13 bangers and smashes, mainly from the past, couped and curated into perfection by a fiddling A team of Sweeney and Smith.

String driven JOY

What joy, it barely a year or so since this writer caught Grace Smith, at Manchester’s Folk Festival of 2024, her solo performance made all the more vibrant by the presence of one Samuel Sweeney, joining her, for much the set, on second fiddle. But no second fiddle he, they each palpably first violins, so to now see, and hear, that burgeoning link-up become now a duo release, joy as stated. They have between times performed frequently together, that obvious from the telepathic bond that governs exactly who plays what and when, where every performance is a rehearsal and every rehearsal a performance.

This is, fundamentally, an album of instrumental English fiddle music, drawn from the 17th to 19th centuries. Sometimes as unearthed in fading manuscripts, sometimes with a few additional notes added for completeness. As they say on the TV, “based on true events with some scenes reimagined“. Tucked between these are a couple of compositions of their own; if you can spot them, unprompted, you are either a hero or possibly even Cecil Sharp. As an extra challenge, at least to the reviewer, there isn’t a complex essay included with the disc, delineating the history of all the 13 selections and how they came to into being and to be discovered. So, like the tunes, there may have to be some, let alone reimagining, good old imagining as well.

LARKS ASCENDING

Lest this be a point that nags you, as you listen, the two players adopt different tunings, which adds to the palpable contrasts and harmonies that arise. This first unfolds with Dawning Of The Day, a melody that leaps right out of bed like the lark that all folk musicians tend to be. The two players move from shared carriage of the tune into more complex alleyways, one taking the lead, allowing the second to weave and weft about that principal lead. To be fair, even at 11.30 am, it still gives the impression that they have been playing for hours.

A pairing of Brow Of The Hill and A Round Minuet follows, and has the majestic charm of one of those dance parties in a BBC period drama, it easy to imagine the delicate gallivantings of courtship. Courtesy the different tunings, the two evoke the sound of a much larger ensemble. Wildlife abounds in the tradition, and, even if boar are no longer a familiar sight, badgers are, if mainly at the side of the road. The Badger/The Boar segues inspirations kindled by each of these beasts, the first a florid bucolic that well fits old Brock, the second somewhat lighter on foot than the big old buggers I have seen in parts foreign. There is a strong hit of bal about this second, which only underlines the overall mongrel nature of whatever being English actually means, the influences of both invaders and refugees each prevailing.

YOU DANCING?

The title Being Square to me smacks of the morris, and it is certainly seems capable of waving a handkerchief to, whilst shaking a be-belled leg, making my old knees feel a twinge of remembrance. It leads straight into Cupid’s Frolic, confirming the old adage about dancing being the food of love. Or something. Still, it is another delightfully spry tune, with a hint of syncopation between the instruments. The title track, unsurprisingly, then weeps out with promise of the summer to come, some pizzicato plucks the scaffold around which the main theme establishes a weak sun growing stronger. The pizzicato with which it closes is tremendous.

Round Hill Wood is, had you guessed, one of Smith’s and is a slow polka, at least to my ears. Certainly the feel of a courtly group dance, possibly in a circle. It feeds into The Rowling Bet, which has a livelier cadence, having me imagine besmocked yokels clanging pewter pots of foaming ale. Funny old thing, the mind. Trip To Bury/Four Maids is altogether more urgent, a rush along the highway on horseback, avoiding any nasty cutpurse along the way. Seeing the title, Brian O’Neill, up next, I had suddenly the mixed etymology of Brian McNeill, the eminent ex-Battlefield Band-er. Of course, nothing to do with him, being instead a a controlled swagger with the feel of a slow reel, full of creak and weary groan. So some more acquisition into the English folk canon.

SOMETHING IN YOUR EAR?

What a name for a tune is Dissembling Love! With a mourning and rueful presence about it, the two fiddles swoop dolefully downwards. I’d love to think of it as a maggot, but it seems that term refers more to something of greater whimsy. Regardless, it is certainly an earworm. And a favourite. Then, at last, comes a song I recognise, or at least the name, in Old Tom, which is the second part of a combination with The Louisa. A quick peruse of the sources, which the duo actually do list, albeit as a group, rather than individually, I am none the wiser, Thomas Playford the only name I recognise. Nonetheless I think it the Bampton morris dance tune and dissenters won’t be slow to correct me.

Time, now, for Sweeney to show off his writing chops, for The Gentleman’s Wedding, paired with Kate Dalrymple. Another melody that reeks of the dance floor, and likely represents the first dance of the bride and groom, at said wedding. If the onetime Ms Dalrymple were the bride, it seems a match fit for purpose. Robin Hood contains a motif Sweeney has appropriated from elsewhere, using it to send off a flight of measured fantasy, which surely sees the outlaw in a whole different light to that offered recently by Jim Ghedi.

That’s 12 tunes or medleys, so time to close with The Green Man, an applicably totemic emblem for English folk. This final piece is the night owl to the lark of Dawning Of The Day, and is a moving evocation of the end of an industrious day, praise duly offered to the spirits of the woodlands, the mood a mix of reverence and exhaustion.

ENGLISH MODERN CLASSICS

This album deserves more recognition than it may ultimately get. Undoubtedly a niche listen, there is actually more than enough to please more than just the specialist. It is worthy of inclusion alongside any of the stuffier aspects of music from those eras, being, after all, no less “classical” than Handel or Purcell, and, back in the day, probably a whole lot better known.

Here’s as good a flavour as any. Sup up! It’s Robin Hood:

Sam Sweeney: Website

Grace Smith: Website