Well I've gone and done it.
I wrote several months ago that my idea of bliss was a campervan with my banjo and fishing rod in the back and the endless roads of summer ahead of me.
Gripping my chequebook between my teeth I waded into the great swamp of second-hand VW campervans and after months of agonising over 'slities' 'bay windows' 'dormabiles' and 'westies' ended up with a compromise Âwhich as all my mates will tell you is unusual for me.
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I'm reading 'Journeyman' at the moment, the autobiography of .
It's a remarkable book on several levels; as the story of a working class boy who became one of the best songwriters and folk singers the world has known it is superb, and as a record of his life and work  from childhood in Salford to his work with and later on the - it tells a fascinating story.
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One of the beautiful things about the folk world is that it contains so many good people.
I spent a lot of time in the other world of showbiz / telly / music publishing, and I can tell you that there you will find some very murky waters and some very dubious and sharp-toothed fish.
I emerged relatively unscathed because I refused (and still do) to take any of it seriously.
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A few years back in the USA I discovered a 24/7 free radio station that broadcasts
folk music - and does a terrific job of it too.
You'll hear everything from to Mike McGoldrick on the station and though it is a little USA biased (as you would expect) it is remarkably diverse in its playlist.
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Don't you love it when you come across music that is new to you and you find that it delights and excites you? I'm always chuffed when I stumble on a folk-nugget.
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Tom Russell writes:
So we're in Pittsburgh now, a week out, at that point when you have to find a Laundromat or buy a dozen new black tee shirts.
The answer to the food situation seems to be buying a ton of organic strawberries and bananas - living on smoothies.
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Tom Russell writes:
Five days ago we were taping a segment for the David Letterman show in New York City.
This was the very night Dave confessed he was being blackmailed because of several sexual escapades with staffers. Oh what a few days for the pig belly press to rave and beat their hearts with headline moral outrage!
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Tom Russell writes:
There is no danger. Not anymore. Not in song.
Bob Dylan walked out onto a small stage at Newport forty years ago and scared ten thousand soppy-hearted folkies.
Johnny Cash shook his fist at American radio in an ad in Billboard magazine for their refusal to play Peter La Farge's 'Ballad of Ira Hayes'. "Radio people! Where are your guts?"... he screamed.
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Martin Simpson writes:
Having listened to last week in the car, I spent much of the weekend being demolition and re-build man at home.
My road manager, Terry, and I achieved lots to the accompaniment of 's recent CD, 'Electric Dirt'.
This is a very fine record, produced by who plays superb acoustic and electric guitars, fiddle and mandolin, whilst Levon drums and sings quite unlike a man who has battled throat cancer.
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Martin Simpson writes:
Here we go again!
I've been having my usual conversations with
Martin Taylor recently, which can reliably find at
least one of us driving. In the brief period when I travelled on trains I would encounter
Martin
Carthy, indeed I talked to Martin more in transit than at any other time until we worked together.
It is such a big part of the job, travelling, and not always a joy.
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