Meeting Frank Turner

I started this blog with a mission to try to see & do as much as humanely possible in order to have all the best stories to tell. This was prompted by the sudden realisation that I had grown up without noticing, and the sudden loss of my Grandad clearly underling the need to enjoy everything as much as possible as there is no point in merely ticking along in a mundane existence. I think that I finally achieved my aim yesterday. So I am giving it 2 whole blog posts all to itself.

We went to go see Frank Turner (again) in Wolverhampton. It was a tiny venue and Frank was playing without his usual Dive Dive band mates. Just him and his guitar. Frank’s gigs are always poignant as the majority of his songs are about the same twenty something alienation that I reek of,  not unlike the rest of the crowd who are hanging onto his every word. Songs like I Knew Prufrock Before He Got Famous and Photosynthesis are real anthems where you can’t hear Frank for the audience, which is pretty impressive considering the venue barely held 700(?) people.

However after the my break up which left me moping for a while and forced me to leave my beautiful Welsh town and move 150 miles back to my parent’s house, one song really pulled me up. The District Sleeps Alone has always been my favourite Postal Service song, its haunting, soft and played out so slowly that it comes across a little mournful, like a thought that just comes to someone too late. Frank covered it on The First Three Years, and seeing as it was one of the last songs on the album and a cover of quite a small band, I never thought I would get to see him sing it live. When he sings it he sounds angry and heartfelt. Shouting “I was the one worth leaving” with a kind of energy makes me ridiculously happy. And taking that kind of accountability of the end of a relationship is so rare in music that is about break ups, it is empowering to sing along to. This song has been my anthem for the last year, letting me own what happened rather than wallowing in the self pity that inevitably follows the end of a relationship. Making it even more spectacular was both Ben Marwood and Franz Nicolay joining in – who knew how much a song can be improved with the addition of an accordion. Seeing them perform it in such a tiny acoustic set I feel puts a lid on a truly horrific year. And I sang along beaming ear to ear.

Even more amazingly we got to meet all of them after the gig! The four of us were so giddily happy it was ridiculous. Elle told Ben how much his cover meant to me (embarrassing much) and as he couldn’t think of what to sign in the album, so I suggested he write down the first line in the book Franz Nicolay was reading.  SO now we have an autograph that makes absolutely no sense. We then wandered over to Frank and for some unknown reason I became appointed the photographer – obviously I don’t outwardly appear to be a complete technophobe- I sincerely hope that the photos I took for complete strangers with alien technology actually came out OK.... But that meant that Frank actually got his official photographer to take one of us (or it could have been the amount of boob on show, it was me and Pel after all), and had a wee chat with us too. Don't think I've ever seen Pel so nervous. I of course just continued nattering away - I actually got Franz Nicolay's name wrong, called him Nicolay Franz, but as I was speaking in a Murray Walker style speed I (hope) he didn't notice.

An amazing acoustic set from Frank that included so many songs from his whole back catalogue. Support acts that were talented and witty. Franz Nicolay is definitely the coolest man alive. Topping the evening off was spending it with my wonderful friends, as Franks music is best when shared with other fanatics. So the countdown starts now for when we see him at Leeds festival in the summer.