Artisan Recollections

Sometimes I have to write these Artisan recollections down when I think of them. I should have kept a tour diary, but I didn't. Anyhow, I've been emailing Karen Traviss while she's been stuck in the States courtesy of volcanically rescheduled flights and something she daid brough this to mind.

Artisan and the dreaded God-Spots

We used to get shoehorned into the god-spot at folk festivals on the principle that if you can sing harmonies you must be able to sing hymns. It was horribly embarrassing (you know, all those two-handed, enclose-your-hand-in-both-of-theirs, Happy God type handshakes) because all the people in the audien... er... congregation assumed that we were singing in church because we wanted to - as in: we had a free choice and chose to get up at 9.00 on a Sunday morning after a heavy Saturday night at a folk festival to attend a church service at ten and sing one or two songs in the middle of the proceedings. Yeah, right.

We were there because the festival was paying us to be there for the weekend and on our worksheet it said: Sunday 10.00 a.m. Folk-service in church.

So one year we were booked to sing at Bromyard Folk Festival (Herefordshire) and - oh joy - got the god-spot again. We had a couple of safe songs planned and had sing one of them already... then the sermon was given by this amazing peripatetic monk who had the kind of buzz-cut, badly-mended-broken-nose image that was more reminiscent of Lee Marvin on a bad day. Apparently he used to be a male nurse in a mental hospital before he took up monking for a living.

Together with a younger monk he did a kind of intense, theatrical, Morecambe and Wise (though not funny) double-act and delivered a sermon that actually kept us awake - about how Christianity could be force for evil and Paganism could be a force for good - depending on the actions (good or bad) of the followers. (Okay, this is back in the early 90s, right, when almost everyone in the congregation mixed up Satanism and Paganism and their knowledge of both came from watching The Exorcist.)

So having listened to what amounted to an incredibly broad-minded church sermon for the day, we checked the church ceiling for cracks (none, so we figured we were safe) abandoned the easy-on-the-brain song we'd been planning and delivered 'The Burning Times' instead. (With an intro to set it into context.) 'Burning Times' by Charlie Murphy, You know, the one with the chant chorus:
'Isis, Astarte, Diana, Hecate, Demeter, Kali, Innana.'

The song more or less echoed the sermon and is mostly about how when politics and religion mix, someone's going to get hurt. (In this case it was the 'witches' during the Inquisition.)

OK, the song might not be historically all that accurate, but - hey - that never stopped Mel Gibson making Braveheart, did it?

So after the sho... er... service we were all standing outside being wished Happy God (squicky handshakes delivered with painful sincerity) when the monk (and I'm desperately sorry to say that I've forgotten his name) came hurtling up the path and said, (imagine a Welsh accent), 'That song! That song! That's the trouble when everyone's worshipping a dead man on a cross instead of a living religion!'

Anyway, he asked for a copy of the song and we gave him a cassette of 'Driving Home' (at that point is was only available on LP and tape) . In return he sent us a theological breakdown of it with all the bits he thought praiseworthy, dubious or just plain wrong - which was fabulous to have.

But to crown it all... Although we got away without the church ceiling falling in on our heads - two weeks later our living room ceiling collapsed!

Ah, well, you win some, you lose some.

Artisan: Driving Home

Artisan Recollections

Sometimes I have to write these Artisan recollections down when I think of them. I should have kept a tour diary, but I didn't. Anyhow, I've been emailing Karen Traviss while she's been stuck in the States courtesy of volcanically rescheduled flights and something she daid brough this to mind.

Artisan and the dreaded God-Spots

We used to get shoehorned into the god-spot at folk festivals on the principle that if you can sing harmonies you must be able to sing hymns. It was horribly embarrassing (you know, all those two-handed, enclose-your-hand-in-both-of-theirs, Happy God type handshakes) because all the people in the audien... er... congregation assumed that we were singing in church because we wanted to - as in: we had a free choice and chose to get up at 9.00 on a Sunday morning after a heavy Saturday night at a folk festival to attend a church service at ten and sing one or two songs in the middle of the proceedings. Yeah, right.

We were there because the festival was paying us to be there for the weekend and on our worksheet it said: Sunday 10.00 a.m. Folk-service in church.

So one year we were booked to sing at Bromyard Folk Festival (Herefordshire) and - oh joy - got the god-spot again. We had a couple of safe songs planned and had sing one of them already... then the sermon was given by this amazing peripatetic monk who had the kind of buzz-cut, badly-mended-broken-nose image that was more reminiscent of Lee Marvin on a bad day. Apparently he used to be a male nurse in a mental hospital before he took up monking for a living.

Together with a younger monk he did a kind of intense, theatrical, Morecambe and Wise (though not funny) double-act and delivered a sermon that actually kept us awake - about how Christianity could be force for evil and Paganism could be a force for good - depending on the actions (good or bad) of the followers. (Okay, this is back in the early 90s, right, when almost everyone in the congregation mixed up Satanism and Paganism and their knowledge of both came from watching The Exorcist.)

So having listened to what amounted to an incredibly broad-minded church sermon for the day, we checked the church ceiling for cracks (none, so we figured we were safe) abandoned the easy-on-the-brain song we'd been planning and delivered 'The Burning Times' instead. (With an intro to set it into context.) 'Burning Times' by Charlie Murphy, You know, the one with the chant chorus:
'Isis, Astarte, Diana, Hecate, Demeter, Kali, Innana.'

The song more or less echoed the sermon and is mostly about how when politics and religion mix, someone's going to get hurt. (In this case it was the 'witches' during the Inquisition.)

OK, the song might not be historically all that accurate, but - hey - that never stopped Mel Gibson making Braveheart, did it?

So after the sho... er... service we were all standing outside being wished Happy God (squicky handshakes delivered with painful sincerity) when the monk (and I'm desperately sorry to say that I've forgotten his name) came hurtling up the path and said, (imagine a Welsh accent), 'That song! That song! That's the trouble when everyone's worshipping a dead man on a cross instead of a living religion!'

Anyway, he asked for a copy of the song and we gave him a cassette of 'Driving Home' (at that point is was only available on LP and tape) . In return he sent us a theological breakdown of it with all the bits he thought praiseworthy, dubious or just plain wrong - which was fabulous to have.

But to crown it all... Although we got away without the church ceiling falling in on our heads - two weeks later our living room ceiling collapsed!

Ah, well, you win some, you lose some.

Artisan: Driving Home