This is the real thing. A folk club like you hear tell of from the sixties, where rapt listeners sit silent as musician poets sing tales of sea-faring and loss and wandering strangers. Musicians and singers sing real old folk songs, not the schmaltzy sentimental faux-folk or Dylan tributes that too often define the genre in this country. In the sparse living-room like surroundings of The Joinery you could be in Greenwich Village in 1962, channelling your inner Kerouac. The last time I went to Black Letters and Ballads everyone who performed got up for a song together at the end. Autoharps, dulcimers, double bass, mandolins and a cacophony of harmonising voices made a riotous and joyful end to a very lovely night of song. After some months wandering in a far off land, the club makes a welcome return. The loosely interpreted theme for this session is rather aptly, rambling and roving. It starts at 7.30 in The Joinery, Stoneybatter.
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