On Saturday, Catriona Price (the fiddling half of Twelfth Day) and I went along to the Scottish Fiddle Orchestra concert at Manchester's Bridgewater Hall.
Prior to stumbling across their glossy flyer in a leaflet rack, I had never heard of the Scottish Fiddle Orchestra and was intrigued - would it be a hoard of fiddles playing rousing tunes? I hoped so, as I've become a real Scottish music fan.
The Bridgewater Hall was packed, and many of the audience were decked out in kilts and sporrans. Pipers were weaving their way through the crowd. The atmosphere was lively and the fact that I still had no idea what I was about to witness made for a rather exciting build up. I couldn't have cared less that we were the youngest by a long, long way - I'm used to this at folk gigs.
But as the Scottish Fiddle Orchestra took their seats, and a compere - apparently well known on the Scottish scene - began cracking jokes, I realised this was more of a nostalgia concert. The tunes were not frenetic and raw, but lazily over-romanticised in their arrangement. Guest solo singers were invited to the spotlight and warbled their way through like the opening of a football tournament.
It reminded me of the country dances we were taught at primary school - gentle music with just enough bounce to persuade young knees to participate. A kind of watered down, easy listening soundtrack.
However, Cat and I were the only ones who seemed bitterly disappointed. The audience were laughing heartily at the greetings-card-jokes and clapping in time with the music. To me, it didn't seem heartfelt or genuine and I was pleased to leave.