that great, not requiring the distance that contemporaneous concerts might demand, so as to avoid bleed of sound. (I still clocked up 17,000 odd!)
New Favourites
With the second stage, the Acorn stage, under canvas, this was to prove a boon, initially from the sun. First up were Holly & the Reivers, fronted by the ebullient Holly Clarke. Another unknown quantity, I was familiar with Clarke from RE:VULVA, Amy Thatcher’s celebrants of gender equality and inclusivity. This was nothing like that, the trio of Clarke, Merle Harbron and Bertie Armstong providing a lively set of acoustic songs both old and their own. She has a sweet voice with just a trace of wobble, imbuing songs with a youthful zest sometimes lacking from more sterile presentations of the tradition.
She plays guitar, enthusiastically, with fiddle coming from Harbron and bouncy banjo from Armstrong, each of whom add backing and occasionally lead vocals. A real tonic, they could turn out to be the highlight of the day, not least as they gifted John Barleycorn a new twist and added a rollicking instrumental breakdown. Recommended and some, with their, so far, only album, Three Galleys, regaling my car journey home.
credential nailing
Grace Petrie was next up on the main, having seemingly charmed all with her appearance last year, on the smaller stage. Fiercely and defiantly a protest singer first, she nailed her credentials from the start, as a left wing butch lesbian socialist, leaving none of those areas untouched by her scything lyrics and her between song fusillade of opinions. Accompanying herself on guitar, she was joined by Ben Moss on fiddle, squeezebox and harmonica, who was able to give contrasting textures to the songs that, otherwise, may have sounded too similar.
She also unleashed the first f-bomb of the day, and then several more, which may lose her some traction as family-friendly, given the swathes of infants dotted about the crowd. Similarly, perhaps underestimating the home counties crowd, her support for Palestine related organisations received mixed response, with some boos deriding her stance, amongst those otherwise in favour. Glastonbury this isn’t, but, as if to counter the naysayers, her merch store signing queue was possibly the longest I have ever seen at a folk festival.
Amongst the finest we have
Introduced as a Scottish duo, ATB favourites, Janice Burns & Jon Doran, Doran offered a weary och aye, ahead of explaining his Englishness. Sensing this is not a first for this Cotswold boy, and, once the duo’s Anglo-Scots origins were explained, it was straight into a Scottish sung. Or rather, a song by Mancunian Scots-aspirant, Ewan MacColl, The Fish Gutter’s Song. Beautifully sung by Burns, this duo are amongst the finest pair of singers we have, she providing also a deft ease with mandolin, whilst her partner switches from guitar and bouzouki.
Their pleasure is to unearth songs less well known, and they had a bevy of those this afternoon, some being played for the first time. One of these was a rousing singalong, with the memorable title of The Hearse Keeps Rolling. As Doran wryly outlined, the chorus, “And, Lord, I know, I won’t be long“, causing him to wonder as to whether why this may be why the song has remained untouched and for so long.
Great playing, great singing, great duo.
Midway into the set, the weather gods made their only real dent in the day, as the heaven’s opened, possibly in support of the nihilistic song being sung below. This required everyone to squeeze up and in. Which was a good time to reprise the lead track from their Christmas album, Great Joy To The New, delivering a rumbustious Derby Ram, complete with graphic descriptions of what was done with the carcass afterwards. These vegans seem always to know a hell of a lot about animal husbandry! As ever, they make an engaging couple who have the knack of polishing up the canon of trad.arr. with no bells and whistles beyond their inescapable gift of blowing a gust of fresh air into sometimes dusty old broadsheets. Great playing, great singing, great duo.
Vibrant afro-centric charge
If the day so far had seemed overly balanced in favour of folk as finger in ear, a trivialisation I loathe, the organisers now began to show off what else the deck might hold, with Orchestre Baobab leading a small but vibrant Afro-centric charge. These Senegalese veterans have existed, in one form or another, since 1970. Unsurprisingly, the current line up included few from that original band, but the link is held, with family members often coming in to replace their forbears. Thierno Koité on saxophone is the de facto leader, present from the start, with Moussa Sissokho on congas another longstanding presence.
Two saxes, two guitars, bass, congas and timbales, or sometimes a conventional drum kit, round off the complex rhythms that fuse Cuban and West African music styles, fronted by a pair of singers, one male and the resplendently robed figure of a new female singer, name uncertain, who slotted well in with her male counterpart. Frequently, as they and the saxophonists set up a processional routine, switching direction every two or three steps, the audience reacted with applause, whilst the powerhouse percussion and staccato guitars got on with business. And pity anyone trying to judge the better of a conga solo and a timbale solo, each coming from the older ranks of the band. Triffic stuff!
Bangly Mac
Needing something mellow to take down the mood, this was the job of The Deep Blue, four young women from Manchester, winners of the Christian Raphael Prize at 2024’s Cambridge Folk Festival. With that acclaim, I wasn’t necessarily expecting their harmony driven soft rock style. With a front line of guitar, bass and keyboards, all bar the drummer sing, coming together in a rich wash of sound that smacks more of West Coast America than anywhere much around here.
Trying to think of a yardstick, The Bangles seemed obviously one, ahead they themselves making it rather more obvious their biggest influence. This came as they asked: “who likes Fleetwood Mac?“, before firing out a triumphant version of Everywhere, segued into a song of their own. The vocals were spot on but it is also worth the note that Mssrs Fleetwood and McVie, in the engine room, never done it quite like this. Their female counterpoints really knocked it out the park, in terms of the muscularity of their approach.
Of their own material, Rosie was of particular appeal, chiming chockful with uplifting clangs of resounding guitar, a love song with a twist, in that Rosie and Levi, the starcrossed lovers, are/were both horses! Another song sounded like a metal-lite cover of Sad Sweet Dreamer, the original anathema to these ears. I loved it. Quite how they hit the sweet spot at Cambridge is anyone’s guess, but it looks as if drummer, Sofie Wozencroft, was not at that performance. Citation needed; can anyone confirm? Having said, it matters little, as they offered one of the more diverting sets of the day.
Go Faster lozenges ahead of sucking on a fisherman’s friend
In no rush to catch the next big stage act, see below, a wander was taken, to see how the ceilidh was going. The answer in full swing, the dances driven by the Melrose Quartet, in their second show of the day. If I had enjoyed their earlier showing, which I had, if respectfully, this was of a whole different design. It was as if the earlier set had been taken up and shaken, issued with go-faster lozenges and thrown into a vat of St. Vitus, all the tunes hurtling out, pell mell, uncertain if the dancers were leading the band, or vice versa. I like me a ceilidh, do I, but this was something different. Roll on Shrewsbury, where I can be better prepared.
shantyfest
I was determined not to enjoy Fisherman’s Friends on principle, assuming their shantyfest to be all LCD smoke and mirrors. So damn their many eyes, as I found much the set to be enjoyable, if predictable, nonsense. Eight on stage, most in striped matelot tops, with loud and lusty voices, it was the accompaniment of melodeon, guitar and mandolin I took most to. Plus, for one song, John The Cherokee, a few bars of Sweet Home Alabama got interspersed in, enough to make me smile.
The audience, both from the mosh at the front, to the chair lines fanning out beyond, and right back to the fringes, those sitting on hay ricks outside the bars, all were participating gleefully, slapping their thighs and acting out al the actions. This became more pronounced as the songs became better known , including their hit, No Hopers, one that I must have missed at the time, before ending on Whisky In The Jar and a long and drawn out Drunken Sailor, hoo-ray and all that. I guess I should chill a bit.
Funky kora
Part two of the African portion was waiting in the Acorn, as Suntou Susso and his band took to the stage. A kora player, his vibe is to partner his play with a shit hot jazz-funk band, for a fusion extravaganza of no small consequence. I thought them magnificent, even if they looked much like the James Dance Quartet, from the Fast Show’s Jazz Club, matching track suits or not.
With his fingers tugging rippling glissandos from his gourd, guitar squealed at speed, keyboards shronked and saxophone parped with a well controlled precision, held together by drums, djembe and some incredible six string bass playing. A little prompting ensured the tent was on its feet, as one, as the band cooked up a veritable maafe. As variation, some reggae was set to simmer, with a neat touch in dub variations all seeded into the pot. Definitely one of the high spots of the day.
Rusby rock with folk all the way through it
And it was still only 7.30, with several hours still to go. Kate Rusby had an hour to play with, on the main stage, and wow, things are certainly a wee bit different, as commented the last time ATB caught her. OK, Nick Cooke, her melodeon player was back in the fold, but he too spent more time strapped into a shiny Fender, alongside the similarly armed-up Damien O’Kane and Sam Kelly. And with Duncan Lyall playing either an electric bass or his fabled bass Moog synthesiser, and Josh Clark’s sticksmanship behind the kit, it felt the days of the Singy Songy Sessions Band, even with broadly the same members, may be a thing behind her. But don’t mistake me, this is no bad thing, and they make a fine commotion, that gives a different bedding for her still exquisite vocals, a soothing and breathy balm that remains unsurpassed.
It wasn’t all electric mind, as Lyall did switch occasionally to possibly the biggest stand-up bass in the world, with Cooke also demonstrating quite his worth as one of the best melodeon squeezers on the block. I am not sure whether O’Kane ever made the switch to banjo, though. Similarly, I am not sure whether dress sense should ever seem inportant in the ATB pages, but Rusby had forsaken her usual garb, appearing in a Levis t-shirt and black jeans.
oozing intensity
But the songs, Seuras, stick to the songs and there were many, with a fair few from her most recent album, When They All Looked Up, Mixing old and new, along with a couple of borrowed, I Courted A Sailor sat comfortably alongside Manic Monday. Rusby’s enthusiasm in telling the tale of how Susannah Hoffs had messaged her was lovely, her effervescent stage presence remaining as undiminished as ever.
A personal highlight was an aching Bitter Boy, that positively oozed from the intensity offered, with Rusby’s pleasure at returning it to the setlist palpable. All too swiftly it was the end, the tight timings denying any encore (boo!), with the setting sun slowly sinking over the verdant surroundings, Perfect for her lustrous take on the Kinks’ Village Green Preservation Society, a song I now more associate with her than the original.
supersonic to stratospheric
The last trip over to the Acorn was with some sense of trepidation. I know and like Project Smok, but was uncertain how their whistle, guitar and bodhran might meet with an end of day crowd. Trepidation? Ha! As I arrived the roof of the tent was already being blown sky high, with a capacity crowd spilling also all around the edges, on their feet and hollering themselves hoarse. An astonishing reception that seemed even to surprise the trio, if also goading them on to greater and better.
As each whistle led maelstrom followed, one after the other, I was reminded of Talisk, these guys doing the same sort of trick, and not letting their simple (!?) basis belie the power and passion that is the heart of traditional Scottish music. Perpetuating the Talisk comparison, Ali Levack must now surely be the Mohsen Amini of his instrument, and that even before he switched from whistle to highland bagpipes. Michty me, but this was a grand moment, the atmosphere going from supersonic to stratospheric in the first skirl.
astonishing
Pablo Fuente, on guitar, never held off the control of the syncopating rhythms, with Ewan Baird doing more to his goatskin than might be deemed possible, an explosive force of both economy and extravagance, all at once. Baird also gave rise to an early light-hearted moment, singing some lines from Teenage Dirtbag into the melody line of one of Levack’s whistle tunes. Wheatus, trad.arr., eh? Who knew!
This was honestly an astonishing set, and the pride and gratification I felt for the band was immense. With the set full of as much new as old; a further album is due, it was good to hear credit given to Edwyn Collins, the Orange Juice and A Girl Like You man, whose generosity of a week’s studio time, at his Helmsdale studio, set them on the road to way they are now. Bayview, the tune, is the name of said studio, and made for an exemplary closer. Whistles, pipes and pandemonium. What could be better?
Billtopping with a reliable polish and appealing precison
A long day, I could have gone home then, fully content. But, with Bear’s Den to top the overall day, I knew I couldn’t, shouldn’t and, indeed, wouldn’t. Hell, even the festival programme told me how highly the band live set is held by ATB! This was to be, for me, a first sighting of the band since founder member, Kevin Jones had retired himself, leaving Andrew Davie as sole remaining brand holder. Worry not, Bear’s Den may now be a solo enterprise rather than a duo, but the returning auxiliary musicians that make the brand a band remain.
So, besides Davie on guitars and vocals, Christof van der Ven, always a faithful presence since way back, on banjo and guitars. Similarly, the role of drummer and trumpeter is still occupied by Jools Owen, with Marcus Hamblett picking up all else, so bass, guitars, keyboards and yet more trumpet. These three have formed a reliable and polished backdrop for Davie’s sensitive songs. With four albums to the name, plus one set of orchestrated revisions, there is a wealth of material available, even if much the set came from debut, Islands, the 10 year anniversary of which they have been touring.
Electric guitars heralded their start, with the title track from Red Earth And Pouring Rain, of which there was thankfully none. The stage set in a red glow against the encroaching dusk, it is a fine and lively song to get the packed arena in the mood, doing that job with ease. A couple more electric songs before van der Ven first switched to his banjo. This is the core sound of Bear’s Den, his plangent plucking perfect to carry the emotions at the fore of Davie’s bittersweet vocal delivery.
identity complete
Never the frantic rolling hurly burly of bluegrass, this comes more from the style of the Celtic tradition, where it is the sound of individually picked notes that carry the tune. And, when Hamblett picked up his horn, so the Bear’s Den identity became complete. No parping, this is the trumpet of brass or silver bands, an English pastoralism that comtrasts and complements the banjo with appealing precision.
A highlight of their shows has alays been as they all come off mike and enter into the audience. This not possible from the high stage and intervening pit, instead the four of them grouped about a single microphone. With Owen now handling trumpet, the version of Sophie was absolutely and beyond beautiful. Did you read our preview of this day? Think that version and better. Switching back to band mode, instrument swapping with abandon, songs came from all stages, illustrating their gradually evolving styles. So Don’t Let The Sun Steal You Away, from 2013, sat neatly, if differently, with the more recent Spiders, from last album, Blue Hours.
snap ’em up!
As the night darkened, on still they played, with audience favourites, Auld Wives and Laurel Wreath giving the audience a chance to sing along with Davie, word perfect one and all. Furthermore, if anyone hasn’t seen them play, or Tim Walker from Banter for that matter, trumpet and drums can be played together at the same time, if requiring steady footwork. Davie was finding it all quite moving, commenting on never having played this high on the bill and this late, at a festival. He admitted to also struggling with having to suppress a feeling he had to give lengthy preambles to each and every song, this being a folk festival and all.
Personally, I am amazed they haven’t played folk festivals before, their indie-folk (yuk!) sound perfect for the likes of our premier events of that ilk, and to which FbtO now must be surely added. Were I in charge of Wickham and similar I would be snapping ’em up and soon.
Roll on 2026
Mindful a Sunday night curfew certainly in force for this town centre shindig, the wind down was perfectly chosen, as the band closed with, first, Pompeii, and then with Agape, both delicate low key anthems of splendour. No, Bear’s Den don’t really do bangers, even if Red Earth comes close, their MO being more to lull you into submission with their delicate majesty. A fabulous, fabulous show to end a fabulous, fabulous day. Thank you, Folk By The Oak, I’m marking my diary for 2026 already.
Bear’s Den featured in the preview, so, for something completely different, here’s Acorn showstoppers, Project Smok:
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