I’m
continuing to make up for lost time with Frank Turner! Having only
latterly become a convert to this brilliantly incisive and articulate
lyricist and extraordinarily hooky folk/punk troubadour
(and thus having missed his Swindon gigs in various venues on his way
up), tonight marks the third time in less than 2 years that I’ve managed
to catch him “live”. That’s Adam Ant pace, at least…! Since our paths
last crossed, this prodigiously prolific songwriter
had churned out another excellent album, this year’s “Positive Songs
For Negative People”, again crammed with huge, soaring anthemic choral
hooks and lyrics which seem to speak directly to me (and no doubt many
others). I mean, “you’re not delivering a perfect
body to the grave… time is not there to be saved” might as well be
stamped through my arm like words through seaside rock…! The
accompanying tour was therefore an essential, and I jumped on tix for
myself and Rach the day they went onsale, eventually securing
them despite some website hiccups.
Longtime
fan Jenny (who did get to see Frank at the Vic – jealous!!!) also
secured tix for herself and first-timer Craig, so, with the kids on a
sleepover at grandmas, we travelled down early and
met up with our old friends for a lovely meal at Sergios and a catch-up
before the show. We hit the large theatre venue at 7.30 and hung out
with Craig, Jen, and also my old work boss and fellow Frank devotee Matt
and his wife Liz, eventually repairing to
the already-packed front stalls for support Skinny Lister. Championed
by Frank, they were a gang of Irish-tinged street punks plus a pocket
dynamo in a floral dress, playing a ramshackle self-styled “shanty punk”
set. Clearly good-time music and rabble rousing
stuff’n’nonsense, they went down a storm with the front rows but for me
offered little to lift them above the Dropkick Mollys of this world,
and left scant impression, apart from their number “This Is War”, during
which Craig and I both turned to each other
and simultaneously said, “Sally MacLennane!”, such was its’ obvious
resemblance to The Pogues classic oldie. So they’re only 30 years behind
then, this being underlined by their bringing on Dexy’s Midnight
Runners’ violinist Helen O’Hara for a hoedown throwdown
final number.
Grabbed
a breath in the back bar before we headed back in, finding a pocket of
space towards the back of the floor, stage left, for Frank’s appearance,
bang on 9 to a huge ovation. And straight into
“Get Better”, the stomping tubthumper from his new album, Frank already
sprinting around the stage, whirling like a dervish and exhorting the
crowd to sing along to the skyscrapingly huge hooky chorus. This set the
tone for tonight, as this mightily enthusiastic
crowd needed little encouragement to sing – or dance!
Frank
was brilliant tonight – “on it” from the outset, the archetypal mass
communicator, barely pausing for breath as he whipped through the
opening quartet of songs, the band backing him up with
an effervescent performance. The jaunty mandolin jig of “Losing Days”
gave way to the darker, almost heavy “One Foot Before The Other”, before
Frank welcomed us to, “show 1,790!”, promising, “new songs! Old songs!
Mid-period songs!” and arranging a dance-off
between the two halves of the crowd for “Out Of Breath”. “Peggy Sang
The Blues” was introduced with the announcement of “there are two rules
at my show – one, don’t be a dickhead, and two, if you know the words –
sing along!”, and the brilliant, Hold Steady-esque
rocker “Josephine” saw huge “Whoa-oh” singalongs from the crowd which
nearly raised the roof.
It
wasn’t all anthemic terrace-chant sing-along rockers tonight, though –
after celebrating various Bristol venues he’d played (“97 times – The
Thekla!”), Frank delivered a gorgeous “Polaroid Picture”
featuring a particularly affecting and poignant ending; a punk rock
“Long Live the Queen” was fast and frantic until the melancholy
stripped-back wallow of the final verse; and during an acoustic
interlude, Frank dedicated “Demons” to merch guy Nick Alexander,
one of the many to lose their lives last Friday at Le Bataclan, during
the appalling terrorist attacks in Paris, this being one of a couple of
diatribes tonight against this senseless act, and the fact that it will
never – NEVER – stop the rock. “Demons” was
replete with voice-cracking emotion, and featured the utterly apposite
final line, “we will never be defeated”. Damn straight.
The
all-inclusive audience shenanigans continued – Frank requested we all
sit down during a superb “Photosynthesis” (I declined to do so due to my
dodgy knees), and starjumps were the order of the
day for the fairgroundesque romp of “Recovery”, crew member Lee leading
the crowd whilst wearing an audience-supplied heart monitor (his heart
rate leaping from 88 to 122 in the process!). “The Next Storm” closed a
magnificent 1½ hour set, at which point I
realised how much my jaw hurt, thanks to my singing along raucously
pretty much throughout the set!
“This
is the 10th year [of being a solo performer] – I didn’t think anyone
would give a shit at this point – certainly not 2 Colston Halls’ worth!”
Frank gratefully remarked (referencing tonight
and tomorrow night’s shows here, sell-outs both) before opening encore,
the touching solo “The Angel Islington”. Then a mandolin-led “Way I
Tend To Be”, the rip-roaring manifesto “I Still Believe” and a final
kick-ass “Four Simple Words” rounded off a near
2-hour show about as perfect and all-inclusive as it gets, capped by a
quickly grabbed set-list and a swift drive back, home by midnight. A
lovely evening out in the fine company of good friends, and another
brilliant Frank Turner show; more lost time made
up!
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