The hang-over of the Edinburgh Festival is clearing and all that is left is enough defunct flyers to cover the dark side of the moon.  Reflecting on my festival experience, I recollect a peculiar recurring phenomenon which I became aware of while listening to Sinsheen during Clubhouse guru Paddy Bort's epic run of "Festival Folk at the Oak" shows. 

I am talking about the appropriation of Scottish song which, when you start looking out for it, occurs in a number of different guises and is perpetrated by various actors.

The most common and familiar enemy is corporate appropriation.  The twisting, murdering and manipulation of ancient Scottish songs, stripping them of their historical meaning, significance and context for corporate gain is rife in our culture.  Not only have the symbols and personalities of Scottish history been appropriated (consider Christopher Silver's excellent blog on "Homecoming Scotland's" use of Robbie Burn's image on Coca Cola bottles), our most loved, well-worn and much abused songs are often warped (re-interpreted is a hopeless euphemism) into monstrous, Frankenstienian husks of an original whole. 

Returning to that evening in the Royal Oak listening to Sinsheen, I was dramatically reminded of this when I heard their version of "Loch Lomond".

It is sobering to consider what might have gone through the Jacobite Clansmen's minds, as they lined up on the field of Culloden on the 16th April 1746, had they known that one of the most enduring pieces of popular culture commemorating the rebel cause some 263 years later would be what is mistakenly thought of as a Runrig song. 

Loch Lomond, though appropriated by Runrig in their soft rock epic, should not be considered synonymous with pissed Scots and pseudo-Scots bouncing around at New Year.  The origins of this song can be traced to the Scottish soldiers who were captured after the battle, and imprisoned in Carlisle Castle awaiting execution.  Sinsheen adapt a poem by Alicia Ann, Lady John Scott  (1810-1900) published in Ford's "Vagabond Songs and Ballads of Scotland" (published in 2 volumes in 1899 and 1900).  They pair this with the Irish air "Ta Mo Chleamhnas A Dheanamh" to tell the story of a young imprisoned soldier visiting his love in her dreams, to tell her they will not meet again in this life.

This version restores much of the original sense of dignity and pride which should rightly be associated with such an emotive chapter of Scotland's history.  The omission of Runrig's football chant at the end of their diabolical accepted "classic", along with the weight of history in both lyric and melody pays bitter-sweet homage to the ordeal faced by the clans following the destruction of the Jacobite rebellion at Culloden.  The experience of listening to this version was like watching an old person look in a mirror to see a young and fair face staring back, with 263 years between truth and reality. 

However, Runrig are far from the only guilty parties in the appropriation of Scottish song.  Don't ask me why, but for some reason (best loosely ascribed to "the bleak reality of life outwith the folk scene"), I found myself cringing my way through the "Lady Boys of Bangkok".  When they reached the end of their cabaret, they inexplicably decided to milk the radge crowd by the insertion of Loch Lomond into their set list.  It was quite clear that the dance routine was hastily choreographed in order to appease the Scottish punters.  Again, as I sank lower into my seat to avoid the roving eye of trans-gendered performers looking for prey to humiliate on-stage, I found myself thinking about what those long-dead clansmen, looking down from the great ceildh in the sky, would have made of the spectacle. 

It is quite easy to bash corporate cheapening of the symbols and songs of Scotland.  I'm now going to turn my focus to an entire nation who also have become masters of "heritage whoring", the Irish.  Over the summer months I was regularly running a  session in Scots Bar on Rose street, as well as occasionally cashing in on the tourists by busking.  I became increasingly frustrated and painfully aware that the most lucrative songs for me to perform are those which have been subject to what I shall refer to as the "Guinness-ification" of Irish culture.  Such is the marketing strength of Guinness that the Irish appear to lay almost exclusive claim to folk music.  Infuriatingly I would be asked to perform "Willie McBride/Green Fields of France" by "that Irish band the Fureys" or "Black is the colour" by "Christie Moor".  Being in need of cash, I was forced to acquiesse, yet not without having to resist the urge to point out that both songs are, in fact, Scottish, the first by Eric Bogle and the second being a traditional number with clear origins from the West of Scotland (the lyrics even mention the river Clyde!).  Imagine the fall out if Scots laid claim to an Irish song which mentionned the river Gallway!  However, such is the strength of the Irish heritage industry that it appears to override common sense as is peddles a clutch of well-worn songs on "Paddy's Day", "Arthur's Day" or any other day tenuously associated with the consumption of copious quantities of Guinness. 

(Nevertheless, I am also forced to admit that it is my favourite beer so for those of you who found this blog to be entirely hypocritical, please direct all complaints to This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it .)

Catch you later down the folkie trail, Tom