Regular Tradfolk readers will know that we’ve got a bit of a thing for the folk-related work of various Blur members, and those with a reasonably long memory will recall that the band’s guitarist, Graham Coxon, is an accomplished fingerpicker and folk aficionado in his own right. On his 2009 album, The Spinning Top, he wore his Bert Jansch, Davy Graham and John Renbourn influences very prominently on his sleeve, and he has been known to accompany Shirley Collins and Lisa Knapp at various points over the last decade.
Here’s the breaking folkie news, then: in his new autobiography, Verse, Chorus, Monster!, Coxon dedicates a whole chapter (‘Fingerpicking Good’) to his relationship with folk music, recounting meetings and performances with Bert Jansch and Davy Graham at the Holywell Rooms in Oxford, and goes into some detail around his very fond relationship with Martin Carthy.
Martin once told me, ‘Sod all those people saying you can’t do this and you can’t do that. The only disservice you can do to folk music is not to play it at all.’
Graham Coxon
“I love him”, Coxon writes, enthusing about Carthy’s legendary guitar skills. “He was quite paternal and taught me all sorts of small but necessary tricks, such as how to grow your nails (‘Rub a bit of Vaseline on them every day, then just leave them alone and don’t bite them’)… I was experimenting with thumb picks and noticed that he had this quite sharp, pointy zither pick, made of brass or copper. He gave one to me, which is now in my spares tin, and I absolutely treasure it.”
He is particularly passionate about Carthy’s version of ‘Bill Norie’ [Roud 53], and the book includes the replication of a beautiful artwork that Coxon created, inspired by the song.
“I’ve seen Martin Carthy playing in the back rooms of pubs,” he continues. “He stands right in front of you, singing, with people sitting around him on rickety chairs. A strange lyric might crop up that makes a couple of girls in the crowd burst out laughing. People wander in and out of the pub; some walk past Martin carrying beer, while he moves his headstock out of the way. The informal setting really appeals to me. It’s not high art, it’s folk – by and for the people. There’s also a wonderful continuity. Martin’s way of working has hardly changed since the 1960s. He still gets on the train to go to a gig and kips in someone’s house rather than a hotel. I’m sure he must love it. His brain is crammed full of so many incredible tunes, like ‘Bill Norrie’ – a great song whose chords he once taught me. I’ve also played ‘The Grass Grows High’, which was one that Martin made popular, at the Roundhouse.”
Morris dancers can drink tonnes more ale than bikers – and they’ve got sticks.
Graham Coxon
Of the traditional folk scene at large, the guitarist adds: “Because I am much younger and come from the Britpop world, that generation of musicians could easily have treated me as a pretender, but none of them have ever had a weird word to say to me about anything. I think they’ve always felt chuffed that anyone is still interested in that music and wants to celebrate it and play it. Martin once told me, ‘Sod all those people saying you can’t do this and you can’t do that. The only disservice you can do to folk music is not to play it at all.’ That makes sense, and the folk community believes the music and the tradition are too important to worry about whether or not it’s being done ‘right’. Well, most of them…”
A veritable champion of English folk traditions, it seems, his enthusiasms extend to Morris dancing, too. “Folk as a genre tends to get a bit of a bad rap because of the ‘Hey nonny nonny’ cliches and the skipping about, but that image is very misleading. A folk song really can be as serious as the news when it’s sung in that deadpan, untrained way. It makes the songs all the more powerful. Anyway, Morris dancers are tough as old boots. I’ve heard plenty of stories about bikers turning up to country pubs and taking the mickey out of Morris dancers, only to get themselves beaten up and chased off the premises. Morris dancers can drink tonnes more ale than bikers – and they’ve got sticks.”
It’s a shame the English don’t celebrate and value their own roots to the same extent as the Scots, Welsh and Irish.
Graham Coxon
Referring to his friendship with Shirley Collins, he recalls, “Shirley was amazing; it was like talking to the Queen. We stayed in touch and I did a couple of gigs with her… Once, on her birthday, I went down to Lewes, where she lives, and watched her favourite Morris sides do some dancing. It’s flipping tiring. I liked the Englishness of the local folk tradition, the unpretentiousness and the non-rock’n’roll character of it. Like the dance, the body of English folk songs has been passed on by generations of people who never feel the need to sing them in any other way. Maybe a verse gets lost down the line and another added, and some of the words change, but I really love that. It’s a shame the English don’t celebrate and value their own roots to the same extent as the Scots, Welsh and Irish. Historically, there’s a sense of shame and embarrassment surrounding English indigenous folk traditions, which is ridiculous as some of the English folk songs are so beautiful and sad. The decline of the folk tradition is definitely a loss for this country.”
Verse, Chorus, Monster! by Graham Coxon is out now on Faber & Faber. Click here to order from Amazon.
