16 MusicWeek 13.04.12 PROFILEFRANKTURNER
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GUITARS AND CHUMS AND DESPERATE POETRY
When Frank Turner’s hardcore punk band imploded, his indie label quietly let him launch a solo sideline in acoustic folk. This week, he headlines Wembley with his mates. Where did it all go right?
TALENT BY TIM INGHAM
L
et’s begin at the beginning. When whispers snuck out that the uproarious, splenetic frontman of hardcore act Million Dead was
launching a solo folk career in 2005, there were two prevalent reactions: tattooed fanboy anguish and punk scenester bewilderment. Neither screamed ‘smart career move’. Long-term fan Zane Lowe remembers being so
flummoxed by the news that the intense, yell-prone Frank Turner was taking a turn into Gordon Lightfoot territory, he thought he’d misheard. Behind the scenes, however, there was a growing
genome of faith in Turner the acoustic troubadour: both from Million Dead’s label Xtra Mile, and from the singer’s friend Jay (aka Beans On Toast), who, Turner recalls, “threatened me with physical violence if I didn’t at least try to make it work”. These early supporters recognised that Turner
was developing an arrestingly idiosyncratic sound. A scornful, mordant worldview was still imprinted into his songwriting every bit as permanently as the ink staining his forearms - as was, to a more occasional degree, his penchant for primitive, primal bellowing. But now Turner was able to couch both in sunny strums and mellifluous melody. Seven years and four critically
extolled albums later, on Friday, April 13, Frank Turner will headline Wembley
ABOVE On the road: Turner has played over 1,180 shows since 2006
BELOW In the beginning... Turner in his hardcore punk days with Million Dead
Arena, where every fist-punch and vitriloic wail will be cheered by 11,000 noisy acolytes. The crowd will be warmed up by folk-punk godfather Billy Bragg and UK hip-hop favourites Dan Le Sac & Scroobius Pip… not forgetting Jay (aka Beans On Toast) – after all, Frank kind of owes him. When we perch opposite Turner in the concrete
garden of a London pub, we’re greeted by his shorn barnet. He’s face down, twitchingly tapping at his iPhone, through which 53,000 Twitter followers rarely go conversationally ungratified. Turner’s ego-lite closeness to his
to angry 16-25-year-old guys in black skinny jeans wearing Against Me! T-shirts,” he explains. “I say that with no disrespect, because I was precisely one of those people. But I’ve grown to realise that there’s a disconnect within that punk hipster mindset of assuming that if lots of people like something then it must be shit. It’s not necessarily true.” Cloaked in a faded Ramones hoodie, he gently
“Playing music for a living is a
fans is one reason why Million Dead’s diehard zealots have kept faith with his softer solo material - as is the continued pugnacious inspiration of Black Flag, Minor Threat et al on his fierce delivery. (Not to mention his patter: Turner spills phrases like “face-meltingly awesome” with the abandon of a man whose teenage years were forever changed by Henry Rollins.) But just as the tatts‘n’sambuca
fucking enormous privilege. The last full-time job I had was in telesales, selling phones over
the phone. If I ever have a shit day, I just think about that.” FRANK TURNER
speaks of his adoration for Bruce Springsteen, Warren Zevon, The Band, Ryan Adams and Johnny Cash; tuneful muses who have helped bring out the pastoral, countrified flourishes in Turner’s solo work. “I’ve always felt that I’ve made
artistically valid statements - but it’s more interesting to me to present those messages in a way that’s accessible,” he says. Turner literally and loudly applauds Kurt Cobain for “sneaking the fucking
raucousness of his formative idols still bleed into Turner’s music, so now do influences less entrenched in DIY punk lore – or, for that matter, dunderheaded genre loyalty. “I kind of got bored just
making music that only appealed
evil hardcore record that is In Utero into millions of homes that would never own Songs About Fucking by Big Black”, but also admits he’s pleased that his mother, a music teacher, now deems his work enjoyable. Outside of his familial circle, Turner’s slow-burn
celebrity continues to grow. Wembley is an obvious career peak, whilst his team recently agreed a high- profile publishing deal with BMG. As for the next stage in this career elevation, the industry rumour mill is already crackling with news of a major label contract offer within Universal. Does Turner, a
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