aaamusic | On 08, Jun 2011

London, 6th June

Listen. Can you here something? Yup, that, dear reader is the sound of every radio, iPod and stereo in the land steadfastly playing the music of a bonafide genius. They’re playing the music of a man who could quite possibly be one of Britain’s greatest songwriters. A man who people have gone on record to say is one of the nicest alive. They’re playing the music of Frank Turner. Who with fourth record England Keep My Bones has simultaneously primed himself for the stratosphere and made one of the records of the year. However if life was perfect then those same radios and iPods would also be playing the music of one Mr. Ben Marwood. And he, whisper it, could quite possibly be even better.

Unfortunately, the one two punch of The White Stripes still being split up and Scouting For Girls still being together makes me realize that life is not perfect, and those radios and iPods remain, tragically, Marwood free. This, it stands to reason, makes me want to scream.  Marwood is genuinely fantastic at everything he seems to turn his hands to, lyrically he’s unbeatable, musically unimpeachable and while his voice may take some getting used to (as I know it did for me) once it does it becomes an instrument in itself, easily the most expressive part of his songs. And yet the guy still has a day job. The guy has only just released his debut album last January and will play venues roughly the size of the Barfly when he tours next around September-time. WHY? Probably because his music doesn’t paint emotions in broad strokes that stupid people can relate to like the vast majority of popular music does these days. Make no mistake, these aren’t songs that you can bawl along to, pint in paw, from the back of some enormo-dome, these are songs you can commit to. And if I’m making this all sound very serious and dour, he’s also a funny little fucker.

Take the fact that, tonight, from a tiny stage in deepest, darkest Camden, he plays a song about sixteenth century revenge tragedy the Spanish Tragedy without sounding pretentious. A magic trick akin to flying into the sun and being back home in time for tea, but he manages this in two ways. Firstly, by admitting in its introduction that he actually read about it on Wikipedia as apposed to reading it, and then secondly by having the song itself be completely spellbinding from start to finish. Which always helps. You might think I’m focussing too much on the songs in what is ostensibly a live review, but with a gig like this there isn’t really much else to comment on save for an absurdly talented thirtysomething and a Barfly logo onstage, for what it’s worth Ben’s guitar skills are great and the sounds fine, and the slightly rough quality in Ben’s voice only serves to heighten the emotions inherent in these songs.

So tonight is all about the songs, and what songs they are. Opening with Question Marks, Marwood manages to do the impossible and make a full set with only an acoustic guitar for company not sound samey at any point, there’s delicate finger-picking in the aforementioned Question Marks and Five Little Secrets, full on thrashing in Horatio Dies and Singalong and moving balladeering in the amazingly titled Tell Avril Lavigne I Never Wanted To Be Her Stupid Boyfriend Anyway. And that really is all to say on the subject, great songs played by a great guy in a less than great venue, what more could you possibly want more? Do yourself a favour, dear reader, and check this guy out as soon as possible. As it stands, he’s not going to be massive, please, make me a liar.

And now, onto out headliner. I would quite like to backtrack slightly and talk about something I said previously. I talked about “songs that you can bawl along to, pint in paw, from the back of some enormo-dome” and, for my sins I made it sound like a bad thing. Frank Turner is famous for writing songs tailor made to be bawled along to, pint in paw, and they would still sound amazing even if they didn’t have what makes him stand out, the way that his turn of phrase can make what could be a horribly trite sentiment sound utterly life affirming in every way possible. The Real Damage, Dan’s Song, Glory Hallelujah, Peggy Sang The Blues , all songs with relatable themes (Drinking sorrows, the awesomeness of friends, the non-existence of god and doing something with your life) but done in such away that it feels fresh, vital and utterly indispensable. The cliché proves all too true, each one of the 200 people packed into the Barfly feel as if Frank’s talking to them, and them alone.

Taking to the stage at 9.30 sharp, Frank walks on to one hell of an ovation, looking as pleased as an extremely tired man can be, or perhaps vice versa. He announces that he’ll be playing most of his staggering new album England, Keep My Bones, and then launches into opening track Eulogy. All of two verses long, it’s still more inspiring, intelligent and eloquent than 90% of what’s considered groundbreaking music today, and still gets more of a singalong than most bands could hope for in a lifetime. What follows is just as excellent, the new tracks fitting along side the lesser spotted likes of Million Dead track Smiling at Strangers on Trains and the classics like the deathless Reasons Not To Be And Idiot and the Ballad of Me and My Friends, so surely a modern classic that recent gigs have seen him not need the microphone due to the sheer volume of voices singing at the top of their lungs.

The penultimate track of the night sees Marwood rejoin the stage to duet on a cover of The Postal Service’s The District Sleeps Alone Tonight, the track that made many aware of Marwood in the first place and it’s a fitting signal metaphor for the evening, two guys, doing what they love, with a bunch of people who feel it speaks to them in some special way looking reverently after a long night of screaming their lungs out. A genuinely beautiful night with some of England’s brightest song-writing talent.

Author: Will Howard