Fort Adams is a former US army outpost, built in the mid-19th century to defend the approaches to Narragansett Bay and the strategic city of Newport, which was established on the isle from which the state of Rhode Island takes its name. For one weekend in July, the fort – now a state park – functions as the setting for the Newport Folk Festival. Joe Henry and I are here to perform material from our album of railroad songs, recorded on a train journey from Chicago to Los Angeles last year.
Browsing through a photo gallery of artists who appeared at the festival over breakfast the next morning, it occurs to me that I may have been the oldest performer on Saturday’s bill. While this might give cause for concern at Reading/Leeds or V Festival, it’s not something to worry about at Newport. One of the nice things about folk music audiences is that they actively encourage you to grow old. If I’m still doing this job in 15 years’ time and have grown to look like Burl Ives – imagine Falstaff with a Spanish guitar – they’ll still book me for the Cambridge Folk Festival. Sadly, for many of my contemporaries, rock audiences are not so forgiving. If Morrissey goes the same way – portly, bewhiskered and bald – he’s finished.
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