Hot jazz/folk

So Shindig were having a Hot Jazz night and obviously your classy beardy folky fiddle idiots were top of the list to support smoky Lana May on her clarinet. Well, it might not have been the precise match up of genres but we play all sorts of stuff in all sorts of styles, and the sweaty bunch in the cellar bar certainly bounced to the beat! A great night, thank you!

Uh-huh-huh-thnyuveymurchhhh

So off we went to Rustic Stomp at the height of the English summer. Due to the catastrophic weather the schedules had all gone in the bin (along with a couple of the stages!) and the organisers were having to improvise on the hoof. It was all rather awkward because as we turned up in our full Elvis ensemble (the only ones who had made the bleedin effort, thnyuveymch) we were told that actually there was no room for Ribble in the new schedule. But it was such a surreal atmosphere that even if Ribble were the diva-ish types we wouldn't have spat the dummy. We just pulled a couple of wet, wind-blown chairs out of a hedge, sat down next to the chip van, and chilled to the chirpy chunes of the Swamp Stomp String Band.

As luck would have it, the organisers took pity on us and a space was cleared for us at 4pm on the big spooky Dark Holler stage. The legendary soundman set us up with the most amazing sound, and we got to work. Initially to an empty tent but within 10 minutes it started filling up and after half an hour the tent was rammed, everyone was getting a sweat on and doing the most ridiculous moves and suddenly from out of a despairing afternoon we ended up having the best time ever.

And we're booked for opening the festival next year!

Proper Job

So we were recommended to the organisers of the New Forest Folk Festival by the lovely Helen who saw us busking in Salisbury as things were coming out of lockdown. For some reason they agreed to give us a slot, and so we were due to appear at 3pm on Thursday, the Fringe day.

We weren't sure what to expect, but we spent a few minutes in the artist tent and the rather delightful artist garden, and observed the calibre of the other acts appearing before us on the huge beautiful stage, and we realised that this was a proper job.
Peeking out from behind the stage we could see hundreds and hundreds of people scattered across the field on their camping chairs listening intently to every gorgeous note the other acts were playing. We weren't sure how our unsophisticated racket would be received.
Everything sounded and felt fabulous to us on that stage, but what would all these folkies think? After crashing through a few tunes, we finally dared to look up, and people were getting out of their seats and... not leaving... no... they were getting up to have a little jig!! Loads of them! Maybe they were drunk? Maybe, but drunk on booze or drunk on Ribble?!?