★★★★★ Celtic Tales is one of those Fringe shows that doesn’t try to reinvent the wheel — it just sits you down, plays you good music, tells you a few stories, and lets you enjoy yourself. And honestly, there’s something refreshing about that.
Elsa and Gary have a lovely, easy chemistry on stage. The husband‑and‑wife banter is funny without ever tipping into performance shtick; it’s just them, teasing each other the way couples do, and the audience laps it up. It breaks up the music and the folklore nicely, giving the whole thing a relaxed, fireside feel.
The music is the backbone of the show. Elsa’s fiddle work is bright and confident, and when she starts layering sounds with the loop pedal, the room warms up immediately. Gary’s accompaniment keeps everything grounded. Even if you walked in knowing nothing about Celtic myths, you’d still enjoy the tunes.
The stories themselves are a mixed bag in the best way — some eerie, some gentle, all delivered with a light touch. I especially liked the tale of the Blue Men of the Minch, those storm‑calling sea spirits who challenge ship captains with riddles. It’s a cracking bit of folklore, and the riddle element gives it a playful tension that Elsa leans into. You can feel the room lean forward, waiting to hear whether the captain gets it right.
Then there’s the Ghillie Dhu, the shy little forest elf who guides a lost child home. It’s a softer story, almost tender, and it balances the darker sea‑myth nicely. Kids would love this one — it’s got that storybook quality that sticks.
And that’s worth saying plainly: this is a genuinely good show for children. The myths are vivid, the music lively, and the humour gentle. Nothing drags, nothing gets too heavy, and at around 45 minutes it’s exactly the right length for younger attention spans.
Not everything lands perfectly. The background graphics could do with a bit of work — they’re functional, but they don’t match the richness of the music or the atmosphere of the stories. A more imaginative visual design would lift the whole thing. The scripting, too, could be tighter. A few transitions feel a little loose.
Celtic Tales is warm, friendly, and full of heart. It’s the kind of Fringe show you can take the whole family to without worrying about content or pacing. You get good music, a handful of myths, a bit of laughter, and a couple on stage who clearly enjoy performing together. Sometimes that’s all you need.
★★★★★ For many Fringe regulars, The Sorries are as much a part of August in Edinburgh as the crowds on the Royal Mile. Martin Philip and Douglas Kay have been returning to the festival for seventeen years now, carrying with them a deep affection for The Corries — the legendary Scottish folk group whose influence still echoes through the country’s musical traditions.
The Corries themselves emerged in the early 1960s and became woven into Scotland’s cultural fabric, not least through Roy Williamson’s “Flower of Scotland,” a song that has become the nation’s unofficial anthem. Today The Corries continue as a duo, and The Sorries honour that legacy with obvious respect and genuine joy.
Their hour‑long set is exactly what audiences come for: foot‑tapping, hand‑clapping, full‑throated Scottish folk. Martin and Douglas move easily between guitars, bodhrans, mandolin and tres, their harmonies warm and confident, their rapport with the audience relaxed and inviting. When they encourage the room to sing along, people don’t hesitate — it’s that kind of show, where participation feels natural rather than forced.
The setlist draws from the national songbook, including Jacobite ballads and pieces rooted in the oral traditions of Robert Burns and Sir Walter Scott. There’s a sense of continuity in the way they present these songs: not as museum pieces, but as living, breathing stories that still have something to say.
If traditional Scottish music stirs something in you — pride, nostalgia, or simply the pleasure of hearing it played well — you’ll walk out of this performance lighter than you walked in. The Sorries deliver exactly what they promise, and they do it with skill, humour and heart.
Woody Sez is a warm, engaging tribute to Woody Guthrie, built around his songs and the stories that shaped them. The show blends biography, politics, humour and hardship into a fluid, fast‑moving piece of musical theatre. It’s presented with an easy, unforced charm that draws you in from the start.
I arrived knowing Woody Guthrie largely through his better-known songs, particularly the union anthems that have echoed down the decades. I left with a far richer appreciation of the man, his extraordinary catalogue and the experiences that shaped him. The production introduces audiences to songs that deserve to stand alongside the classics, performed with such conviction that they feel as fresh today as when Guthrie first wrote them.
The staging could hardly be simpler. Four musicians, a backdrop of photographs drawn from Guthrie’s life and the turbulent times through which he lived, and very little else. There are no elaborate sets or distracting theatrical flourishes. None are needed. The music, the words and the performances tell the story.
Although one performer remains Woody throughout, this is emphatically an ensemble piece. David M. Lutken reprises the role of Guthrie for this production, devised Woody Sez: The Life & Music of Woody Guthrie with original director Nick Corley and original cast members Darcie Deaville, Helen Jean Russell, and Andy Teirstein. The other three musicians step naturally into the voices of those around him, including members of his family, before returning seamlessly to the music. They play more than twenty instruments between them – and the spoons. No one dominates.The result is a genuine collaboration in which every performer makes an indispensable contribution.
The musicianship is exceptional. Every instrument is played with assurance, every harmony feels earned, and there is a warmth to the performances that draws the audience into Guthrie’s world. It never becomes a concert interrupted by biography, nor a play occasionally broken up by songs. The two are woven together so skilfully that each strengthens the other.
What surprised me most was how much of Guthrie’s life I didn’t know. I was aware of the Great Depression, of the poverty that scarred so many American families and of the political climate in which he found his voice. I knew far less about the personal tragedies that marked his life, the devastating fires that affected his family, and the cruel progression of Huntington’s disease that ultimately silenced one of America’s greatest songwriters. Understanding those experiences made his lifelong commitment to ordinary working people feel even more authentic. His politics were not abstract theories but convictions forged through hardship.
Yet the production wisely refuses to turn Guthrie into a solemn political icon. His mischievous streak is always present. There are moments of gentle humour and sly observations that reveal someone who could laugh even while confronting life’s harsher realities. That balance gives the evening its humanity.
The audience responded in kind. They listened intently throughout, joining in enthusiastically when familiar songs invited participation. By the end, the standing ovation felt entirely deserved.
One aspect particularly caught my attention. Listening to Union Maid, I could hear striking echoes of the Strawbs’ Part of the Union. Guthrie’s Union Maid uses the defiant refrain “I’m sticking to the union” as a straightforward declaration of solidarity. Strawbs’ Part of the Union echoes the same cadence and sentiment, but turns it into a wry, satirical take on 1970s British labour politics. One is earnest and rooted in American folk activism; the other is a pop‑rock pastiche that knowingly plays with the same idea.
The production touches briefly on Guthrie’s influence on figures such as Pete Seeger and Bob Dylan, but wisely keeps its focus on Guthrie himself. There is more than enough in his own remarkable life to sustain the narrative.
Perhaps the most powerful moment comes not in a song but in one of Guthrie’s newspaper columns, Woody Sez. Reflecting on war, he writes that a bomb is a bomb and a kid is a kid. It is an observation of disarming simplicity and enduring humanity. Decades later, with civilians still paying the price for conflicts across the world, those words retain their moral force.
That, more than anything, is why Woody Sez succeeds so completely. It is not an exercise in nostalgia. It reminds us that Guthrie’s compassion, wit and unwavering belief in the dignity of ordinary people still speak with remarkable clarity.
Caledonia is a warm rush of Scottish air. theSpace @ Surgeons’ Hall suits it. The room feels close. The music fills it. Elsa Jean McTaggart is mesmerising. She sings with poise. She moves between violin and pipes with ease. It’s beautiful to hear and to watch. Gary Lister’s vocals blend well. His playing gives the songs weight and swing. You feel the ceilidh spirit in the room. Old tunes meet fresh arrangements. Stories stitch it all together. Footage of the islands deepens the mood. You can almost smell the peat smoke.
This is folk as living culture, not museum piece. The set is tight. The pace is kind. You leave lighter, and a little prouder of Scotland’s songbook. Forty-five minutes pass in a blink.
Hebridean Fire is a show that carries you away to the Outer Hebrides. Elsa Jean McTaggart shines brightly on stage with a presence that is both warm and commanding. Her voice is strong and expressive, and she moves easily between guitar, mandolin, fiddle, melodeon and whistle. Each instrument seems like an extension of her. Gary Lister adds depth and rhythm on piano, accordion synth, bass and stomp. Together they create music that is rich, layered and full of life.
The audience are treated to reels, jigs, Gaelic songs and tunes that stretch back through the generations. There are also songs born of more recent times. The mix of past and present feels seamless. Stories about their cottage on the Isle of Lewis add to the atmosphere, grounding the music in real lives and places. Images projected on screen show the landscapes that shaped these sounds. It all combines to create a powerful sense of place.
The show is informal and intimate, but it is also polished. Elsa commands attention through her voice and gestures. It is difficult to take your eyes off her. She can lift the energy of the room with a fast reel, or hush it with a haunting Gaelic melody. Gary balances her perfectly, steady and playful, a partner in both music and life. The effect is joyful and deeply moving.
This is a reminder of roots, of choices and of the power of tradition carried forward. The duo offer a glimpse of a living culture, one that feels immediate and personal. At times it feels like being in a village hall on Lewis, at other times it feels ready for a Las Vegas stage. Elsa has the presence of a one-of-a-kind superstar, and this show makes that clear.
A Complete Unknown is a compelling, layered biopic that delves into the early years of Bob Dylan’s rise in the folk music scene, capturing the raw essence of his artistic transformation. The film follows Dylan from his arrival in New York in the early 1960s, his immersion into the Greenwich Village folk scene, and his ascent as a cultural icon. It meticulously chronicles his relationships with key figures such as Joan Baez, Pete Seeger, Woody Guthrie, and Johnny Cash, while exploring his evolution from folk acoustic performer to the electric trailblazer who shattered conventions at the Newport Folk Festival. I like others appreciated the film’s focus on a formative chapter in Dylan’s life, rather than following the typical cradle-to-the-grave biopic format
Plot Summary
The film opens with Dylan (played with uncanny authenticity by Timothée Chalamet) stepping off a Greyhound bus into the cold, chaotic streets of New York. Drawn by the myth of Woody Guthrie, Dylan quickly becomes a fixture in folk clubs, soaking up influences and developing his distinct voice. His rapid ascent is marked by pivotal encounters: his artistic and romantic entanglement with Joan Baez, his deep admiration for Guthrie, and his friendships with legends like Pete Seeger and Johnny Cash.
The narrative builds towards the infamous 1965 Newport Folk Festival, where Dylan, armed with an electric guitar, defies purists and sparks outrage among the folk establishment. His performance was nothing short of seismic. Opening with an electrified, blistering rendition of Maggie’s Farm, followed by Like a Rolling Stone, Dylan’s transition into amplified rock shocked the audience. While some fans embraced the bold shift, others jeered and booed, feeling betrayed by his departure from traditional folk. Folk purists saw it as sacrilege, and critical reactions ranged from awe to anger. Pete Seeger himself was rumored to have been so upset that he wanted to cut the power, though accounts vary on whether this is legend or reality. Regardless, the performance was a watershed moment that redefined the boundaries of folk music and cemented Dylan’s reputation as an artist who refused to be confined by expectations.
This event also marked a turning point for Newport itself, accelerating its evolution from a folk purist haven into a more expansive musical showcase, embracing broader influences in the years that followed.
Acting and Performances
The cast is phenomenal, breathing life into their real-life counterparts. Timothée Chalamet embodies Dylan’s elusive charisma, delivering a performance that captures his enigmatic blend of arrogance, vulnerability, and genius. His ability to channel Dylan’s mannerisms and speech patterns makes for an uncannily convincing portrayal.
Joan Baez, played by Monica Barbaro is a standout. She conveys both the deep affection and lingering frustration that defined her relationship with Dylan. Baez herself has remarked that Dylan is “kind of an asshole,” and the film does not shy away from this aspect of his personality. Their tumultuous relationship is depicted with nuance, culminating in Baez’s heartbreak and her subsequent writing of Diamonds and Rust, a song laced with both admiration and regret. Baez sang of Dylan —“You, who are so good with words / And at keeping things vague” and that feels particularly poignant and true.
Pete Seeger, played by Edward Norton, and Woody Guthrie (portrayed by Scoot McNairy) serve as Dylan’s ideological compass, while Johnny Cash (played by Boyd Holbrook), his pen pal and confidant, provides warmth and camaraderie in a world where Dylan often seems isolated. The interactions between these titans of music are electric, giving the film its heartbeat.
Themes and Cultural Impact
The film does an excellent job of positioning Dylan not just as a musician but as a poet and cultural force. The central theme of artistic evolution is explored through Dylan’s constant pushing of boundaries, challenging the status quo, and redefining himself. His songs—woven throughout the film—underscore his genius as a lyricist.
The film also delves into themes of authenticity, rebellion, and the price of fame. Dylan’s journey is not just about his music but also about his struggle to stay true to himself amidst external pressures and expectations.
Historical Context
The 1960s was a tumultuous decade marked by significant cultural and political upheaval. The folk music revival, which sought to revive traditional American music, became intertwined with social and political movements, particularly the civil rights movement. Dylan’s involvement in these causes, including his performances at civil rights rallies and participation in the 1963 March on Washington, is highlighted in the film, reinforcing his status as more than just a musician.
Dylan’s evolution from folk purist to rock pioneer mirrored broader changes in the musical landscape of the 1960s. His controversial shift to electric music at the 1965 Newport Folk Festival symbolized the broader generational and cultural shifts taking place.
Final Thoughts
A Complete Unknown is a rich, evocative portrait of an artist who refused to be boxed in. It does justice to the complexity of Dylan’s character—his brilliance, his contradictions, and his relentless pursuit of something beyond labels. One character describes him as a contrarian and another as an “arsehole”. He certainly was portrayed as sometimes selfish to the point of cruelty. The film also serves as a love letter to the folk revival era, bringing to life not just Dylan, but Baez, Seeger, Guthrie, and Cash in all their glory. To give just one example, Joan Baez’s House of the Rising Sun – simply spellbinding.
I absolutely loved the music in this film which were weaved seamlessly into the narrative. Every song was a reminder of why Dylan remains one of the greatest songwriters of all time. The electrified Newport performance was a thrill to watch, and the tension it caused within the folk community only added to its historical weight. As the credits rolled, the audience stayed in their seats, completely absorbed in his words and melodies. It was a testament to the enduring power of his music.
Elsa Jean McTaggart and her husband Gary Lister have been a regular feature of the Edinburgh Fringe since 2011. Since then, they have built up a reputation for their interpretations of Scottish music. They always draw a crowd. This year, they bring three shows to the Fringe. These include a singalong Scots of the Pops,Caledonia and their storming sell-out show Hebridean Fire. Your reviewer chose to see Hebridean Fire.
Elsa Jean McTaggart. Picture by David Kerr.
Elsa opens the show with a stirring fiddle piece that quickly has her audience clapping in time with the rhythm. Gary plays the keyboard. A third musician, Lydia, plays the beatbox. They perform in front of a massive screen. The screen projects pictures and video of the places we visit on our musical tour.
Elsa gives a running commentary on her choice of pieces. She intersperses the music with explanations of their connection to the places we are visiting in music. We learn how Elsa and Gary came to live on Lewis during the year the world stood still. It was 2020. We also learn the secret of Harris tweed.
Elsa shows her musical versatility on the fiddle, mandolin, tin whistle, and a small guitar. All are conveniently at hand to her on her ‘instrument tree’. On our musical tour, we experience rip-roaring ceilidh music. We also have an interview with a local Lewis character. Additionally, we hear a hauntingly beautiful Gàidhlig version of the twenty-third psalm. Finally, we listen to some of her own compositions written during the Covid lockdown.
Elsa and Gary have found the perfect mix. They know how to draw, interact with and please a crowd, but they don’t rest on their laurels. They’re not afraid to experiment with new material. They’ll be a feature of the Fringe for a few years yet, and deservedly so.
The Scottish folk singer Elsa Jean McTaggart is a regular fixture at the Edinburgh Fringe each year. In this presentation, she showcases the work of great female folk singers from these islands and from North America. In this tribute, she makes no attempt to imitate the singers she honours. Instead, she puts her own stamp on these wonderful songs.
From Emmylou Harris’s Tulsa Queen, we tour around Scotland with an interpretation of her own aunt Janet Russell’s song, Hill of Ardmorn and Elsa Jean’s own mum’s favourite song, How can I keep from Singing? as popularised by Jean Redpath. We shoot across to Ireland for a tearjerking version of Mary Black’s Song for Ireland and then cross back to Wales for a spirited rendition of Mary Hopkin’s Those Were the Days; audience participation was encouraged. England was represented by the poignant Sandy Denny song, Who Knows Where Time Goes?
Crossing the Atlantic, the legendary Joan Baez is recognised with a version of The Night they Drove Old Dixie Down and Joni Mitchell with her signature song, Big Yellow Taxi.
On the back of this enjoyable tribute concert, Elsa Jean McTaggart has released a tribute CD, also entitled Great Women of Folk. Copies are available in the vestibule on the way out. I bought one.
Launching straight into the mournful Scottish ballad, Arise Mary Hamilton; with nothing more than an acoustic guitar to accompany her; Miss Irenie Rose takes her audience through the canon of the songs the American singer and political activist Joan Baez has made her own over the last five decades.
In her good-humoured style, she recounts how Baez’s politics and pacifism has permeated all her work. She was more political than her old beau Bob Dylan and made much more use of some of his songs. Bob was paranoid when he was on drugs; Baez never did drugs.
The venue is intimate, so Miss Irenie Rose makes it seem that she is talking and singing just for you. All the old standards are there; Blowin’ in the wind, the haunting Donna Donna and the darkly humorous Farewell Angelina.
The audience joined in a rousing chorus of hope in the time-honoured civil rights standard, We Shall Overcome and went into ecstasy when her sister, Elsa-Jean McTaggart, joined Miss Irenie Rose on stage to finish the show with The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down. Joan Baez is in her seventies now; although she is still touring. Fans who want to remember her at the height of her powers will enjoy this superb, respectful tribute from a young, talented Scottish folk singer.
Best known for accompanying Paul Simon on his hugely successful 1986 album Graceland, this nine-man South African Zulu choir held their adoring fans in raptures with a moving range of haunting a capella harmonies expressing universal values and experiences.
As you would expect, one of the songs – Long Walk to Freedom – was a tribute to the late ANC leader Nelson Mandela. However, most of the songs are related to the mundane things of everyday life; to encourage a young man taking cold feet before his wedding to go ahead with it and another extolling the virtues of mothers-in-law.
One or two cultural differences did show up for the Edinburgh audience. The song Lovely Rain may go down well on the parched South African veldt and in the townships, but in Edinburgh? One thing Edinburgh has no shortage of in most years is rain. In fact a house less than a mile away was hit by lightning in a heavy thunderstorm the previous evening.
The choir members interact well with the crowd, gently taking the rise out of one-another and, just before the break, with the audience too. What’s astonishing is that the performers bring out this extraordinary range of harmonisation without any accompanying musical instruments. It’s all done with the human voice alone. Once you see and hear this you’ll never forget it!
