What a Hoot

Passim brings back its past to celebrate its 50th

Spider John Koerner at Club Passim's 50th anniversary show Sunday at the Brattle Theatre. (Erik Jacobs for the Boston Globe)

CAMBRIDGE - Al Kooper, decked out in dark shades, was joking, but there was a hint of truth in his teasing.

The show could run until midnight, he said, "but they are selling Depends in the lobby."

Ba-dum-bum. Kooper was referring to Club Passim's 50th Anniversary Hoot (as in, an old-fashioned hootenanny) Sunday at the Brattle Theatre, and his humor was pointed, of course, to the graying hair in the audience as much as it was about the show's seven-hour duration.

A little after 4 p.m., Kooper, playing the day's only electric guitar, kicked off the marathon concert, which marked, to the very date, the historic opening of Club 47 on Mt. Auburn Street, now known as the Passim Center in the heart of Harvard Square.

As with any 50th anniversary, some of the leading lights have passed away: Eric von Schmidt, Richard and Mimi Fariña, Joe Val, Tim Hardin, Mel Lyman, Bill Woods, and so on. Others - Maria Muldaur, Bill Staines, Bonnie Raitt, and Joan Baez (who plays an anniversary concert at Sanders Theatre in March) - simply couldn't make it.

With such a watershed occasion, the Hoot's performers and audience were understandably ready to stroll down memory lane. It was an evening of shared memories, and everyone had a story to tell, starting with the guy next to me who recalled dating Mimi Fariña when she was still Mimi Baez and how Joan Baez and Bob Dylan drove each other crazy when they lived together because he was always stoned or drunk out of his mind.

Jim Kweskin, reunited with his fellow jug band cohort Geoff Muldaur, remembered taking a trip to Martha's Vineyard with then-girlfriend Paula Kelley, who co-owned Club 47 back then, and meeting up with Carolyn Hester and Richard Fariña.

And Bob Jones remembered everyone and everything. He used to run the hootenannies at Club 47 in both its locations, and he tapped his supreme knowledge of the 1960s folk scene as the evening's emcee.

Meanwhile Hester, whose pristine soprano is shockingly undiminished, was in a reflective mood, too. She sang a salute to Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis ("The Little Girl Who Saved America") and wondered, "Did anyone do 'Pack Up Your Sorrows' yet? Well, don't you think we oughta?"

John Nagy was particularly nostalgic and visibly moved to be playing again. He reminisced about a harrowing night at Cafe Yana, a folk venue that predated Club 47, during which his beloved banjo and 12-string guitar amazingly survived unscratched.

With all that looking back, the only thing missing was a sense of where Passim is headed for its next 50 years. There wasn't a single contemporary artist on the bill (Antje Duvekot or Mark Erelli would have fit nicely), and Hester was one of two lone female musicians, excluding Passim's executive director, Betsy Siggins, who joined the musicians for the sing-along finale. Caitlin von Schmidt sang songs her father, the late, great Eric von Schmidt, taught her as a child, including his signature "Joshua Gone Barbados."

There were surprises, though. Chris Smither turned up as a mystery guest after headliner Tom Rush canceled to be with his ailing wife. A Smither performance can make up for most anything, really, and he was especially ruminative as he sang "Father's Day," which he wrote for his father, who died in 2006.

And in a nod to the club's history of booking non-folk acts, the Silver Leaf Gospel Singers warmed up the crowd as lead singer Randolph Green reminded us you can still rattle the rafters at 86.

It was a night of homecomings and reunions, too. To hoots and hollers, the Charles River Valley Boys suited up again for a sturdy set of folk and bluegrass standards, including a cover of Grandpa Jones's "Melinda." Bob Siggins on banjo was as good as ever. A Wayland native, Peter Rowan, with just his guitar held high, intimately played songs ("Panama Red") he wrote when he lived in the area.

From Scotland, Norman Kennedy delivered a refreshingly spare set of traditional ballads sung a cappella in English and Gaelic. And Jim Rooney reunited with Bill Keith, a legendary banjo player who has only gotten better with age.

And speaking of age, it seemed to be on everyone's mind, from Kooper's joke to "Banana" Lowell Levinger's assertion that as musicians get older, they understand the songs better. Kweskin marveled that the late '50s and early '60s were such an inspiring time for him, to which Muldaur cracked that maybe he was giving away too much information (i.e., dating himself).

Defying his years, Spider John Koerner was the night's real treat. His ramshackle demeanor (all gangly arms and legs and tucked-in flannel shirt) and ragtag trio captured the true essence of a hootenanny: spirited, communal, and completely off the cuff. Koerner was lean and nimble as the band tore through gritty folk-blues (and, lo and behold, the night's only performance of "Goodnight, Irene"). Hard to believe the man is pushing 70.

James Reed can be reached at jreed@globe.com.