I have been expressing the sentiments of the OP, nearly word for word, on and off for about 20 years now; ever since I had to correct someone who insisted that Jane Siberry was a “folk” artist. She can’t be, I said; she’s a genius and folk music sucks. (And how is, frinstance, an eleven minute song about the image of a white tent floating downriver on a raft a folk song?)
I’ve always though of the sucky kind of folk music as music that has, like, a deformed sense of humor: either not enough, or too much. Most “serious” folk music is just too self-righteous and over-earnest; unsubtle. It says what it wants to say in bare, bald, unpoetic bumperstickerspeak: the children of Pete Seeger*, like Holly Near or the Indigo Girls. This lyrical lack of imagination, in the annoying kind of folk music I’m referring to, is almost always accompanied by an equal lack of musical imagination: every song, whether it’s a cute song about your cats or a “protest” song about The Man, is written and sung in the same kind of childlike, singsongy, musically unsophisticated style: as if the music were totally irrelevant, and only the message counts. The most atrocious example of this that I’ve witnessed personally is the performance that permanently put me off Judy Collins. She was on some PBS special or something—this was like 20 years ago—and she sang “Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?” This song is a dark masterpiece; a lament for all the “forgotten men” of the Great Depression. Well, Judy sang it like she was on Sesame Street singing “Three Little Fishies.” Big Raffi grin, and snappin’ her fingers, like she had no earthly idea what she was singing about. The divorce of message and tone that defines most folk music was suddenly starkly apparent to me.
At the opposite end of the spectrum is the cutesy stuff that I just cannot stand. I would rather have my teeth removed, one by one, by a ball peen hammer, than listen to the Nields or Moxy Fruvous. It’s like that dork who thinks he’s the life of the party when in truth he’s appallingly unfunny and obnoxious. That kind of music makes me want to shoot myself in the kneecap just to distract myself from the pain of hearing it.
I think the reason for all this is the same thing that happens to any genre: the genre’s inventors—Woody, Pete, Bob—were (are) geniuses who carved out something new from old materials. Almost everyone since has invented nothing; they’ve just copied the geniuses. If you’re a real genius, that can work (Victoria Williams, the Mountain Goats, Rosie Thomas, Billy Bragg, the Be Good Tanyas, Will Oldham, John Prine, Katell Keinig, Ingird Karklins, et al.). If you’re not, you suck (Dar Williams, Shawn Colvin, Jonatha Brooke, Jewel, Veda Hille, Moxy Fruvous, ad nauseum).
*(Let me pause here to point out that, yes, I’m aware there are exceptions to all of the generalizations I’m making. As the wise man said, 90% of everything sucks. With folk music, it’s closer to 99%, but I’m aware that there is that 1% that transcends the genre. So no need to point that out here.)