overlap

Well, less of the starting and more of the firmly established, I think. In any case that's the first line of Frank Turner's song Photosynthesis, of whom much, much more later. It's been a long time since I had a new back catalogue to go in search of, and after a day of almost constant listening to the limited songs on myspace and the rather more on youtube, I know that waiting for a couple of days before I do so will be a necessary step to avoid becoming rather saturated with those songs before I even get my hands on the CDs. Trusted recommendations are few and far between, and by the time you reach your forties, even if you love your music in many forms as I do, there's just not so much room left to take on new things that either bring something truly new, or do something familiar in an novel and unfamiliar way. Sometimes you just have to take a chance, and the worst that happens is you know not to come back so you've learned something in the process. And while the no job situation remains less than ideal, I can still find eleven quid to take a little chance, and I lived to be glad of having done so. It's October so it's the peak season of touring from now till Christmas. And it's a gig in a student venue by an artist with a sizeable audience among that demographic, so it's hardly a surprise that the gig is sold out and already over half full when I walked in. First act was already on stage, a guy called Jay who goes by the name of 'Beans On Toast' - you can guess what I think of that. He puts out a stream of wordy folk-acoustic ranting that could be improved for my taste by cutting out every other swearword, and for someone like me who has a full and lively vocabulary, that's some criticism. It's when it's in every other line of every song that it starts to come across less as effective self-expression, and more as flailing against the world. Which is something of a shame as he's got a smart tongue and undoubtedly a few things to say about the world which I could largely go along with. Next up are Fake Problems, who have one notable feature you'll either get on with or not, and the rest of it is irrelevant. I like the lead guitar player, especially when he gets to play solos, but the singer's voice strikes me as like a mix of the worst of Tom Waits covering Green Day in a generic corporate punk fashion. There's the odd moment where the tunefulness of Stiff Little Fingers breaks through, but nowhere near enough for my taste. Now, this also being the start of the academic year, give or take, means the venue is full of snappy young hipsters, and the waiting for Frank to come on meant I was indulging in a serious bout of handbag envy when someone walked past me and though surprised immediately addressed me by my first name while it took me a couple of moments to become clear of who it was. You can draw your own conclusions about the timewarp aspect of my hairstyle that I was immediately recognisable to someone I haven't seen in a decade or thereabouts! And to be honest, running into someone I used to get on really well with when we worked together would have made my night even if FT had turned out to be rubbish. We had a little time to catch up on the last decade, and you can also draw your own conclusions about the fact my old mate was still in touch with what everyone else who was in that department back then had been up to since, while I pretty much left, full stop. To a rousing reception, FT took the stage and did getting on for 90 minutes of cracking folk-angst-pop that had me grasping for comparisons. The musical feel is reminiscent of the Levellers when they started hitting the college venues, and a hint of Dexy's Midnight Runners' Kevin Rowland in his voice. The material is rather more the politics of the individual than of dogma and party policy. Looking like mid-70s Springsteen (and Johnny Barlow) from a distance is always going to be a decent move if you can pull it off, and what comes off the stage is a surprising amount of humanity and warmth, as well as a sense of humour and heritage, the latter coming through in a vocal only version of the ancient folk song Barbara Allen. It would be easy to come across as po-faced and preachy when you're doing a song about war, but when it's introduced by saying that you're going to protest via the medium of the guitar solo, well, I'll forgive anything, frankly. There's a lot made of his privileged background, but it seems fair to say he's paid his dues over hundreds of gigs in recent years. But what surprises me is that nobody's drawing the lazy comparison between his background and that of Joe Strummer, who ended up the sort of mythical figure that transcends the music they make. And if you wanted a candidate for a new youth cult leader, FT has the charisma in abundance and appears to be doing all the right things that that could just become a reality. Similarly to how Billy Bragg is cleverly marketed as someone who doesn't like marketing, the FT songs are polished to the point of just enough to remove the rawness but retain some rough edges, and it's a potent mixture. Meanwhile I've another gig to get to tonight, and then I've a new entire back catalogue to buy up. Here's the video for Photosynthesis - and if you can't find something of interest or amusement in it, let me know and I'll pop round and clean your ears out for you!

Labels: Beans On Toast, Fake Problems, Frank Turner, gigs