Live Review

Frank Turner – The Roundhouse, London

• 29th Mar 2010

This review was in danger of becoming a travelogue instead as we braved the mean streets of Finchley in search of a thoroughfare to Camden before finding ourselves on (and falling off) the A502, taking a mini-road trip through Golders Green and getting stuck behind bin-men in Hampstead Heath.

All of this meant that upon arrival we rushed in just to catch the very last song of Crazy Arm’s opening support slot. So although I can hardly give you all an honest review on a representation of their work, I can tell you that their closing track was full of energy in a Foo Fighters stadium busting style.

I can try and make it up to Crazy Arm (and their PR) by telling you that they are possibly the best band I have ever seen and would urge anyone and everyone to purchase every Crazy Arm album, 7″ and tee-shirt available. And maybe next time you guys are in London I can get along and sort out a proper review for you.

Luckily, headline act Frank Turner is handled by the same PR company so I’m hoping they won’t be too mad at me.

I don’t think I could ever have a bad word to say against Frank Turner, though I am hardly a devout follower of his recorded output I do know what I like, and I like every Frank Turner song I have had the fortune to hear so far.

Having toured rigorously for years, the shows are getting bigger and bigger with tonight’s Roundhouse gig being his biggest headline slot to date. Frank still seems to neatly sidestep most of the mainstream, yet selling out a venue of this size is hardly an easy feat for an act designated as having ‘cult’ status.

But from the very first chords, it is absolutely clear that there is hardly room for casual bystanders, as the venue is packed out with faithful fans that chant almost every word along with their folk-punk hero. Despite the increasing size of venues along the journey, arms are raised in celebration as the crowd stretches back into the depths of the former engine shed.

Because tonight is a celebration, of everything that has been achieved so far and in anticipation of good times still to come. Songs old and new are all treated with the same reverence, a rotating cast of players and friends are called to the stage and impassioned songs are sung for old and current friends, for family, for love and for frustration.

Through pogue-esque celtic punk, acoustic spleen venting and banjo wielding call-to-arms in front of a sold out crowd, perhaps Frank Turner’s biggest success lies within his ever grateful and ever professional performance that was delivered free of rock star posturing and overwhelming belief of his own grandeur.

As he sings in Try This At Home, ‘there’s no such thing as rock stars, there’s just people who play music, and some of them are just like us, and some of them are dicks’

It still feels like Frank Turner is just like us.