Cheltenham Musings 1 - May 1

I trundled into Cheltenham Spa on a late running Cross Country train from Morpeth that had taken us to see Barnsley as a picturesque addition to the route. Don’t mention the points failure near Northallerton. This late arrival meant I had less than an hour to get to the DEYA Arena in the main festival site after dropping off luggage at the internationally acclaimed Clematis Guesthouse. This Steve and I managed to do with only 40 minutes to spare allowing us to enjoy the scenery on our walk.

Cheltenham is a lovely town. Originating as a spa town, (its original name is preserved in that of the two platform station with Starbucks café), it has Regency period buildings galore and a sub-Trevi fountain, (the Trevor Fountain?). There is the shop where my daughter and her husband bought their wedding rings and there is the Cheltenham Ladies College where, during Jazz Festival Week posh young ladies can go and have their ears assailed by the latest Norwegian skronk jazz. As you wander round the historical centre of town you can imagine Jane Austen setting off from Ashington to visit the best of Georgian society at the Spa (“Wor ye gannin, wor Jane?” “I’m gannin doon ta Cheltenhyam, mother, for ta tek tha watters.”)

We had already had a text from the organisers with the news that Gotts Street Park, featuring Olive Jones, whom we had come to see, would now be Olive Jones featuring no-one else. Gotts Street Park are, according to the Festival Guide, “known for ‘cinematic soul’, blending jazz, R&B, and hip hop to create atmospheric music with a retro feel.” What they were known for on Friday night in Cheltenham was bunking off because one of them had a partner who was expecting an imminent arrival. In their absence, Olive delivered a short set of mid-paced folk-pop; (my notes only say ‘Olive Jones: DEYA Arena’) which only really got going towards the end when she strapped on an electric guitar and introduced “a song about Brexit.” The look on her face whilst she sang suggested that she was not wholly in favour.

Amongst the many attractions this year at the site in Montpelier Gardens was a record stall run, as last year, by Rough Trade Records. Unlike last year, however, they were playing jazz music on their speakers! Last year the best thing I found was a 2CD album of Ellington at Newport for five quid. (Reader, I bought it). This year there were loads of jazz LPs and CDs, many by artists who were playing at the Festival, another departure from last year. I had sent Rough Trade an e-mail a few months back suggesting that selling jazz CDs to jazz fans at a jazz festival might make some sort of commercial sense but I was still surprised to see my suggestion being heeded. Soon the smell of my own scorched credit card filled the air as the kiddies’ inheritance took a hammering. Dave Sayer