Fortune favours the willing-to-go-along-with-it

This post was written a few days ago before the big decisions which will be the subject of the post I'm about to write

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I went to Tel Aviv Folk Club a few days ago, and the possibly uncool vibes were heavily trailed by some top-drawer Facebook comms:

But I still had high hopes. A folk club? It's bound to feature some of the stuff I love: harmonies, well played acoustic guitars, whatever.

The place was a long way out, and the long bus  journey was made more pleasurable by a very friendly young Russian woman who had just arrived in Tel Aviv having left her Moscow home permanently because of the increasingly difficult political and economic position. It was mind boggling to hear about all these international-news-level things like sanctions, closed borders and state repression directly from someone who's Russian debit cards had been frozen and who had had to spend all night at the airport in a bid to leave. We're still in touch so maybe you'll hear more about this kind of stuff in future posts.

But for now, my arrival at the Folk Club was deeply inauspicious, with full fluorescent lighting and the kind of shambling, bickering and general disorder that seemingly only a group of Jewish OAPs is truly capable of. I sat meekly down, while all around me triggered squeals of feedback and argued about guitar cables. The first couple of acts did truly not disappoint in terms of implausibly toe-curling terribleness. I actually had to leave the room at one point, just to give myself the strength to sit through more.

But when a couple next to me revealed that the singer was their daughter and the old man got misty eyed with delight, clapped along and even got up to shufflingly dance in the aisle, I thought oh maybe I'll stay. The man in front of me gazing at his wife and rubbing her back affectionately every time they did a romantic number also melted my tough London gig-goers heart. So I stayed and was richly rewarded. A young American man had come to town with his Indian wife and little two-year-old son and he played amazing originals and moving cover versions while his son toddled good-naturedly around. The 20 OAPs and I were agog. They were followed by a folk duo from England who had the vocal harmonies and skillfully strummed guitars I'd been dreaming of. I took the long bus ride home a happy man, glad that I'd taken a punt on something and persisted when any sane person would have turned tail and fled.