Shepley Spring Festival is a diverse mix of musical treats

There are certain things that we expect at a festival: a field, a camp site, beer and bands. Then there are things we hope to find, because they make our festival weekend that bit more enjoyable: Old Rosie at the bar, interesting ethnic food, showers that are warm and bogs that flush. The festivals that hold a special place in our hearts are the ones that not only provide these niceties, but go further in their efforts to ensure a happy experience. They are events with quirks, events with nooks and crannies, events with innumerable delights hiding in unexpected places. Shepley Spring Festival is one such occasion. Its audience not only spans the decades from babies to pensioners, it also spans the species from humans, through dogs, to alcoholic cats. The musical line up is similarly diverse. Traditional or progressive, rocky or dancy, there's plenty on the bill to keep the party going.

Shepley doesn't call itself a folk festival, but a visit to the village during festival weekend will reveal that it certainly feels like one. There are packed pubs, with punters enjoying a variety of dance sides from near and far, performing in a range of styles. Earlsdon are there in force. With their foliose flowery hats, a three squeezebox attack and brass instruments shining in the rain, they exemplify the party spirit of Olde England. At one point, they enter the Demon Barbers' clog dancing competition, which is OK 'because they dance in clogs.' They don't win, but as entertainment value, they are second to none. Close on their heels though, are Sheffield's Boggart's Breakfast. With their blue painted faces, in honour of 'the local Boggarts who live on the moors', and dancing their unique style of 'Border Morris 2.01', they mesmerize with spectacular stick throwing and swirling mathematical figures.

The vibe of the festival is very folky too. There are the usual opportunities to join in, with singing, dancing and tune workshops aplenty. At Shepley, the folky ethos is particularly evident in the relationship that exists between the performers and their audience. True to the folk spirit, it is a conspiratorial relationship rather than one of consumption. There's always plenty of singing along, and when Roy Bailey forgets his words, there's someone who'll tell him what they are, or even sing the offending verse for him. When KAN headline on Friday night there is a mass Breton 'en dro' finger dance, and when Eddy O'Dwyer can't find his capo on Sunday, he borrows one from a member of the audience.

Clad in a punky looking black t-shirt, Eddy is as rock n roll as they come. He is playing a trad repertoire on a family heirloom of a concertina, held together with bits of gaffer tape, but this just seems to an extra edge of punk to the performance. It's a spirit that runs throughout Shepley.

The organisers here have made great efforts to attract people of all ages. There are teens, there are twenty somethings, and there are tons of babies. Some babies are in Morris kit and one who I notice, has acquired a AAA pass on his pram which, considering he has yet to master crawling, is an impressive statement of priorities. Kids are well taken care of at Shepley. There is a programme of workshops and concerts just for them, a merry go round on the festival site, and a big bouncy slide that makes all of the 'grown ups' very jealous. The programming of acts must take a large part of the credit for diversity of ages present. Each evening concert is headlined by an outfit that is guaranteed to get the dancing going. KAN headline on Friday, Flook on Sunday but the biggest party is for the Peatbog Faeries on Saturday night. Elsewhere on the bill, there are big names on offer. In addition to Roy Bailey, Nic Jones plays a focused set on Saturday; finger in ear from start to finish, and a solo Martin Simpson is at his awe inspiring best on Sunday. In true Shepley spirit though, it's the younger acts that really impress, particularly in the way in which they have taken inspiration from English traditional music, and have woven into it their own brand of uniqueness and creativity.

Greg Russell & Ciaran Algar recently won a young folk award, whilst still at school. Greg started university the next academic year and, to my mind, deserves another award for rocking up at his student house with a concertina. He's a talented multi-instrumentalist with a voice that can deliver a folk song as well as any. Ciaran's fiddling is finessed without being flashy, and together they've already carved out a reputation as a must see act on the festival scene, opening the Saturday concert to a full house.

The Teacups, likewise, are as traditional as they come, singing unaccompanied songs in four part harmony. They're on that folk degree course in Newcastle, and are launching their debut album here at Shepley. It's a proper album launch: champagne out of posh glasses and so on; but there's also a folk twist in the form of plates of biscuits on the tables and, more significantly, no CDs, as their folk record company hasn't got them ready yet. Still, they deliver a charming performance to a packed village hall and sure enough, there is a big old queue at the end for mail order CDs. The Teacups are definitely ones to watch.

Sunjay Brayne follows Eddy O'Dwyer on Sunday and immediately impresses as a sort of Martin Simpson in waiting. As well as being a great singer and an accomplished guitarist, with a fine bluesy fingerpicking style, he scores points for a CD plug which is simultaneously inspired, and a sad sign of the times, 'If you buy my CD, I'll be able to go to Uni next year.' His musical and academic careers seem assured.

Blackbeard's Tea Party perform traditional material but you wouldn't call them trad. From the programme, they look a bit folk-rock, which I must confess makes me want to run and hide. They win me over by opening with that song that Brian Peters sings about Dick Turpin and then proceed to create a mosh pit at the front of seated audience in an afternoon concert, which takes some doing!

When it comes to creating a unique spin on the traditional, no one does it better than Lady Maisery. They take to the stage in posh frocks, echoing the more sophisticated approach evident on their new album, May Day. The already awesome Katy Cruel is supercharged with some trademark diddling and their diddled Constant Billy is a tough listen in a seated venue, invoking as it does an irrepressible urge to get up and dance about: small sticks and lots of "heys" optional.

A particularly memorable aspect of the music at Shepley this year, is that it is chock full of stories, scenes and characters. Roger Davies wears a flat cap and sings scenes of South Yorkshire. Gren Bartley who follows him on Sunday, has a vast spectrum of colours on his musical palette. It's a cerebral performance, and is highly entertaining.

David Gibb and Elly Lucas are on when the sun starts to shine on Sunday afternoon. It's a fine co-incidence as David and Elly sit on the sunny side of the folk fence. Don't get me wrong, they can sing songs as miserable as the best of them, but their delivery is always charming; it's music that puts you at your ease. David and Elly have a broad musical canvas, but it's their musical vignettes that shine the brightest. Uncle Joe is vividly bought to life, wearing his bowler hat for sailing, as is Johnny, who fought at Waterloo. It's vivid, vibrant, must see stuff.

Martin Simpson follows David and Elly but offers a different kind of warmth, namely the sultry heat of the deep south. Martin performs solo, but his guitar is more than capable of filling all of the nooks and crannies. Again, it's an evocative performance, rich in character and scene. Martin paints pictures of '55 Chevys and bottles of bourbon; of folks who carry a piece but 'don't wanna hurt no one'. Never Any Good produces sniffs and sniffles around the venue, and the Murphy the donkey story is, honestly, lump-in-throat poignant.

Gavin Davenport sings songs of a world that I'd quite like to visit but not to stay in for too long. It's world of gin shops, gallant poachers and square riggers. It's also a world with a shocking disregard to law and order when it comes to murdering prostitutes and stealing stuff: steady on now, Gav.

Moulettes sing of places that you really shouldn't visit, as your chances of coming back are slim. The world they evoke is a place where bedrooms full of bee hives are murderously lethal, and where bears dismember people before escaping in hot air balloons. The band features some heavenly female harmonies, three members of the string family, an autoharp and a bassoon shaped 'doom stick'. As you might expect then, a Moulettes performance is an inventive, unpredictable and ever surprising affair. The crowd are on their feet at the end, and the loudness of their screaming sets my tinnitus off like you wouldn't believe. It's almost like someone is being murdered, but don't let that put you off. See the Moulettes, I dare you.

Shepley has won an award for being 'best village festival', and as such it works very well, packing pubs with punters, parading dance sides down the streets and entertaining village halls full of people, with top notch acts. The main festival site is up the road from the village, on a cricket pitch, at the top of a hill. Here you have everything you expect at a festival. A big concert tent, a beer tent, food stalls and fairground rides. The key to Shepley's success seems to be that it offers that best of several worlds. It's a field festival and a village festival; there are young folks and there are old folks. The music on offer ranges from the ultra traditional, to the modern and progressive; from unaccompanied singing to banging loud dance. My one word of caution would be never to enter the festival car park. If you do you will never leave. I think it's sponsored by the Moulettes. As for the rest of Shepley Spring Festival, it's all good, and thoroughly recommended.

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