There are several ways of approaching the noun ‘folk’, and we use it carelessly and variously. We use it with prefix when it strays too far from its perceived meaning (alt, new, weird etc), and we’ll add things to the end when it gets even further away from us (-tronica, or just -ie or -y). This aside, there are perhaps two useful routes into the noun. One being that music of unknown authorship, passed on aurally through the generations, or at least that music that survived the scrupulous moral agency of Cecil Sharp and his contemporaries, and the other, best described as a vernacular or popular music that voices the identity of a community (contemporary or otherwise). These two approaches might well contain each other, or be some way distant.

Mostly, I suppose, that what we call folk is music that sounds like folk. For the most part this works for us, but when presented with a project such as Darren’s here, we are forced to acknowledge, and to some degree reconcile the chasms of ideological, aesthetic, technical and methodological difference between various contemporary practices. And even in writing that sentence, my use of ‘us’ and ‘we’ in this text so far suddenly becomes problematic. Who is this ‘we’? Or to put it rather better by using the words of poet John Hall, ‘Who are you a we with?’ Indeed, who am I, or is Darren, a we with? ‘Bugbears’ is an album of traditional songs, but then so is ‘Broadside’ by Bellowhead, and yet, the two are not siblings. Likewise, Darren is at once doing the same thing and not the same thing as Jackie Oates. The difference, I think, lies in re/deconstruction and appropriation. It also lies in a variable take on the idea of authenticity. And thus, ultimately, the cultural resonance of any practitioner of folk music comes down to the generation and reception of meaning.

In the circles that encompass Bellowhead, Oates et al, there is much talk of authenticity, and it seems that instrumentation, arrangement, language, voice and repertoire play a big part (Bellowhead’s incongruous brass players notwithstanding). The voice is of particular interest here, where delivery will often take on the form of a regionless, quasi-pastoral timbre and ‘accent’, which you will also find rife in the singers on historical dramas from the television (think of Sharpe’s Daniel Hagman, or someone taking up a song at the end of an episode of Larkrise to Candleford). Technique and ornamentation play a large role here (instrumentally as well as in the voice). Production for these kinds of traditional players plays to those notions of transparency that manufacturers of recording equipment have been promising for decades. Things are clean and allow us to bathe in the skill, dexterity and knowledge of the players. The set of more problematic performers that might include Darren seem to understand and embrace the idea that recording, production and fidelity have compositional value in and of themselves. Furthermore, the voice is unaffected (or in the case of Birdengine, is grossly caricatured). There is an acknowledgement of historical gap, and a process of deconstruction that seems to seek a recontextualisation for this material. The appropriation of traditional song often takes an allegorical purpose, and arrangements are not faithful, nor scored within ‘the tradition’.  The priorities are within different camps.

For some, authenticity might lie within knowledge of the repertoire, technique of delivery and a puritanical approach to arrangement, and for some (including me), it might lie in the acknowledgement that in this instance, there is no tangible authenticity for a living practitioner appropriating this material (in terms of its literal articulation). It is perhaps, only in acknowledging a distinct inauthenticity that we can start to ignore the term and at least do something sincere. I think the majority of traditional players, would have to concede that they have little common ground with a peasant class of community-based musician (and what community anyway?). But these things in either case, while problematizing authenticity, do not in any way effect integrity, which can be approached in terms of virtuosity or in terms of atavism, or indeed, in terms of a wilful and postmodern transhistoricism. This would become a debate of considerable length were I to introduce the idea of original song here, but fortunately for all concerned, that is not the case.

The unfixed meaning of the word folk is at once a strange thing, but also arguably a good thing. Artwork has a number of these collapsed nouns, like lyric, ballad, performance, and installation to name just four, and this allows considerable scope for interpretation. Baring in mind that of course, between and beyond the two approaches I have written about here, exists a countless number of alternative methods and histories, all of which, enticingly remain in flux. Furthermore, lest we forget, those surviving songs so variously reproduced remain, at least in part, because they are beautiful, and those significant themes like love, death, drink, fear, war and so on, continue to be of relevance beyond any tawdry argument of authenticity. It is when musicians recognise this and appropriate traditional songs, in whatever form they begin to take, that something new and something exciting can happen. At this point, the generation and reception of meaning that I mentioned earlier, becomes the focal point, and whatever aesthetic or ideological camp one falls into, surely that is a good thing?

Johny Lamb is 30 Pounds of Bone

This interview by the excellent Drunken Werewolf

Religion, relationships, new towns and open-air swimming pools: Darren Hayman has drawn inspiration from them all. His latest album Bugbears is a collection of seventeenth century folk songs. It continues his fascination with the era which began with last year’s album The Violence chronicling the Essex witch trials and was followed by the Four Queens EP earlier this year.

In an exclusive interview, he sits down with DrunkenWerewolf’s Patrick Widdess to talk about his musical history project and why he wants to break our hearts.

So Darren, how did your fascination with English history in the 17th century begin?

I’m known for my use of contemporary language: slang, idioms, even brand names. I was doing a series of albums about Essex and I had this idea of doing something historical. I thought if I wrote about a story that happened a few centuries ago it would create hurdles in the songwriting process and make me change my approach to words.

Whilst writing The Violence I thought I should include a few folk songs of the time. I didn’t want to make the album sound 17th century but I thought I might learn something from researching them.

Interpreting and recording these songs became a separate project and album that was recorded at the same time as The Violence.

Where does the album name Bugbears come from?

The album includes a poem which was a rare rational treatise for the time. Everything else was about seeing fear and the devil in places. This poem says it’s all a lot of nonsense and to get a grip. It refers to these fears as bugbears. It seemed to capture what the whole album was about: curses and things going wrong.

You’ve changed the band name from The Long Parliament to The Short Parliament for this album. What’s the difference?

There are a few different members. The band I play with is always a little loose. There are seven or eight musicians I work with at different times. In this case I worked with those that had more of a folk leaning, particularly Dan Mayfield, the violin player. He’s from a Morris dancing family – the real deal. Not like us and Mumford and Sons who put on a folk hat when they fancy it!

It was a way to distinguish the two projects. There’s also the rump parliament which I should find a project for.

Yes, it’s a great name! How did you interpret these old songs for a modern audience?

I wasn’t trying to be slavishly accurate. Accuracy with something from as long ago as the 17th century is pretty much impossible. There’s only so much we can know about how these songs sounded.

I also didn’t want to completely reinvent the songs and say, “right, I’ll do them with a jungle beat and modulating synthesisers.” It was a case of making them sound apt without being ridiculously reverential.

So how did you change them?

First, I took lots and lots of words out. One of the fist things that strikes you about these songs is they have 18 verses. Music had a different purpose in those days. It was used to tell stories, even acted as the news. That didn’t seem palatable to a modern audience.

Also there are not many tunes. The same ones are reused repeatedly. It’s like playground or football chants where you keep reinventing the lyric to the same tune. The melody’s not important. They’re sung to taunt the other side and so have a different purpose to songs that entertain. The tunes also consisted of mostly major chords, which grates on the modern ear after a while.

So there were decisions to be made about how much you followed the earliest notated tune. There were decisions about when to adapt or shift slightly and what you could do in the name of interpretation, and what was pure invention. If I was more into folk preservation I would have had a stricter approach but I felt that was not my domain. It was about interpreting them respectfully as an indie-pop singer.

Having studied these old songs have your ideas about the role of music today changed?

Not really. I’m still just trying to write interesting songs, not give them a different use. That’s the challenge with this project; you don’t want to give a history lecture. You want it to still be a song. You want it to be about love or fear, wanting or jealousy because they’re things we all feel and that’s how you hook the listener in.

It’s made me aware of other uses songs have had in history but it’s made me more sure about what my songs are about and what I’m trying to do. Basically, I’m trying to break your heart and find more interesting ways of doing that like writing about Charles the First and Henrietta Maria.

Has the project been successful in changing your song writing style?

It has for me. It’s made me a better writer but now I’m trying to get back to writing a normal album. I’m working on 10 or 12 songs about breaking up – an everyday album about heartbreak. It’s interesting trying to do that after I’ve got used to working with pages of notes around me. I’m hoping there will be an unblockage soon and songs will come spilling out once I’ve got away from the 17th century thing.

So is the project finished now?

There’s one song that Angela McShane, head of 17th century studies at the V and A has asked me to do. I met her just this week.

I was really nervous because the research I do is just about looking for stories and a good tune: “Oh that sounds good I’ll use that!” It’s completely different to the research she’s doing looking at songs and ballads, how they’re printed and whether this lyric is more accurate than that one.

I felt like I was taking liberties with her specialist area, but actually she believes reinterpretation has always been part of the story. Her research involves going through different interpretations to unravel them. So I’m another person in a long tradition of people reinterpreting these songs, which she found interesting. So I’m doing one song, basically for her but I’m sure I’ll put it online.

Finally, what have you got planned for your forthcoming residency at The Vortex?

I sometimes tire of rock gigs and I’ve started going to jazz gigs. There are lots of things that are different aside from the music: longer sets, sitting down, largely unamplified music. I’m trying to do something like that.

Often when you see a band it’s like hearing their CV. They have to include their top O-level scores and the best bits at the end. I want it to be less like that and more “what shall we do tonight?” Each gig will be themed, but not the classic album theme. I don’t like knowing what every song’s going to be in order.

I’m theme-ing my songs into groups, and we’re planning to do 12 gigs over a year. The first is The Violence and Bugbears, then a holiday themed one for August. I’ll do a set of piano songs from different albums and we’ve thought about doing one where the first 14 ticket buyers choose the songs. Then there are the Hefner songs but not a Hefner reunion as such. We haven’t decided all of them but I’m sure the ideas will come to us.

Darren’s residency at The Vortex begins on July 11th. Bugbears is out on July 15th on Fika Recordings.