Over Christmas, my elder daughter pointed out that KT Tunstall and Eliza Carthy, both of whom she's seen play a few times, were touring with Robyn Hitchcock, of whom she had of course never heard, and Howie Gelb and Crystal Warren, with whom I was unfamiliar as well. This being 2012, the tour was to be "curated" by Hitchcock. I must confess that it was only recently that I realised that people who "curate" exhibitions in art galleries do more than sweep the floor and make sure children don't smear their sticky fingers all over the Gilbert and Georges, but I presume that for a concert tour it implies a certain organisational and artistic influence over and above "turn up on time, play all the hits bar one, that's the encore" (in memory of Jackie Leven's untimely death, all artists should henceforth stop doing encores "going off, coming back on, what's the point? Cuts into drinking time"). My heart was fairly heavy when I bought the tickets, though: I've really enjoyed both Tunstall and Carthy gigs lately, especially as Martin (Eliza's father) has been playing a lot with her, and Hitchcock's brand of whimsy is perfectly amiable. But together I suspected that the whole thing would be a rather cosy and back-slapping muso event, with an audience where not only would Sarah reduce the average age, but _I_ would reduce the average age. To make matters worse, it was in the appalling Butterworth Hall at Warwick Arts Centre. The theatre at the Arts Centre has always struck me a tolerable venue, but that opinion is helped by the only three gigs I've seen there having been extraordinary in their different ways: Martha Wainwright with Kate McGarrigle sitting in on piano and hi-jacking the whole evening to Martha's evident delight, Jane Siberry being Jane Siberry, and an amazing David Thomas tour with Jackie Leven, Linda Thompson and what appeared to be a lorry load of psychiatric turmoil. But the larger Butterworth Hall is for people who find lecture theatres too exciting, and with its shallow rake and wide seat spacing can remove the will to live from the most energetic band and the most excitable audience. As gigs I've seen in there include Everything But The Girl at the time they themselves have said they were just tired of touring, The Blue Nile at their most taciturn and Lou Reed with his bloody Tai Chi master on stage with him, the calm can perhaps be rather appropriate, but last year it also sucked the life out of a Richard Thompson gig with Pete Zorn in the band, which takes some doing. But anyway, when you're fifteen as Sarah is, perhaps you're not so jaded, so I tried to remain positive in the car on the way down. Reviews of earlier gigs on the tour seemed quite enthusiastic; Martin was sitting in with them, by the sounds of it doing a musical director thing. And as Sarah's just recovering from dislocating her knee, had it been some scuzzy standing venue she wouldn't have been able to go anyway, so on this occasion the hall wasn't quite the annoyance it normally would be. Sunday turned out not to be Martin Carthy stage right: he had a previous appointment in Cheltenham. I'd seen some press which implied there would be a one-off appearance of someone in his stead, but the name seemed so implausible that I almost discounted it. So when we walked into the (barely half-full) venue and there was a very expensive-looking custom bass and a couple of mandolins, I knew whose they were, but was surprised nonetheless. Because indeed, on a wet Sunday evening in Warwick, for the delectation of a half-full hall of middle-aged folk fans, John Paul Jones was stepping in as super-sub. KT Tunstall may have at one point remarked "this'll be OK, I played this to him five minutes ago and he says he's played songs in G before", but it was all a great deal more than OK. He didn't sing, he didn't do any solos (indeed, he hardly played an extraneous note) but Tunstall's tweet "So, I just soundchecked 'I Want You Back' with John Paul Jones playing bass.#HOLYSHITILOVEMYLIFE" pretty much sums it up: what might have been a rather polite noodle through some odds and ends, in the manner of a BBC4 "Transatlantic Sessions" programme without the drug-crazed mayhem, turned into an extremely competitive session with everyone on their top game. Reviews of the other nights on the tour complained of endless tuning: not for this show. No-one was going to waste any time. Mostly Jones played mandolin, pushed up in the (superb) mix, driving along some material that might otherwise be a bit polite (yes, driving along with a mandolin), dropping counter melodies in against the vocals. Three or four times he picked up his bass and applied some muscle to the proceedings, which presumably hadn't happened on other dates on the tour. He had the grin of a man enjoying what he was doing, and everyone else on stage was smart enough to know the best way to deal with someone good is to be better. It was a one off, and it was the last night of the tour anyway. It probably won't happen again. But I can imagine that back stage, Tunstall and Carthy, at least, were signing Jones up to play on their next albums. Folk music is often too polite, and when it attempts to rock it's rather akin to professional opera singers essaying Sondheim: the notes are all in the right place, but although your head is engaged, your heart and your feet are unmoved. And yes, obviously I know that Led Zeppelin had a folk influence and worked with Sandy Denny (although given the way she died, their collaboration is rich with post-hoc poignancy). But this struck me as a genuine cross-over of people from different genres, which is what Hitchcock had set out to do, and everyone came out of it really well. It was a genuinely enjoyable thing, and the people who weren't there (and there were a lot of empty seats) missed a treat. ian