Festivities
Festival season
June in Scotland marks the beginning of Summer. Those who have actually visited Scotland will detect a hint of sarcasm in that sentence. No, what June often marks, especially in Argyll, is the arrival of Atlantic lows (wind and rain), Bracken up to your eyeballs, midges, midges, and more midges, and outdoor festivals. When will we learn…
If we’re lucky, we’ll get a brief continuation of the warmth of May for such festivities. Pale bodies will be dancing and dipping in crystal-clear streams, and developing all sorts of skin complaints under the intensely strong sunshine that has little by way of atmospheric pollution to filter it. Music will play until the wee small hours, and those sufficiently intoxicated will sleep soundly where they eventually, contentedly fall. This was not one of those years. A soaked, but merry fellow stood before us in baggy shorts and a white plastic cagoule that resembled a KKK shroud. His legs were so badly bitten by midges that it resembled an extreme case of the measles. Ahh, what the heck, we’re all drinking beer, eating foodstuffs that we rarely encounter, having some giggles, and ignoring the voices in our head that tempt us with images of a hot bath and a warm bed. Lean into it. Have a beer.
Beer
Beer and music are the rocket fuel for a good festival. Some folk absolutely adore the experience. The mud, the porta-loos, the tents, the burgers, the beer, the inevitable homogenisation of the smartly dressed, fancy dressed, and barely dressed, into one big, bouncing happy family. For the young, it’s where many memories (and some children) are forged. For the older ones, well, it’s lovely to see it all unfolding again. For the introverted landscape photographer who took his small camera to the first day of a festival for a little documentary work, it was confirmation that, as the accompanying images convey, I don’t really like taking photos of people. My festival shots consist mainly of interesting tents…
Music
A brief and probably contentious point about traditional music, Ceilidh music in particular: I totally understand the cultural lineage and identity behind it. That it likely features in the formative years of most people attending events in Scotland. That it democratises celebration for all ages with structured dance steps (much like American line-dancing). That it conveys ancient stories, bringing remote communities together, and keeping the gene pool sufficiently mixed. But I can’t stand it. No matter how skilled the musician. No matter how modern, complex, and lengthy the introductory bars become, it inevitably and inexorably, reverts to the same old jiggly stuff that leaves me cold and somewhat alienated. I’d love to proffer an alternative, but having been raised in the cultural melting pot of London in the 70’s and 80’s, there’s no clearly defined culture to call my home. Ska, Reggae, Punk, Rock, Bhangra, Funk, whatever. But not Ceilidh music. Not for me anyway.
