Rollicking.

For four years, that’s how it has been.

I expect no less of the fifth.

I have always had an affinity for the cool, smooth sounds of the pop standards crooned by the likes of Ol’ Blue Eyes and the ultra-hip Tony Bennett.

I grew up with ’80s rock ‘n’ roll, synthesized and hairsprayed to within an inch of its life.

I even found some classical sounds that got my foot tapping and my heart pounding.

Then four years ago at Bangor’s first Folk Festival, I discovered I really like music that rollicks.

Pick a culture. If has a beat that can’t be beat, you’ll find me there.

At the 64th National Folk Festival in 2002, it started with the first performance of – of all things – dieselbilly. Yup, dieselbilly. The guitar licks of Bill Kirchen were up, down, in, out, sideways, until you were as breathless as if you were playing them yourself.

When I got my first taste of zydeco, it sent my head spinning. Nathan and the Zydeco Cha Chas were cooking on that fine August afternoon, and I couldn’t get the rhythm out of my head. Once the audience got into a calling contest with Nathan, well, it’s a good thing there wasn’t a roof to blow off.

2003 brought the 65th National Folk Festival, and with it came the high jinks of Barachois, an Acadian group with an infectious foot-stomping beat. Acadian’s musical relative, Cajun, blasted the waterfront in the form of the teen group La Bande Feufollet. Let’s just say the joint was jumping at the dance stage.

I found that the blues aren’t as blue as their name. Clarence “Gatemouth” Brown showed that the beat sometimes might be slower, but it’s emphatic.

Things got shaking with Wawali Bonane and Yoka Nzenze. I’d never heard of Congolese soukous, which meant I never thought I’d be grooving to the rumba-like rhythms of it along the banks of the Penobscot.

But my favorite from 2003 came in the form of a lanky, bespectacled cowboy. Sure, he had ballads. Half the time I felt like I was loping along on horseback with him, keeping an eye on the doggies. But when Wylie Gustafson of Wylie & the Wild West started singing “Buffalo Gals,” you’d better step lively.

Did I mention that Wylie yodeled? He’s the voice yodeling “yahoo” for yahoo.com. He also bopped his way around the stage, prompting one of my co-workers to comment on how attractive this cowboy-booted, blue-jeaned poet was.

Oh, yeah.

At the final National Folk Festival in Bangor, the bluegrass sparks were flying from the banjo-picking Larry Gillis Band. If that didn’t get your feet tapping, then Solas, an Irish group accompanied by Irish step dancers Cara Butler and Donny Golden, would. The tumultuous sound combined with the energized dancing were enough to bring you to your feet and demand more.

The music of Eastern Europe escalated the frenzy with Harmonia, a group that mesmerized with its sometimes mournful but always spirited gypsy sound. Plus I got to see and hear my first cimbalom, a type of large dulcimer, with a sound that flowed like water.

I had another taste of zydeco, this time with a touch of Creole, from Dexter Ardoin and the Creole Ramblers. And I couldn’t keep still when Henry Butler took to the stage with his Game Band and played – New Orleans piano professor-style.

Then there was my favorite from 2004: Ricardo Lemvo & Makina Loca.

Ah, Ricardo.

I didn’t have to speak the language to know what he was singing.

The African-Cuban rhythms gliding from the horns section were as smooth as Ricardo’s voice. Crazy machine or dancing in a trance, Makina Loca defined it to a T.

All of that was the prelude to the inaugural American Folk Festival on the Bangor Waterfront, last year’s musical spectacle.

I got my first taste of Jamaican ska with The Skatalites, whose sound was driven by the horns. Rhythm had the blues when Bettye LaVette belted out the lyrics on a sultry August night.

When Don Vappie and the Creole Jazz Serenaders took to the stage, I felt as if I had been transported back a few decades, just waiting for a cool – but hip – customer to saunter in and shoot the breeze with the gang.

I couldn’t get enough of the Cajun group Steve Riley and the Mamou Playboys. It was a “Bon Reve,” indeed, as the band harmonized, the drums beat, and the world swayed between the accordion- and fiddle-playing.

And there was so much more each year. How could there not be with more than 20 groups performing over five stages in three days? I’ve never heard all of the groups in a year, but I usually hear 12 different performers – and that’s not counting the return visits to the ones I fall in love with.

I don’t know what to expect at this, Bangor’s fifth folk festival.

Actually I do.

Rollicking.