My first thoughts were, 'oh no, young media savvy bloke seeks to score points against easy target', and I found myself looking for the sarcasm, the opportunistic folk-knocking. But the book was much better, much more thoughtful and interesting, and deserved a kinder eye than that. Richard Lewis is "English Bloke", and attempts to get to the bottom of English folklore through a much closer acquaintance with folk music, traditions and festivals than he ever thought he'd need. His crucial 'in' is that he plays music. It's his passport to a hidden, slightly secretive, and definitely unappreciated, English counter-culture. It's sort of a travelogue, and sort of a history of folklore and folk music, and it's event got traces of the self-revelatory 'I was blind but now I see' transformative account, but what redeems it from being too specifically, and inadequately, any of those things, is that he is - or at any rate becomes - sincere about the events, and the people, he's writing about. Highlights were his descripton of himself in the hobby horse festival in Gloucester (I think?!), and his hysterical descriptions of the gurning contest in Cumbria. He also includes a concise and very intelligent critique about Jane Austen's narrow England.
He's not the most charismatic writer, sometimes too journalistic, not lyrical enough; but at times he creates sad and beautiful images which have stuck with me ever since. I didn't necessarily come away with a bundle of firm, well drawn conclusions, but I did emerge with more knowledge, and certainly more understanding, of a culture I have probably affected to despise in the past. Never again. That said, I've never yet read a writer who can translate music to the written page in a way that reflects my actual experience of it, and Lewis is no different: he almost had me believing in the intrinsic merit of the variety of different tunes played by Morris dancers, until I stood at the Sweeps Festival in Rochester myself, shortly after reading this book, ready, willing, determined to be impressed - and heard tune after tune cranked out excrutiatingly on a hundred different accordions, each sounding so much alike that they may as well have been one single, endless, tedious tune. It hasn't converted me, but I was impressed with the journey - a labour of love.