Frank Turner: FTHC
Photo by Ben Morse
If you could pour emotions in a bottle, save them for when you’ve forgotten the events that made them, keep all of that anger, rage, joy, shame, excitement, hope and fear on a shelf to pull down when you need it, would you? FTHC is a great way to start to answer that question and others. FTHC is a deeply introspective, personal album, and in some ways a departure from what many people think of as a Frank Turner record, and in others the only logical step for the self deprecating “skinny half-assed English country singer.”
Throughout the records that make the deep catalog of Frank Turner, there’s a tying bond - usually some healthy mix of punk rock, folk, pessimism, optimism, and a tongue in cheek refusal to grow up, somehow put together in a package that represents a level of maturing. This album isn’t different in that sense, but the FTHC logo that’s adorned albums and merch throughout the years has now clearly made its way full circle. This is a punk record, the kind your parents probably didn’t want you to hear, and it’s glorious.
My first exposure to Frank Turner was live at Red Rocks opening for Jason Isbell and that’s a gift I’m glad no one can ever take back. Frank excels in that environment. When I spoke with Frank about the new record, he’d finished show #2581, the last of his 30’s. I was enamored with his ability to take you right in the pocket with him. I cried at my first Frank Turner show. I danced at my first Frank Turner show. Anyone who knows me would be surprised at the latter. I recommend that if you have a chance to see Frank live, you don’t squander it. It'll be worthwhile.
FTHC is an expression that feels like a contradiction in many ways: the energy of a young punk rock kid, the wisdom of an old folk singer, and the life experiences to combine them into something that feels like a record that’s been a lifetime in the making, from the trauma of boarding school, to the farewell to a place Frank swore he’d never leave.
The themes on FTHC are not for the weak of stomach, impatient, or close minded. "Fatherless” speaks of the resentment and angst pointed at an absent father. “Miranda,” a tale of that same absent father, transitioning to Miranda, a transgender woman who after becoming the person she was meant to be, was open enough to have a relationship with her son.
“A Wave Across A Bay” is about coming to terms with Scott Hutchinson’s suicide, with permission from the family. The song comes not from a place of anger or resentment, but love. It's an honest reminder of how we can remember those we lose, and empathize rather than chastise.
The album also unpacks some mental health realities, including Frank’s struggle with anxiety and depression. “Haven’t Been Doing So Well” is a rather angsty track in all the right ways. It’s searing and it burns, but it’s a frustration over how the world seems to have fallen apart and lost its mind, and how in many ways it’s made us feel the same. The light in the song is coming to terms with the fact that asking for help isn’t weakness.
Frank also doesn’t pull any punches in dealing with his past. “Untainted Love” is an honest account of a life hard lived and the cost--quoting Johnny Cash, “I sure do miss them drugs,”--and learning that you’re not ready to die by toeing the line. It’s you or the substance, or in this case, the one you love or the substance, with Frank’s now wife, Jessica Guise, refusing to be a part of his life as long as drugs still were.
“Little Life” addresses how the singer who refused to settle down, may be doing that, but on his terms. Not with resignation but with hope and a path forward out of the mire. A record that is burning hotter than ever shows that moving away from London and settling down hasn’t softened Frank Turner but instead strengthened his resolve.
I had a chance to catch up with Frank Turner to talk about the record, life, where he’s been, where we all may be headed.
How hard is it to capture that energy in a record? What if anything do you do to put yourself in a state of mind of making a record?
Each record is different. There's a misapprehension a lot of younger musicians have (including me) that in essence you're just documenting what you do live in the studio - or at least that's one approach. I no longer think that's quite true. Shows and records are two different artistic disciplines, and in a strange way, capturing the feel of a live performance isn't as simple as just doing one in front of a microphone. That's been my experience anyway. But ultimately there are infinite possible approaches to making a record, it depends what you're trying to achieve. In the case of FTHC, I was aiming for something visceral and raw; it wasn't possible to just play it in a room, musicians and producers were many thousands of miles apart, but I think we hit our mark in the end.
Your audience is an eclectic mix. How do you feel the punk contingent and rock and roll / Americana folks have a meeting of the minds, and what if any differences do you see in those audiences?
I suppose I'd say that ultimately music is a force for bonding rather than separation, and in the end I don't much care if someone is wearing a Rancid shirt or a Bellowhead shirt. If they're there enjoying the music, that's all that matters to me. As an artist you don't get to choose your fans.
Your catalog feels very much like a "bad things happen, but we press on anyway." How have the last few years inspired and challenged your art creation process?
Haha, well, in some ways I guess I'm looking back and thinking perhaps there were times when things weren't actually that bad. The last 2 years have been solidly miserable for me and for anyone in this line of work, or the live entertainment industry generally. I wrote a lot last year, I had the time, but there were many days of being stuck. It's hard to know what to say about all this, especially when things change so rapidly, I'm digesting it just the same as everyone else. It has often required some pretty extreme expenditures of effort to want to keep doing this, but I don't feel like I have much choice in the final analysis. This is the only thing I have any aptitude for.
You have your influences written on your sleeve in some ways, but who are some people who have inspired you, and inspire you now? Anything for this record specifically?
As I progress through my career, I'm inspired by people who had longer careers and kept them interesting. Nick Cave, Elvis Costello, Joni Mitchell and so on. Not that any of that crew specifically inspired this record, just their general approach, their dedication, their longevity. For this record I've been mainly allowing myself to indulge my first musical instincts, to wallow in the sounds I grew up with.
You pride yourself on activity, and the number of shows. How excited are you to get back on the road and have folks scream your songs back to you? What show are we on now?
The last show I did was #2581 - the last of my 30's as well, incidentally. I'm very excited at the prospect of being able to get back to some semblance of normality. It still feels like we're a way off that right now. But playing shows is the thing I've done with my adult life, the thing I love the most, the place I feel comfortable. I miss it terribly.
If you could make the world sit and actually pay attention and listen to one album what would it be and why?
My new one? Haha. I don't know. I'm not sure there's such a thing as art which appeals or speaks universally actually, and if there was, I suspect it would be shallow.
If you could make the world read any book, what would it be and why?
"Cultural Amnesia" by Clive James springs to mind. That book rearranged my thinking about a lot of things, art, culture, history and politics. James was a man who was liberal, moderate, to his core, in a way which I think a lot of people could stand to learn from right now.
There are fans who have been on the ride for varying lengths of time. What would you want to say to someone who may hear your music for the first time with this album? What would you want to say to folks who've been along for years?
In some ways, the things I have to say, to anyone, are in the music I make, so the question answers itself. But more specifically, I suppose I'd say "welcome!" to the newcomers and "thanks for sticking with me" to the old-timers.
As we move out of (hopefully) some of the strangest times in the modern era, what do you see as the future of live music, togetherness, and specifically for yourself?
I'm not especially optimistic, in the short to medium term, if I'm honest. I think there's a way to go yet with all this nightmare we've been living through, and I think a lot of people have got very comfortable with isolation, not going out, existing in a more virtual way. That is what it is, but I can't help but feel it doesn't bode well, either for the way I make my living or indeed politics and society in general. But then again I play guitar for a living, so I wouldn't listen to me.
FTHC broaches personal life, politics, the past, the future. It calls back previous records referencing “I Knew Prufrock Before He Was Famous” on “The Resurrectionists," and hits with heavy emotions and the heaviest music in the Frank Turner solo catalog. It’s a record that’s a can’t miss for a Frank Turner fan, or a fantastic introduction if you’re unfamiliar. It drops on February 11 and is available in any place where you buy or stream music. It deserves a listen and if you see Frank is coming to a town near you, go to the show, you won’t regret it.
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