Dear old folk

In rushing towards the cosmopolitan, we’ve have had an ambivalent relationship with traditional music, a genre often regarded as the preserve of tourists and rural folk with nicotine-coloured fingers and beer-stained beards. But in more recent years, feeling thoroughly modern, we’ve re-embraced that most evocative vein of expression, which connects us to the centuries and our roots. In the spirit of tradition, we’re revisiting the reasons we love our old favourite venues…

A session at the intimate shack that is the Cobblestone is a slow and organic process. At 8pm it might be little more than a fiddler and mandolin player plucking away in the corner, half-finishing tunes while they chat and sup. Of course, the essence of a session lies in the spontaneity of not knowing who’ll show up. It’s fun to watch stray musicians arrive in ones and twos, carrying leather instrument cases of all sizes and shapes, receiving a welcoming nod and smile from those already playing. Patterns emerge; the flautist always seems to be female, the bodhrán player the biggest drinker, and someone on strings takes the lead. Sessions are also modest, not demanding your upright, undivided attention, leaving room for talking and dreaming. They build slowly, but they build, and by the end of the night there could be up to 15 players banging out wild reels and passionate hornpipes, and every hand in the bar seems to be tapping a tabletop or thigh.