Bristol is a brilliant showcase for the fine future of folk

It was at Colston Hall in Bristol, on a fine May morning, that I first saw the Morris Child. He had bells on his legs and baseball hat on his head. He wore border rags yet he danced a Cotswold jig. He was young but his dance was centuries old. His story is in many ways the story of Bristol Folk Festival, a story of old and new, of youth and tradition, of rebirth and renewal. It's a tale of discovery and epiphany. There are heroes and villains but, like all the best stories, there's a happy ending for all.

Bristol is an indoor festival which, given the deluge we all received in the run up, is no bad thing. It takes place in Colston Hall, a bona-fide concert venue. The main stage is in a big hall with two levels. It's got sloping seats, padded walls and those funny mushroom things which dangle from the ceiling in places like this. The Fred Wedlock stage is the smaller second venue next to it. Ten or twenty steps walk across the carpet will get you there. There's no trudging across muddy fields here. The third venue, Isambard's Kingdom stage in the Terrace Bar, has a nice open feel to it. It continues the fine legacy the festival has for showcasing new talent. Earlier in the year it played host to the Isambard folk awards, the winners of which were Josienne Clarke and Ben Walker. Part of their prize was to play a set at this festival, which they did with resounding success on Saturday.

It's clear though, from some of the talk in the bar, that aspects of the indoor nature of the festival have ruffled the feathers of some of the more 'experienced' folk festival goers. More than once, I hear the line, "It's not a festival, it's just a series of concerts." I take this to be a reference to the fact that some of aspects of the typical folk festival programme: the street events, the sessions, the social singing, the dancing and the workshops, are not as prominent here as they might be elsewhere.

One feature that is sorely missed is the army of smiley stewards. There are none at Bristol, just 'professional' venue staff, who are initially the villains of this story. On day one, they decide to close the upper level of the hall. The result is very few free seats, and those who want to sit with people they know are often disappointed. It becomes common to see groups of friends split up and billeted among other groups of friends in the few spare seats that remain. Those who peer through the curtain eager to spot some space have it cruelly shut in their face and are told to move on. As the festival progresses, the staff slowly mellow, and on the last day anyone can sit where they want without being bothered. It's a bit of a culture shock. If there's a smiley steward near you now, please hug them from me. If you are one, please hug yourself, you know you're worth it.

This vexes me for a while, then something happens which renders it slightly academic. It's during a ball droppingly brilliant set by The Young'Uns that I notice that there aren't many people who know the words to sing along. I do a bit of research in the bar and discover that a large part of the crowd aren't what I'd call 'seasoned folkies'. They are simply music loving folks from Bristol. They're not going to miss the stewards, the street events, the singarounds or the workshops. They're just going to love the concerts.

That is not to say that these features are missing entirely. Workshops ranging from fiddling and drumming to poetry and storytelling take place every day. There is a full programme of dance sides: Bristol Morris are on fine form as always, especially with Jim Moray on the squeezebox, Pigsty are an excellent mixed side – very bouncy, and Silver Flame Rapper are always a treat. The festival highlight has to be the Bhangra Morris mashup involving RSVP and Bristol Morris, which takes place in the foyer on Monday. It's a festival highlight for those who caught it and a YouTube highlight for those who didn't.

Session-wise, there's no missing out either. There's a bar in the foyer and it's here that the session begins, usually at opening time. During the day the music spreads through the building, culminating in a late night affair in the upstairs bar which continues well beyond midnight. Time and again audience members are seen to leave some cracking performances in the concert halls, excusing themselves with, "I'm just going to check out the sessions for a while." And they have a point. Anyone is free to join in but it's typically the festival performers who form the backbone, so there's rarely a weak link.

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