How the revival appears to apply different standards to different parts of the tradition, and not always consistently.
Every musical tradition contains contradictions. English folk is no exception. Most of them pass unnoticed because we inherit them as assumptions rather than examine them as ideas. Only occasionally does one stop us in our tracks.
One such contradiction concerns transmission.
We rightly celebrate singers who learn directly from source singers. Harry Cox, Walter Pardon, Sam Larner and countless others have shaped the way later generations perform traditional song. Faithful study is regarded as respect. Nobody accuses a young singer of lacking originality because they have absorbed the phrasing of a master.
The same is largely true of instrumental traditions. Northumbrian pipers study Billy Pigg. Uilleann pipers have long studied the playing of Séamus Doran. Throughout the traditional world, musicians learn from acknowledged masters, often note for note, phrase for phrase. Deep imitation is not merely accepted, it is expected. It is how traditions survive.
Yet when we arrive at English folk guitar, the conversation often changes.
A guitarist who faithfully learns a celebrated accompaniment may be encouraged to “find their own way”. Originality appears to become an obligation rather than an aspiration.
Why?
One obvious answer is that accompaniment differs from melody. Guitarists choose harmony, bass movement, rhythm and texture. Every accompaniment is, to some extent, an arrangement. But does that really justify applying a different standard?
A classical pianist is not expected to rewrite Bach. They are expected first to understand him. Their individuality emerges through performance, not through replacing the composer’s ideas with their own. Jazz musicians routinely transcribe the great improvisers note for note - How else does one begin to understand Giant Steps?
Traditional instrumentalists learn the ornaments, bowing and phrasing of acknowledged masters. Nobody sees this as artistic failure. Indeed, we generally recognise the opposite. Originality without understanding is rarely convincing. Most great musicians begin by listening, copying and absorbing.
The English folk revival, however, sometimes seems to treat guitar differently.
Perhaps this is because revival guitar is relatively young. Unlike fiddle, pipes or concertina, there was no centuries-old body of English accompaniment waiting to be inherited. The great revival guitarists developed their approaches in public. Their accompaniments became associated with individuals in a way that older instrumental styles no longer are.
If so, this raises another question.
At what point does a revival accompaniment become part of the tradition?
Many of these performances are now over half a century old. They have been studied by generations of musicians. They have influenced how songs are heard and understood. In every practical sense, they have become part of the musical language of the revival.
So why do we sometimes hesitate to treat them as tradition?
Perhaps the answer is simply that they still feel recent. Harry Cox belongs safely to history. Martin Carthy and Nic Jones remain identifiable personalities. We instinctively distinguish between tradition and individual creativity, even when the musical process is essentially the same. Are we then doing a disservice to not consider the performances of Joseph Taylor or Jasper Smith with the same regard for individual contribution?
The contradiction becomes clearer if we consider one particular arrangement.
For generations of English folk guitarists, Nic Jones’ accompaniment to Canadee-i-O has become almost a rite of passage. Countless players have attempted it. Many have struggled with it. A smaller number have mastered it. Nobody regards the exercise itself as misguided. On the contrary, learning the arrangement is often treated as evidence that a guitarist has begun to understand the language of the revival.
Yet this presents us with another inconsistency.
If learning Canadee-i-O is accepted as an important part of a guitarist’s education, why should learning any other great revival accompaniment be viewed differently? At what point does careful study become imitation? More importantly, why do we ask that question of guitarists at all when we rarely ask it of singers, pipers or fiddlers?
If we believe traditions are transmitted through people, then we must also accept that performances are transmitted not just alongside but integrally to songs. A song is more than a sequence of words. It is phrasing, rhythm, emphasis, timing and, where appropriate, accompaniment. These things are learned exactly as language is learned: by listening carefully to those who already speak it fluently.
None of this argues against originality.
Originality is essential. Traditions that never change eventually become museums.
But originality is not the opposite of imitation. More often, it is its consequence. Furthermore, it is unavoidable. No two singers are alike, and we cannot help but bring something of ourselves even to the most self consciously studied rendition. Sometimes I wish this were not the case as I'd dearly love to sound like Keith Kendrick.
Perhaps the contradiction lies not in the music itself, but in our expectations. We readily accept faithful transmission in some parts of the tradition while treating it with suspicion in others.
Whether that distinction can be consistently justified is, I think, an interesting question.
Tradition survives because each generation learns from the last.