SIETRACKS & DETOURS 31st May 2026: Choosin´ Texas, Country, Americana or The Boys Of Dungeon Lane + coming a cropper on the way to a concert

DANDELION. new album release by ELLA LANGLEY

Choosin Texas, Country or Americana

review by Norman Warwick

The TikTok publicity surge most certainly helped the song labelled by Paste as ´belonging to the sturdy, confident earworm, country music´s post-pandemic imperial phrase,´ to reach the top of the Billboard Hot 100 in Valentine Day week in February, earlier this year.

Despite holding mis-givings about its limiting title many of us here at Sidetracks & Detours religiously tune into the weekly Bob Harris Country Show on BBC Radio 2, broadcasting every Thursday night at nine pm. I mean, I grew up on country music. I had been introduced to the genre by an older crush when we sat and listened to Johnny Cash on her record-player. She ran a b&b with her husband, and although I still hope she never knew my feelings for her, she changed my life. To be fair, I was 300 miles from home, being on holiday with my parents and younger brother. Her husband was a powerful lumberjack in the Caledonian forests around their town and it was because she wasn´t mine that I walked the line!

Anyways, where was I? That´s right back to those suspicions of BBC Radio 2 and their classifications !

I have to concede. that the sixty minutes show is always packed with traditional and modern country. However, they are sprinkled by songs, old and new, that, although I never label anything, I label the new as Americana ! I still like the country content but it is for this Americana that I tune in.

Ethan Beck´s Paste review of her new album, Dandelion, was posted under the headline of Ellen Langley Is Trying To Find Her Footing. It is a heading that seems to be more than a whisper that there are people out there who wonder where she will go next.

We ask, instead, will she be Choosin´ Texas, Country or Americana?

That that first option, of course is the title of her single that took the charts and radio playlists by storm a few weeks ago.

Whispering Bob Harris, (about whom we are all wishing well in his current state of hospitalisation) raved about Ella Langley only a fortnight or so ago on his BBC 2 Country Radio Show, and he seems to love Choosin´ Texas the single as much as we know he loves Texas the state. Not so much wondering which direction she might take next he seems rather to applaud the diversity she has already shown in such an early part of her career.

So I am reading: Ethan´s review Choosin´ Texas by Ella Langley (right)

As i read it suggested to me Americana at its best, though I must admit it also sounds like the kind of country I used to like before I had ever heard of Americana. So here am I mixing up my Americana and my country even as Paste further confuses the issue by referring the song´s backing of ´glowing guitars worthy of Steve Winwood´s post-Trafic music of the nineteen eighties.

Furthermore, Paste suggest that millions of people around the globe have surrendered to Langley’s disappointed warning that a “cowboy always finds a way to leave.” over the glowing guitars worthy of Steve Winwood’s ‘80s output.

Dandelion is her third album and the reviewer tells us it a somewhat ethereal offering. It has a shift in sound that he believes has made space for an album  of  authentic songs that could be suitable for both country concerts and the plethora of arena dates that await her.

Her lyrics seem to state firmly that she intends to stay true to her roots,……wherever those roots are grounded and however secure they are. Like Colin Lever, my partner in Lendanear half a century ago, (and also like Bob Dylan) she has been known to throw in Froggy Went A Courtin´to open a gig. The song unearths roots  that go back to when she used to sing the song as a child with her grandpa. That, says Mr. Beck, might prove that you can take this woman out of Alabama, but you can´t take Alabama out of the woman.  

Can that really be true? If you are sitting on top of the world can you still be the same persopn wyou where when you were simply dreamking of sitting on the top ofthe world?

Can you really be the same woman as when you were a young teenager oplaying guitar in church?

All across Dandelion, Ella Langley implies that she has never changed, says the reviewer, but then often she seems to retract that claim.

Whatever the truth is the subjects of her songs are change, choice and chance.They seem to matter to her. That she is growing quickly as an artist is apparent when she tears a page out the Kasey Musgrave´s guide, when she applies, or allows, what Paste described as ´shimmering, spacey arrangements that support unquestionable hooks´. This, surely, symbolises progress, with ´dreamy guitar, parts, detectable doo wop instrumental sounds and dramatic drumming´.

At this stage of her career this might be heard as Chuckle Brothers ´to me, to you´ uncertainty. In fact, though, that feeling of push and pull is most noticeable in the story telling carried on Dandelion.

Be Her could well be a radio hit or, if released as single, could well emulate the success of Choosin´Texas. Be Her, we are warned in the Paste review, has annoying pun-like rhymes that serve as not-so-cryptic clues that she is still holding on to the simpler times of her young life.

Underneath the disco strut she is rapping  “Take all my money / Everything I have,” and is perhaps wishing she could get back to where she began. 

Langley’s mixed feelings aren’t only focused on her surging success. On this album she describes past relationships, which often sound like what Paste call unsurprising disappointments. She has a great voice for those breakup ballads.  Her gravely, certain vocals, echo authenticity.

This is certainly not soppy sentimental goo, however.

Her delivery on a last orders bar-room song is sung in almost couldn´t-care-less  tones. So, even as  Last Call For Us elevates a familiar setup, while her breathy, aching approach on Low Lights smooths the sorry-for-themselves strings, pitiful pedal steel, and aching organ until all go down smoothly.

Paste says that ´on both, she sings like she knows better but can’t manage to pull away´. And she manages to hold together the bland, mid-tempo songs with her voice, lending credibility to the sluggish Broken and the tired Loving Life Again. It’s not all doom and gloom, though. Over bongos and backing vocals from co-producer Miranda Lambert on You & Me Time, Langley helps the awkward, wordy chorus sound almost sexy. 

Langley is a laconic communicator, preferring  subtle, language and  mobile melodies which often emphasize an unexpected word, as if she’s dog-earing a line that we should return to.

Although her tales, such as Something Simple,. sometimes seem devoid of context, Dandelion is released with a healthy level of assurance.

The thrill, and tension, of Langley is held taut by the emotional pull of the comforts, and perhaps certainties, of her past and the potential of her future.

Like John Stewart before her, who always hoped that some lonesome picker would find some healing in his songs., she wants to write timeless songs. It feels like Ella Langley wants her songs to be passed down and rediscovered in 75 years.

That desire might be what led  her to cover It Wasn’t God Who Made Honky Tonk Angels, the Kitty Wells classic which is a symbol of the country history Langley hopes to contribute to.

Paste  suggest that maybe the next country upstart will be covering Ella Langley !?

John Stewar wrote lyrics that served as ionvisible angels deliveiring our codes to live by.

Paste always has its finger glued on the pulse.

and Whispering Bob Harris and his recommendations have never failed me.

I´m sure that we all agree that any artist has the right to cross genres, and that should Ella Langley wish to ride herpony on a boat we would applaud her for doing so.

Paul McCartney new album 

THE BOYS OF DUNGEON LANE

Norman Warwick reviews a review

I love to read reviews of any genres of music, not only because I like to keep abreast of the music zeitgeist but also because I love reading those critics whonmot only know their music, of course, but who also write prose that takes the reader to the heart of the matter. John Tobler did that for years when writing in the New Musical Express and, for me, Peter Pearson did precisely that in his recent article on the late singer writer Malcolm Holcombe.

After reading recent reviews I was struck by a review in Paste magazine, a relentless provider of  high and low praise and always an untarnished level of honesty. These are supplied by a nucleus of regular writers with new contributors of similar ethics occasionally being added to this small but bright constellation of star writers. 

Ryan Reed is a writer and editor from Knoxville, Tennessee. In addition to Paste, his work has appeared over the years in Rolling Stone, Revolver, The New York Times, Pitchfork, and many other publications.

Surely after sixty years of constantly creating sublime music with John Lennon in The Beatles, and maintaining only slightly lower consistency when writing for and with Wings, and supplying us with albums in his own name oozing with charm and whimsy we shouldn´t  need to read reviews to suggest we should or should not buy a copy of any new releases by Paul McCartney, but Ryan Reed hits a nail on its head with the first sentence of his revew.

The most exciting moments on the Beatle’s twentieth solo album are adventurous yet reflective, and McCartney strikes that sweet spot many times.

So that subtly suggests McCartney still hits high ceilings, and I´m sure we can forgive him for occasionally missing the target.

Mr. Reed tells us that there are Two Paul McCartneys  battling for space on The Boys of Dungeon Lane, his sweet-natured and often delightful new album. The first is an unabashed nostalgist, a genteel romantic—the kind of presence you might expect from an eighty-three-year-old entertainer with an impossibly rich backstory and a knack for breezy pop hooks. The other is, thankfully, a wild man—the same spirit that animated everything from the absurdist studio tinkering of “You Know My Name (Look Up the Number)” to the clanging folk curiosity “Wild Honey Pie.”

I love that diligent use of the word thankfully with which Reed reveals his clear and precise view of his subject. He goes on to explain in more detail.

Historically, some of the Beatle’s most exciting solo work has fused these two personalities: Take the 1971 Ram classic “Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey,” a homespun art-pop classic reflecting on a beloved relative—that is, when it isn’t winding through orchestrations and playfully accented vocals and giddy melodies that topple over like dominoes. McCartney strikes that same sweet spot many times on Dungeon Lane, his twentieth-ish solo album. But our weirdo hero feels M.I.A. on the most overtly introspective tunes, which emphasize glancing back over looking forward. 

I feel the paragraph above is revealing not only The Boys Of Dungeon Lane but also of McCartney: the man and the maestro, In the paragraph´s final four lines, (verse length, let´s say), Reed has painted me a picture of the album. Nevertheless, he explores further.

McCartney, of course, has never been shy about mining his bygone years for inspiration—even quite literally, like on 2007’s “Ever Present Past.” But that’s the overarching theme throughout these fourteen tunes, crafted with marquee co-producer Andrew Watts (Elton John, Justin Bieber, Ozzy Osbourne) and largely recorded, as usual, one-man-band style.

Of course, as we so often wander down shadowy sidetracks & detours, we often seek to identify unreliable narrators whether they be the songwriter´s creation or the songwriter himself. I feel the next paragraph by Ryan Reed, in a way, addresses that very topic.

Some of these memories seem nakedly autobiographical: On the bobbing piano-and-acoustic ballad “Days We Left Behind,” he surveys a youthful, Cavern Club-like atmosphere of “smoky bars and cheap guitars.” Over a ramshackle strum on “Down South,” he nods back to formative musical memories with his old bandmates (“The morning bus was where we two would meet / I sat beside you on an empty seat / We’d talk about guitars and rock and roll / They were the subjects that would never grow old”). The most overt example is “Home to Us,” a Ringo Starr duet that describes a scrappy but heartening childhood: “The roses in the yard began to wilt and then they turned to dust,” he sings, “But it was home to us.”

I felt the above was very reassuring, but like all great writers, Ryan added a slightly damning caveat.

All of these sentiments are lovely, of course, but the music doesn’t always match their emotion, lacking the melodic or stylistic wonder of top-tier Macca.

Then he returned to his overall theme.

But that more ambitious version of McCartney pops up all over the record. Opener “As You Lie There” is both wistful and adventurous, simmering on a childhood crush as the lo-fi backdrop shape-shifts through overdriven guitar lines, bluesy bass grooves, and lush vocal harmonies. “Mountain Top” might be his trippiest moment since the Sgt. Pepper era, with psychedelic references (“Any time I walk with you / Magic mushrooms peeping through”), cosmic harpsichord, and wordless-vocal sunshine erupting into a revved-up, reversed guitar solo. On the other end of the spectrum, the woozy minor-key waltz of “Salesman Saint” salutes his parents’ resilience amid the strife of WWII, over a stunning arrangement highlighted by melancholy guitars, clever time changes, and bold big-band brass.

We spoke of ethics somewhere near the top of this review of a review including the ethics of the musicians and the reviewers. Reed came our right on both sides of that spectrum by saying

Paul McCartney could have started coasting decades ago. Yet here he is, in his eighties, still experimenting and pushing himself. Not every moment on The Boys of Dungeon Lane captures the electrifying zeal of his best work—but a whole lot of them do, even the nostalgic spots, and it’s hard not to marvel at that idea.

So in his review for Paste, Ryan Reed evaluates and celebrates Paul Mc Cartney.

In this article for sidetracks & detours I celebrate, Paste, Ryan, Paul McCartney and all great writing.

That is why we urge all our readers who have never looked in at Paste on-line to do so in future. We don´t want you to abandon us, of course but  their´s is the light we look to  Sidetracks & detours is a not for profits organisation but this little light of mine and all those who contribute to us are determined to let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.

LARRY AND LIZ YASKIEL,

the ‘British ambassadors’ adopted by Lanzarote

congratulations from Norman & Dee Warwick

It is fitting that, today of all days, on what is known is known as the annual  Canaries Day, that we can celebrate Larry and Liz Yaskiel,  These newly named Adopted Sons of the Island have received numerous accolades for their work over four decades in the island’s press. 

Lancelot Digitas reported earlier this week that Larry and Liz, the editorrs of the English Language Lancelot, a quarterly, glossy and hugely informative magazxiune about Lanzarote and its culture, were named Adopted Sons And Daughters Of Lanzarote, by a vote of 22 members of The Cabildo, (Island Council):

 This couple arrived in Lanzarote from London 42 years ago when they decided to create what is now the oldest English-language publication in the Canary Islands. For this reason, and for having been true ambassadors of our island to the British community, they received numerous accolades yesterday.

Óscar Noda, UPY councilor and mayor of Yaiza, noted that “I met Larry and Liz Yaskell many years ago, although it was probably after a significant part of their careers had already begun. I have always greatly valued the work they have done, especially through that first—and at the time, only—English-language magazine about Lanzarote, linked to the English version of Lancelot. Thanks to that project, they managed to convey the island’s unique character, its virtues, and everything that was happening there to an international audience. I believe it has been a commendable effort for many years, and one that they continue to carry out with the same commitment today.”

The President of the Island Council, Oswaldo Betancort, greatly appreciated the work of Larry and Liz Yaskiel, as well as the other award recipients. “I am convinced that they do not seek the limelight in their professional work. But it is true that with their effort and commitment, they have made Lanzarote a more competitive, more comfortable, more humane, and more valuable island.”

It is worth highlighting, as reported yesterday, the designation of Juan Santana as favorite son and Keneth Gasque as Adopted Son.

Also highlighted yesterday were the Timanfaya de Oro awards for Félix Hormiga, posthumously, and astrophysicist Mar Carretero, as well as the numerous Jameos de Oro awards, which Councilor Machín Tavío detailed as follows: “Thanks to Juan Santana, posthumously, Kenneth Gask, Larry and Liz, Félix Hormiga, Mar Carretero, Adislan, Bodega La Geria, Hecher Sosa, Club Deportivo Teguise, Ranchos de Pascua, the Island Association of Tourist Guides, Maritime Rescue, Cristina Martel, UNED Lanzarote, Ana Carrasco, the Tinecheide Women’s Wrestling Club, the camel sector, and Vicenta Bravo.”

Lancelot was the first magazine that my wife Dee and I ever picked up, more than thirty years. ago on our first holiday on Lanzarote, and we did so on more than twenty subsequent holidays here. In 2015 we finally were able to retire and live here in Playa Blanca and we still read every publication of Lancelot as it provides news and educational stories delivered in an informed and informative tone. From the words on the pages we always believed that Larry and Liz must be friendly and caring folk and that assumption was conformed the first time we me them,

At the time I was a weekly contributor to Lanzarote Information and I heard that Larry was soon to be launching a new book, about his many years working at all levels as a businessman in the world or rock and pop music and I immediately thought how much I would love to interview him. I contacted ´Miguel´,  the publisher of Lanzarote Information as to whether he would publish such an interview.

He replied that of course he would. He had met with Larry a couple of times over the years and told me I would enjoy his company and that he had found Larry to be true gentleman.

So, I attended the book launch and took part in the question and answer session between Larry and his audience. I then approached Larry to purchase my copy of a book that carried stories of musicians as diverse as Jimi Hendrix and Herb Alpert (This Guys In Love With You) and dozens of artists in between.  I was impressed that Larry had worked at Executive level with Alpert at A&M Records. More than that, though, I was impressed by how generous was Larry in thanking all the people who had helped him compile these memoirs, so I had no qualms about asking him if we could convene for an a recorded interview at some time.

In the course of a sixty minute interview, conducted over tapas and a beer outside The San Antonia Hotel, in Puerto Del Carmen I was astonished and pleased that every word Larry spoke about anybody was positive. There were no stories re-cycled from scandal sheets, only abiding respect for the musicians and love for their songs. The cover of his book showed Larry as a young. hirsute young doorman at a German nightclub, and the pages inside told, humbly, the story of his rise to the top.

Since launching this sidetracks & detours blog  in August 2019 we have covered news about Larry and Liz in several editions and I would like to think that our friendship with them has grown into one of mutual respect. In fact, Larry has occasionally published in Lancelot some of my reviews of Lanzarote arts events.

A couple of years later, Larry launched a second book, this one telling of fascinating historical links between The Canary Island and The British Isles

He was awarded an MBE a couple of years ago and to our amazement Dee and I were invited to the investiture, which took place here on Lanzarote in the presence of The British Ambassador to Spain. There was a charming and informal lunch for later in the day  and we couldn´t believe it when Liz pulled us into the gathering of a dozen guests that she had invited to create a lively and convivial meeting of local writers. She is probably the best organiser inb the world !

What I learned at that lunch was that Larry not only works so hard on his own projects but also works equally hard on worthy projects by others. One of the writers there that day was Jose Juna Romero Cruz who told us how helpful Larry was being very supportive of Jose´s own work in progress, North Americans With Roots In Lanzarote, exploring the island´s diaspora.

That book came out a couple of years later, in English, and,  as happens so often here on Lanzarote, copies were distributed to all age-appropriate schools. Lanzarote knows how to sustain a legacy !

These days we meet up on a quarterly basis with Larry and a Liz at a favourite haunt in Peurto Callero for what we call an hour or so of the what we call the 4Cs: Coffee, Carrot Cake and Conversation. We´ve created a little tradition of recommending musical biopics showing at the cibema by the lagoon at San Gines in Arrecife. So far we have seen the films about Dylan, Springsteen, Aretha Franklin, Elvis Presley, Neil Diamond and most recently the somewhat saccharine presentation of Michael Jackson, of which it would be true to say that the combined age of the four of us would probably have exceeded the combines age of the rest of the audience.

You can find sidetracks & detours by popping that title into your computer and that will open the door to our free to read archive of over 1,800 free articles including several focussing on Larry and Liz and all that they do for all of us here on Lanzarote.

Meanwhile Dee and I would like to add out thanks and congratulations to Larry and Liz, two good friends we  frequently run into down our sidetracks & detours and we raise our glasses to wish that long  may that continue.

CONCERT REVIEW OF ACATIFE

or lack thereof

by Norman Warwick

A funny thing happened to me on the way to the concert. Only the day before the gig was to take place at an open air venue at the sea front at Costa Teguise, there were press reports of a problem with one of the island´s waste-water plants had become problem that saw torrents of sewage and waste pouring of the plant, and out onto the streets of Cosat Teguise that run down to sea front. On reading that,we, that is my wife Dee and I and our friends Iain and Margaret were pretty much agreed that the fololowing day´s concert would be cancelled or postponed. In some ways wewere pleased about that as we had found only a sat nav location that we vaguely recognised, but in our minds eye we could not see or recall any roads in that area. Even the sat.nave showed the roads ending before our destination of arrival.

However, no need to panic,……the subsequent news coming out on social media (which we never consider to be a reliable anrrator) was telling the world that the concert was still on. So the four of us agreed to drive off to Costa Teguise in time to be thereby 5.30 so that we could find a good restauarant in the vicinity and, whilst enjoying the hospitality could ask for directions to the music venue. Surely, we thought, surely all restaurant owners would know where the stage area must be, simply because they must identify it as a likely area to add a musical kerching to thier tills.

We arrived dead on our estimated time, parked in one of the longest and widest car parks on Lanzarote. Parking in the middle of it might not have been our brightest idea, but because we had time on our hands we headed off from our parked vehicle to the ´top´ of the car park but could see no identifiable routes to a venue we coulld not see.

Never mind, we agreed, we´re in plenty of time to walk to the other end of the car park, then head down to the sea to find the venue and nearby restaurant, then we can nip back to he car to collect our fold up chairs, there being no comfortable seating being laid out for the concert. It was a pretty steep hill walk down to the sea and we asked lots of passers by and indeed restuarant owners if they knew the venue described in the pamphlet Dee or Margaret had in their handbag. Nope was the answer, so we didn´t know what else to do other than walk the length of the sea front again looking for the stage, and check out menues at the restuarnats along the way. That proved to be a futile notion,as we didn´t see more than a couple of restuarants and not a single stage ! So we ended up back at where we started and the clock was ticking, slowly but relentlessly.

Ww sat on a wall, like four deflated humpty dumptys and a silence descended over our usual chirpy banter. That silence, though, was brought to a close by loud screeching wail of a sound system opening up as a guitar was plugged in. It was music, but where from we wondered, until Margaret spotted the guitar player, and pointed out him, or her, only twenty yards away. .There were also another half a dozen musicians tuning up in the same area. Margaret asked me what they were standing on, and when I said I didn´know, she grinned and exclaimed,´It´s a stage, Norman, it´s a stage´! Suddenly, all was well with the world, especially when Margaret saide sagely, ´that must be the support band, there´s not enough of them to be Accatife.´

Thinghs were looking more positive given that as we stood up off the wall and looked behind us we realised that it was the perimeter wall of The Bachus restuarant that was just opening its doors. Just along the wall was a huge menu board we had not previously noticed, so we wandered over to read it to ensure we could find a dish for each of us to like and order. We could, and did and so wandered into the restuarant with its perfect view of the stagea and the sea behind it.

This was now going to be a great night, but we became so engrossed in our food that we didn´t notive that time was going by faster than it had been. Suddely it was twenty miuntes to music time at ieght oclock.

We quickly paid the bill and Iain and I set off back up the hill to get the chairs out of the boot of his car. My general excitement was obviously adrenelin fuelled, as I realised that I was running up that hill (with apologies to Kate Bush for stealing that title) pretty much neck and neck with Iain, (usually my superior as an athelete). He did pull away as we neared the car but I was there in time to help him get the chairs out, sling them over our shoulders and set off back to the stage and the sea. I was mentally patting my own back as we rounded the last bend down to the final steep slope, reckoning we would see the start of the show.

Right in the crook of that bend, though, a pothole leapt off the road and tripped me up., As I fell i hit the left side of my forehead on the road before tumbling a little bit further on to my nose, banging my left knee and rippin all the skin off my left arm. Iana volunteered to run down the hill and lead Dee and Margaret back up the hill to provide some assistance. I nodded in agreemen that it might be a good idea, but as he departed a lady across the road saw me and nearly feinted but held on to ask me if Iwas ok. I tried to play it cool, I said, oh yeah I´m just waiting for my mate to comeback with my wife. The lady came over to me and offered me a wad of tissues and it was only then that I realised how badly and profusely my forehaesd was bleeding. I also idnetified that the bridge of my nose cut and bruised as well and was now as wide as The Brige Over The River Kwau

Then another lady came out another nearby house, with more tisues and a chunck of ice abut the size of the one that sank the Titanic. She spoke in Spanish,…… but I gathered by her actions that she was suggestng holding Iceland to my head,….. but it worked. Some half an hour later Iain was in cruise control down the motorway, afterwe had all agreed i would be more likely to receive quick treatment back home in Playa Blanca Health Centre rather then in the nearby, but always formidiably busy, hopital A & E in Arrecife. So we all realised that as we set off back home we were waving goodby to a concert to which we had all being lookng forward.

M personal history told me that whenever I had previously had similar falls from grace, frends and medical staff tended to blame my diabetes for my downfall (geddit?). I therefore very quickly told the very helpful nurses that this was nothing to do with eithermy Dementia, (of course, I had meant to say diabetes !), or a sugar rush or insulin dosage. No, it was caused by a ruddy big hole in the road !

Thir ministratins of the nurses were gentle but thorough, and I was well bandaged,… that is to say I was mummified !! I was dreading having stitches in my forehead, but they diecided instead to apply glue, which kind of made me feel like an elite athlete of ths modern world!

I was then told I should report back the followong day to have my banging assesses and cleaned.

It was now ten o´clock at night, and within half an hour I was back at home, having missed a concert but having achieved such a good night´s sleep that Dee had to wake me up to return the holspital at 1.30 the next afternoon.

So, I am mortified not to be able to bring you a review of Acatife, but here´s a reassurnce in the form of a previously published of Acatife many years ago in sidetracs & detours.

I can feel perfectly comfortable in assuring our readers that this would have been a typical Acatife gig.

The assembly is not known for covering songs by other artists or groups, but rather for performing traditional songs, original compositions, or unreleased pieces. They remain true to their stage format, using the same simple line up of string instruments with percussion accompaniment.

The twenty-six editions of the Acatife Festival, which annually brings together artists from Latin America and the rest of the Archipelago and the State, are a good example of its establishment in Lanzarote society; as well as the Acatife Silver Volcano distinction that the group awards to people or institutions for their contribution to the popular heritage of Lanzarote.