Interview: Frank Turner

It's a Thursday afternoon and I'm at Fibbers, sitting in one of the hollowed-out booth seats at York's ever-popular small venue. In the background, someone's repetitively bashing drums to check levels ahead of the evening's gig. Opposite me is the tall figure of folk-punk singer Frank Turner, relaxed, hood up.

I ask him how he finds the time to write new material - four albums in five years - given his incessant touring schedule that you'd imagine many other acts baulking at. It's an on-going process, he says. 'I always have a tune in my head,' Frank remarks, reminiscent of the theme of former band Million Dead's last single 'Living the Dream'. 'Some turn into songs, some don't.' Songs are coming naturally to him right now. 'I might as well get them all down while I can.'

Million Dead produced, I believe, two of the most underappreciated alternative albums of recent years. I ask if it's good to be back on the road with the camaraderie of playing with a band again. 'Of course,' Frank replies, 'towards the end of Million Dead we weren't really friends anymore; now I'm back with my mates on tour, and although everyone contributes, it's still my project.' The sense that Frank's still in overall charge is clear as he asks the drummer threatening to drown out the interview with his sound check to wait ten minutes.

'Is it strange playing to people who have grown up with you as a solo artist?' 'Not strange, it's good. I'm happy to play to anyone, young or old.'

One of the defining features of Million Dead's lyrics was their frequent academic references. When I mention this, Frank looks embarrassed. He says he 'cringes' when hearing some of their songs. I mention a couple of examples of such references in his newer, solo material - 'Baudelaire? Kerouac?' 'I guess the difference is,' he answers, ‘that when I wrote some of those songs, I was a history student [at LSE] and every time I read a book, I'd try and shoehorn into the lyrics every historical reference I could... Now, there's more thought involved; I only reference when it helps the meaning of the song.' I quite enjoyed the seeming incongruity of Million Dead's hardcore punk music with their highbrow lyricism, I remark. What made you realise in your solo work that you could take a punk sense of honesty and mix it with lyrics about everyday life as well as all the highbrow stuff? 'You make it sound like there was a plan!' He jokes. He cites friend Beans on Toast as an influence.

'If, in five years' time, you have the chance to play a few big venue dates instead of many smaller ones, would you do that?' 'That's what I am doing,' he answers. I curse my research. 'I'm doing a few very big gigs in November, and obviously this current small gigs tour.' He says that if he played only small gigs, he'd get hundreds of complaints about people unable to get tickets. If he played only big gigs, long-time fans would be disappointed. 'It's the best of both,' I suggest. He agrees.

We touch on his excitement at playing more international dates. 'And how about York?' I ask. Inevitable question. 'I wouldn't say I have any particular romantic attachment,' he says, 'But it's good to be back.'

On the way out, past the instrument packing cases, past the big, blacked-out-windowed tour-bus, past scurrying roadies, he asks me if I'm going to the gig tonight. 'No, I can't, I'm afraid.' What I mean is, I wish I was. 'I remember seeing you once in Ipswich, at the Steamboat Tavern,' I add quickly. That was February 14th, 2006, he remembers, astonishingly. 'I slept behind the bar because the gig was full of couples and no-one would put me up on Valentine's Day,’ he says, laughing. That sums Frank up, for me. Disarmingly friendly, down-to-earth and ultimately completely normal. Apart from that quite remarkable, quite unique song writing gift. His new album is getting bought and put on my shelf next to his demo. But I wish I was going tonight.

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