How many people will pull on shades and go off and watch Timothee Chalamet's pitch-perfect Dylan impersonation this week? How many will wish for a time machine to shoot them back to Cafe Wha? or The Gaslight? How many will think that they've missed out on those harmonies, on delicate folk-y loveliness, on a different way of thinking? 
 
Those people need to see THE BROTHERS GILLESPIE. Two actual brothers with two incredible voices, one microphone and an acoustic guitar held like a shield.
 
Is it too crass to call them Northumberland's Simon & Garfunkel? Too ridiculous to imagine a world where Greenwich Village materialised between the Tweed and the Tyne? Is it silly to want to grab those nostalgists and say "Look! Here! Now!"?
 
 
They start with Pilgrim Song, taken from their latest album The Merciful Road, it's dusted with silver dew and exquisite harmonies. Sam Gillespie seems to sing effortlessly, the rays of a golden sun dancing with motes, waiting for his brother, James, to join him. Together they are warmth and depth, home and hearth. They are a bridge over troubled water, the sound of silence. They are astonishing. 
 
Golden One is an ambling, rambling reverie of a song, a walk across the fells, stopping, marvelling then doubling back. It doesn't meander so much as layer beauty on top of beauty. There are spirits and a turn-of-the-year spookiness as the two voices throw a velvet cloak over the Fell wanderers. Sam picks fluid runs from his guitar and the whole thing is utterly timeless. Truly, these are songs that could be from those battered NY coffee shops or, just as easily, plucked from ancient tomes.
 
 
So many of the songs this evening speak of the lifting of a veil, of finding something beneath our battered world. There's the joyful multiculturalism of Wingrove Road, the nature-filled, greenwood-tinge of Albion and the wide-eyed evocations of Child Oisín Blessing. All of which show The Brothers Gillespie to be eternal optimists, to see all of the best bits that our wide world has to offer.
 
A new song, The Worlds Unfold, is pure Simon & Garfunkel, glistening with layers of luminosity. The harmonies are simply gorgeous, the song gently wrapping us between sheets of golden silk as the brothers lift more veils.
 
While there's melancholy and introspection across the whole set, there's joy and uplift too. The Banks of the Liffey has that timeless quality, again, but it's full of positivity, the harmonies a celebration, the tune immediate and wonderful. Two voices that fit together, that uncover loveliness.
 
 
If The Brothers Gillespie conjure New York circa ‘61 then LIZ SIMCOCK is just as timeless, just as classic (with a capital C). Remember when you found those Vashti Bunyan and Karen Dalton records? Remember how you thought "I wish I could have been there"? Well, Simcock is right here, right now. People will rediscover her albums in thirty years' time, lavishly compile sleeve notes and wish that they were there too. She's that good.
 
Her voice on The Long Haul is caramel smooth and deliciously deep, the perfect accompaniment to a song that Joan Baez would be proud of. City Girl, too, captures a universal truth in that way that only the very best songwriters can. She touches on environmental issues, on love and loss, and being stood up on the way to a party. Armed with an acoustic guitar, a brilliant voice and a sharp, songwriterly eye, Simcock is the precious stone glinting on a pebble beach. 
 
That beautiful Mr Chalamet will encourage all manner of people into the cinemas over the next few weeks. He will, doubtless, cause a frenzy of interest in the folk music of 60 odd years ago. The thing is, there's brilliant folk music being made right now that deserves all of that Chalamet-shaped attention. The Brothers Gillespie and Liz Simcock are out there, waiting. Brilliant folk music that echoes the past but is here, now, and ready to be discovered.
 
Words: Gavin McNamara
Photos: Barry Savell
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Described by Folk Radio UK as "weaving an especially compelling magic", and "showing British acoustic music in its best possible light", THE BROTHERS GILLESPIE make music that is animated by lyrical songwriting, fine fingerstyle guitar playing, multi-instrumental musicianship and "the glorious tones of their blood harmony" (Sam Lee); and the duo headline Downend Folk & Roots’ monthly concert on Friday 17 January.

Brothers James and Sam Gillespie found their sound growing up in the fells and valleys of Northumberland, their songs often describing relationships with wild places and the experience of finding oneself in a world alive with soul. The music comes to them most strongly when walking in the borderlands with their packs and instruments which remains a regular practice for them. This spirit is channeled into their live performances which have a rare and intimate energy, both ethereal and earthy, romantic and radical.  

Their latest album, The Merciful Road, was recorded in a cottage by the banks of the river Tweed and blends rootsy, acoustic elements to create a rich warm sound with a touch of vintage magic. In some ways it is an album about finding the thread of love and belonging in a world that seems to be nonetheless unravelling.

Opening the evening will be LIZ SIMCOCK, whose songs - often autobiographical and highly personal - are immediately accessible to audiences and injected with poetry, emotion and splashes of humour. 2020 brought the release of her fifth album Winter Hill, a pared down acoustic album featuring one voice, one guitar and a handful of beautifully crafted and previously unreleased songs.
 
Tickets for the concert, which takes place at CHRIST CHURCH DOWNEND on Friday 17 January 2025, are available online HERE and from MELANIE'S KITCHEN in Downend (cash only). They are priced at £14 each in advance or £16 on the door. Doors open at 7.00pm and the music starts around 7.45pm. This event is also included in our Spring Season Ticket.
 
There will be a bar, stocking cider, soft drinks, wine, hot drinks and real ale from locally-based HOP UNION BREWERY. Audience members are encouraged to bring their own glass/mug/tankard, as well as reusable bottles for water, as part of the drive to be more environmentally aware; there is a 50p discount for those that do. There will also be sweet treats available at the bar courtesy of Radstock-based THE GREAT CAKE COMPANY, as well as a prize draw, which helps to fund the support artists for each concert.
 
For further information, please email This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it. or find us on FACEBOOKINSTAGRAMBLUESKY or YOUTUBE.

ADVANCE SALES CLOSED - TICKETS AVAILABLE ON THE DOOR

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There's the smell of mulled wine in the air, hundreds of people muffled up against the December night, the finest Folk choir in the country harmonising beautifully, there are sparkles and woolly hats and an expectant hum that there will be magic again.
 
It can only be the Downend Folk & Roots Christmas shindig. The best way to usher in the festivities imaginable.
 
 
As is now traditional, HEARTWOOD CHORUS start things off. Thirty-two voices in perfect harmony, gently tearing the wrapping paper from a longed-for gift. The Wexford Carol ebbs and flows, layers upon layers as voices surge, exultant, towards the heavens. Homeless Wassail may not be traditional but its message is clear, a simple wish for some dinner, a bed and a warming fire. The contrast in the voices always stunning, subtle variations that throw fireside colours across Christ Church Downend.
 
Johnny Flynn and Robert Macfarlane's The Sun Also Rises is simply exquisite. Those voices rise to meet the sun, rise to meet the moon, they are as warm, as welcoming, as the winter sun on your face. Finally, Three Harks is a familiar carol with an unfamiliar tune but is wholly glorious. If only every choir could sound like this one, worship would be an entirely different thing.
 
 
A WINTER UNION have been over this way before, bringing their celebration of wintertime to Downend in 2021, they are warmly welcomed back. They are made up of Ben Savage, Hannah Sanders, Jade Rhiannon, Katriona Gilmore and Jamie Roberts, each one an incredible musician in their own right, each with their own voice, their own song to sing.
 
The songs are, obviously, mighty festive. They open with Ding Dong Merrily on High, Sanders and Rhiannon angelic together as the guitars of Savage and Roberts chime. Katriona Gilmore's violin is simply glorious. It's all heavenly sky, bright, stirring and golden. It is the sound of sweet fresh air. The Holly and the Ivy is country tinged, Rhiannon singing, Sanders and Gilmore harmonising, a dulcimer reflecting back the light as if so many mirrors had been scattered there.
 
There are wassails and cover versions. The Band and Townes Van Zanndt are dutifully paid homage, trees are praised, cider discussed, Sanders bends the knee to Joni Mitchell’s The River and Roberts gets all angry and socialist on Robb Johnson’s Boxing Day.
 
 
It is, however, the original songs that are most affecting. Gilmore’s Every Midnight Mile is the Christmas song that should issue from every radio in the land. Forget Carey, forget Rea, this is the one that offers hope and love, offers peace and redemption. If her violin is extraordinary (and it always is), then her voice is even better. It’s comforting and welcoming, as sleepy as it is wide-eyed. It is the voice of a Christmas Eve fireside. With the dobro of Savage and Gilmore's mandolin, it is a refuge in the darkness. 
 
Ben Savage shows his gleeful, childish side on A White Christmas Somewhere, where a small child wishes for snow everywhere, all winter long. His dobro gives a winter-y tale country tassels, Rhiannon's voice a fuzzy, velvety blur. Mandolin and bells the sleigh-bound tinkles that Savage’s inner-child is so desperate for.
 
It is, once again, Katriona Gilmore that squeezes the heart on Raise a Candle. Her song reminds us that Christmas can be a tough time, that some of us struggle. She also, crucially, reminds us that we are not alone. The swoon of the female voices is wonderful, utterly transporting. If this is the loneliness of Christmas then it is hard not to embrace it, not to fall in love with the gentle contemplation. As the friends gather around a single microphone so the wintertime despair disappears.
 
All that is left is a storming Jethro Tull cover and a beautiful counting song. By the end Downend is giddy - too many sherries, too much egg-nog - and Sanders thinks that if you can't count along then you shouldn't drive. She's probably right, but by the end the end the whole of the audience is so full of the Christmas spirit, so infused with yuletide joy, that walking on the air is the only sensible option anyway.
 
Words: Gavin McNamara
Photos: Barry Savell
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