Friday afternoon at 5 p.m., you get off work and stop in at the local pub. You find a table near the back and order a thick, creamy beer, something to match the dusky atmosphere of the wood-floored, brick-walled bar. You’re exhausted from the excruciating banality of another long week. But alas, the weekend has begun.

You know it’s begun because live music fills your ears. Timeless music, redolent of guitars, banjos, concertinas and fiddles, swirls round you like smoke from a campfire.

And people are singing. Men and women young and old are singing ageless songs and stomping on the floorboards. A gray-haired man raises a pint glass and sings above the others. A woman plucks a pair of spoons from a table and beats a rhythm against her thigh. A mustached man straps a washboard to his torso as a woman arrives with a small, wood-framed harp beneath her arm.

You slurp the froth off your beer and let your bones settle into the chair. You feel like you’re in Glasgow, Dublin or Sussex. But you’re not. You are in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, immersed in a weekly ritual that’s been going on for close to 25 years.

Much has changed over the last quarter-century. Portsmouth has changed, New Hampshire has changed, America has changed, shit, the whole world’s changed. But the Press Room’s open-mic folk hootenannies continue every Friday from 4:30 to 9 p.m., and there is still no cover charge. The musicians, many of whom began filling these chairs a quarter quarter-century ago, still are not paid for performing. And the weekly sessions still have no official name.

Tom Hall, who organizes the gatherings, said Portsmouth used to be much more amicable to local musicians. Though the Seacoast music scene appears to be in the midst of rejuvenation, Hall remembers a time when a folk artist such as himself could walk into numerous establishments in town on any given night and find a place to perform. These days, that privilege is pretty much confined to the Press Room on Fridays.

When Jay Smith opened the Daniel Street pub 30 years ago, he opened his arms to a fecund local crop of music. It was the first bar in the state to offer Guinness Beer on draft, and Smith’s undying support for the arts set him apart.

In 1982, he applied for a “ballroom license,” a unique state permit that enabled him to serve liquor without offering a full menu as long as he provided live entertainment for his patrons. The license was difficult to attain and advantageous to have, but Smith needed live performers to satisfy its requirements. That’s when Tom Hall entered the picture.

Hall, who sports a long, gray beard and ponytail, was born in Rochester and has lived his entire life in the Granite State. He has 20 years of experience teaching high school history and English, and has also worked as a chimney sweep, a reporter and a video store owner. He currently works part-time in the writing department at Measured Progress, an educational assessment and development company based in Dover.

But no matter what his trade, Hall has been playing folk songs since the age of 5. He claims to be the third act ever to perform at the storied Stone Church in Newmarket, and was the first “hoot master” there, organizing folk sessions that would begin at 1 p.m. and continue until no one could stand.

When Jay Smith needed live musicians to play at the Press Room during happy hour, Hall was quick to jump on board. He played on Tuesday afternoons in 1982, but shifted to Fridays sometime in ’83 or ’84. At first he was a solo act, but somewhere along the line a banjo player named Bob Frost started sitting in. Other musicians, from wandering sailors in the Navy to local folk pillars, soon began popping in from time to time. Before long the weekly event had blossomed into a full-blown, grassroots hootenanny.

And so it remains today. Hall is there every Friday with his concertina, and Frost with his banjo. David Behm plays acoustic guitar, while Hall’s wife, Linn Schulz, contributes vocals. Bruce McIntire plays guitar and whistle, and Emery Hutchins joins Hall on concertina.

But the show is not restricted to this group of old friends. Anyone equipped with an instrument or a voice box is welcome to contribute. Musicians come and go throughout the afternoon and evening, clogging tables toward the rear of the first floor while patrons eat, drink and applaud.

On any given Friday, you are likely to hear at least two or three fiddles and perhaps a mandolin. You may notice a flat, round Irish drum called a bodhran. You’ll recognize Leif Gerjuoy by the washboard secured to his torso with bungee cords, complete with a cymbal, a tin can and other homemade accoutrements. You’re also likely to catch Carol Coronis, who plays a lute-like instrument called the cittern and often sings in Greek.

Hall says a visiting sailor once ran back to his boat to fetch a fiddle and bagpipes. Other musicians often arrive from New England towns such as Gloucester, Mass., or Portland, Maine. On Friday, Jan. 13, accomplished Portsmouth folk musician Jeff Warner was on hand to sing and play guitar.

The songs are from America, England, Scotland, Ireland, Canada, Australia and France. Some are entirely instrumental, while others consist solely of vocals, and still others feature a combination of the two. New songs are introduced at random by visiting musicians and are taught to the rest of the entourage.

“We’ll rant and we’ll roar like true British sailors,” the enthused singers crooned during a recent session. “We’ll rant and we’ll roar all on the salt sea.” And suds spilled over the rims of their glasses.

It would be impossible to trace the atavistic tunes to their precise origins. Following one song, a musician announced that it was originally written in the year 1226. Hall could not confirm the date, but anything is possible. He said many of the songs commonly played during the sessions were written or collected by Robert Burns, a beloved Scottish bard of the 18th century.

In addition to the Friday jams, the Press Room holds monthly sea music sessions on the third Saturday of every month from 3:30 to 7:30 p.m. Hall was involved in starting these sessions four years ago, filling them with countless sea shanties—maritime folk songs originally sung by laboring sailors on ocean-going vessels.

Hall is also the chief organizer behind the Great Bay Company, an on-demand organization that gathers anywhere from three to 15 musicians to play at various events.

“It’s a very generic term for a pickup band,” he said.

A man who keeps very busy in the local folk scene, Hall also involves himself in the annual Portsmouth Maritime Folk Festival, which has occurred during the last weekend in September for seven years running.

But the simple Friday events are the main staple of Hall’s musical routine. Unlike so many pretentious concerts that segregate performer from audience member, the folk sessions are casual congregations that intimately unite the two. Each session’s unique charm relies on the peculiar contributions of musicians and listeners alike. It’s a friendly, informal gathering at a local, public venue.

“It’s such a wonderful way to end the week,” said Barbara Benn, a frequent singer at the sessions.
Sitting among these bearded bards and folk troubadours, one gleans a sense of Portsmouth’s rich musical heritage. It is imprinted in the tired but contented eyes of Tom Hall as he plays the concertina with his flannel sleeves rolled up, singing folk songs as he’s always done.