Tom Hodgkinson, in his brilliant magazine/manifesto/guide to life The Idler, describes being an Idler as "not a lazy or passive person, but a visionary, a free spirit who rejects modern hustle culture, a conscious time-controller". This sounds like a great thing to be and, if this is so, then Bristol's mini-folk-supergroup TARREN are glorious Idlers.

 

Alex Garden, Sid Goldsmith and Danny Pedler make music that is so timeless that it hangs, suspended, above us; it flits and drifts, darting into corners, filling spaces, it reaches out and stills the hands of a clock.

 

In fact, their last album was called Outside Time, and its title track tumbles like rain. There is a wildness as Garden's fiddle and Goldsmith's cittern run around, catching raindrops and Pedlar's accordion thrums behind them. The three of them grinning as this beautiful music, rooted in the English folk tradition, just engulfs this place.

 

 

Much of their first set is taken from their first two albums; the mix of glorious instrumentals and thoughtful, conscious songs warm every heart. A rare sighting of Hot Wax, from their debut Revel, is most welcome, fiddle and cittern peeking at each other as the accordion sneaks in the background. Dan-y-bont points to new ways, it is liquid, fluid, Goldsmith's concertina giving it direction. 

 

Goldsmith describes Wanting for Nothing as "cute and smug" but it's still a fantastic song of contentment and found family. Garden's fiddle hovers, bee-like, right in the middle of it all, it is light and shines like gold. Sunk has a fuzzy pop edge that builds beautifully as all three instruments converge, it then expands into a pastoral lushness in its final acapella moments, a calm green space.

 

Neither Maid Nor Man still feels like a supremely important song. A celebration of gender non-conformity in folk song, formed through finding rare verses in different places that hint at acceptance. In Tarren's free-spirited, visionary world this is as necessary as life itself.

 

 

The second set is packed with new things, just as vital, from a forthcoming album.

 

Royate Hill, named after the nature reserve in Easton, sees Garden's fiddle dipping and soaring. There is something magical about the tone that they get from their instrument, it is incredibly soft and light, like the last rays of a summer day. Granite Spiral celebrates circular forms, Pedlar's accordion pulsing away while the cittern indulges in all sorts of pagan naughtiness.

 

If there is one song that sums up the Tarren approach to Idleness, however, it is their version of Cyril Tawney's On a Monday Morning. The plucked cittern and fiddle-glide bring a languid sleepiness to this heartfelt plea to beat back normal life. It's so lovely. Goldsmith sings as though the modern world is a baffling nonsense, then Pedlar breaks through with a wonderfully poetic internal monologue. His words glittering though little specks of dust. Modern life, and all of its silliness, melt away at Tarren's hands.

 

 

Before all of this time-stopping magic, Scottish singer-songwriter RHONA MACFARLANE does a mighty fine job of shutting out the real world too. Her short set is gorgeous. 

 

Sitting somewhere between The Beautiful South's Briana Corrigan and Fairground Attraction's Eddi Reader, Macfarlane's voice is a dusty-edged Caledonian wonder. Resolutely indie-folk in nature but simply brilliant, her songs are fully formed, wholly realised. Going It Alone comes complete with audience-sing-along bits, Let the River Flow is piano-delicate and lovely while Closing the Window is a proper, grown-up pop song. 

 

On this mid-October evening, you half expected to step back out into twilight rather than the dark of night, such was the time-warping effect of both Macfarlane and Tarren. Timeless music for all those that want to reject the corporate nasties.

 

 

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