A Frank Turner show is nothing without its associated stats. This one is show 3,015, barely over a month since the big 3K in London’s Alexandra Palace. It’s also his 38th Manchester show, the first being number 20 all the way back in 2005. Turner seems to know all of this off by heart, too. Granted, the archive on his own website has likely been a source of meticulous study, but you also get the impression that these little factoids simply represent who Frank Turner is. He’s been a stalwart of grassroots UK music effectively since the beginning, even since ballooning into the international commodity that his solo folk-punk work has achieved for him. And that’s all while recent albums have been more hit-or-miss, and a ‘controversial’ reputation (as misplaced as it often feels) can often linger. Ultimately, the selling point of Frank Turner has been the same since the beginning—good intentions broadcasted in a none-more-inviting way.
Just look at the opening slot on every date of this tour, dedicated to a local solo artist chosen through an application ballot to get a 20-minute set on their hometown show. Tonight, that goes to Steve Jackson, formerly of a band called Team A Vs Team B that Turner openly professes his love for during his own set. Now, Jackson serves as the frontman of Atlas Rivers, an indie-rock band fully indebted to the Xtra Mile sound that would effectively seal his slot on its own. So, unsurprisingly, the results are rather expected when removed from that context. It’s as simple as solo sets come—just Jackson’s vocals and some bashed-out acoustic strums, with not a frill or embellishment to be found. If nothing else, it’s a nice bit of exposure to a crowd that’s large and attentive enough to count, even without the distinction from the literal thousands of identical performers across the country.
Still, Jackson makes the most of what he’s got. Amigo The Devil, on the other hand, prove a lot less reliable. Their dense, at times darkly gothic alt-country is infinitely more developed and interesting, but there’s such a difficulty in finding where it can fit together, so much so that it can be notably tiresome. Danny Kiranos suffers from the same fate as a performer, unable to convey the intended charisma to buoy a presumably ‘artsy’ intent to his out-of-context stories, or the nonsequitious nature of the can of baked beans at his feet referenced as a random prop. Ironically, it’s pulled back most when the cabaret-esque feel is gone, and Kiranos performs starkly alone to remove any awkward steps. He gets some genuine laughs when telling the inspiration behind I Hope Your Husband Dies, with the follow-up Crying At The Orgy reinforcing that the funnier Amigo The Devil are, the better. Sadly, they’re too lumpy and uneven to reap the true benefits of that, though flickers still permeate regardless.
The same problems can’t be attributed to Frank Turner, nor have they been for a long time. 3,000-plus shows certainly lifts the floor fairly high, and Turner’s exceptional profiency years before that doesn’t hurt, either. Populist songcraft and delivery has been his game since day dot, and it’s impossible to miss how much it’s been honed. There’s already a big chant-along implanted into opener No Thank You For The Music, the first of many across the 25-song set from a musician clearly in his element. The sound is as good as ever, too, where the folk, rock and punk stand in perfect harmony for songs like Recovery or Photosynthesis to be thrown right to the back of the room. It’s good to see how deep the bench of those hits remains, as well. Even when skewing more towards recent works (which, for the record, are given a significant glow-up in the live space), it’s good to smuggle in a deeper cut like Vital Signs that’s far from being in regular rotation.
Performance-wise, that, too, couldn’t be stronger. Of course Turner is a beacon of personality and love for the craft, even facilitating a notably punkier crackle during the setlist’s first leg and the sometime-breathless nature of song changeovers (perhaps a result of rehearsing for Million Dead’s comeback this summer?). The Sleeping Souls are also on fine form, as to be expected from one of the more notable and long-running backing bands in the current space. As a default, there’s exceptional fervour to match the pace of their ringleader, beat for beat. Going past that, however, brings out nice little moments like Ben Lloyd’s electric mandolin solo on Photosynthesis and harmonica on The Leaders, or Tarrant Anderson’s much-lauded bass solo on Letters. There’s even a nice little bit of duelling guitar on Haven’t Been Doing So Well, the rare pocket of excess seldom allowed to a Frank Turner set. It’s just good, proficient stuff from front to back, to where they’re even missed during Turner’s solo mini-set halfway through. Sure, it’s nice to have a song like Jinny Bingham’s Ghost given similarly long live legs, and The Ballad Of Me & My Friends is an unquestionable staple, but the strength of the unit is just that noteworthy.
It feeds into, once again, that selling point that Turner continues to bring in spades. At no point does this feel like a detached rockstar putting on his everyman costume, no matter what the inevitable jeers at its frontman’s public school background might say. Turner simply has that charm and affability to him, the rank-and-file relatability that goes a long way. At one point, he brings two friends up to the front of the crowd—the stag and his best man, as a matter of fact—sits them on the barrier and has them race via crowd-surfing during If Ever I Stray, just for a nice moment for people he cares about. There’s also a general exuberance felt through fun anecdotes and live stories (“I told Belgrade they weren’t as good as Zagreb and people starting cocking automatic weapons”), and the undeniable, unequivocal love for music. It’s where the initiative of a local opener comes from; likewise, the £1 from each ticket sale donated to the Music Venue Trust to save local, independent venues.
When that ethos is all balled up into Try This At Home, its bigger, more refined counterpart I Still Believe, and the ever-barnstorming closer Four Simple Words, the essence of a Frank Turner show is at its purest. For the many, many years that Turner has been doing this, an efficient, well-oiled machine has been built that still feels true and personal. After more than 3,000 shows, anything too surprising is hard to come by, though that’s far from a necessity when the passion is brought in spades.
Words by Luke Nuttall
