More about: Frank TurnerSaveOurVenues

It might be early on a lovely sunny Saturday morning, but it’s nearly time for Frank Turner to have a lie down. The folk-punk-hardcore-acoustic-you-name-it-he’s-done-it singer may have played a couple of thousand gigs (and then some) before the world had ever heard of Covid-19, but it is his efforts post-lockdown that have captured the hearts and minds of grassroots venues. Raising a huge amount of money for many of the country’s most well-loved establishments through a string of live streams and special performances, he has, seemingly, been everywhere. So, as some semblance returning to ‘normality’ looms on the horizon, Gigwise caught up with him to chat all things grassroots, his work with Fightback Lager and how he became used to saying yes.

It seems like everyone has got a ‘one last gig’ story about March of last year, when the rumours and rumbles from China became an unavoidable avalanche as Covid-19 hit Europe and crept closer to our own shores and homes. For Frank, he was loving life in the middle of a solo tour when reality came crashing in. Admitting to an initial complacency that it would turn out to be no different to scares over swine or bird flu, Frank and his team soon reached the point where a decision needed to be made. “We had a day off when the government made an announcement that large gatherings were probably not a good idea, but they weren’t yet banned”, remembers Frank, “Which was a supremely fucking unhelpful thing to say.”

Placed in the difficult position of having to balance contractual obligations with public safety, he and his team had daily conversations with the venues and promoters involved. The tour lasted just three more nights before a pivotal night in Southend. “The mood in the room was really, really off”, he says, “No disrespect to the people [there], but half were really, really nervous and the other half were the kind of people you have to ask to leave more than once when you turn the lights on in a pub at last call. It was not a pleasant vibe.” Making the decision to call off the tour partway through the set, even in these circumstances, was still not an easy choice. “It’s what I do, it’s how I make a living and it’s how my crew get paid” states Frank. “It sucked. But you know, it was the right thing to do.”

Talking to anybody now about those early weeks of lockdown already feel like stories from a bygone age, hushed tales to pass on the grandkids of what Frank describes today as “aspirational shopping lists” and the daily panicked supermarket dashes just trying to find toilet roll or pasta. And like many, he had the same misguided hope that everything would soon turn round. “I distinctly remember in March, saying to my team that the lockdown was good news because it meant it would be over in time to do the Lost Festivals in May. Which obviously seems kind of bitterly ironic now looking back”, he chuckles softly. Soon though, it was live streams rather than in-the-flesh performances that would take centre stage.

There were no grandiose plans in place at first though, the first stream from his home being set up purely to try and raise some funds to get two of his touring party home to America. The results were ridiculous though as £44,000 was raised, despite Facebook pulling the plug at one point because too many people were watching. “Suspicious activity, that’s what they said”, he explains with a laugh, “Too many people watching? That was the fucking point!” With that reaction then, it was no surprise that Frank embraced the live stream potential and became the busiest musician around over lockdown. “Yeah, arguably too busy”, he smiles, “There’s definitely a sense that I approached the edges of overkill in terms of live streaming, if not actually tipped over it. But you know, 99% of it was for good causes.” And then some. What began as a way of helping his crew recoup some of their lost income soon spiralled, with an average of one live stream every two weeks over the next year. “I thought, well, let’s do more of these as there was clearly a potential to raise money. I do remember thinking to myself that I would do it until the audience and fundraising amount tail off, I thought it would be three weeks or something”, he pauses before adding proudly (justifiably so), “We raised a quarter of a million pounds for independent venues. So I’m proud of that, it feels like I’ve done something useful with my time.”

That’s one hell of an understatement. In an incredibly tough time for the entire globe (also one hell of an  understatement), life in U.K. music venues has been particularly bleak. With doors closed for the majority of a year (aside from a brief return to life in the summer), most stages have been left to gather dust and sit in silence. While there is still much to do, the work to keep them alive, spearheaded by the likes of the charity Music Venue Trust has been phenomenal. “Right in the beginning, when I had that first conversation with Mark [Davyd, Music Venue Trust CEO] about doing a show, he was like a man on a mission”, remembers Frank, “He was like, ‘I’m not gonna let a single venue close motherfucker. He’s done pretty fucking well.” There with the understatements again. That first live stream in support of London’s Nambucca set the template for what was to come over the following months, raising £12,000 for the struggling venue. With organisations such as Independent Venue Week also weighing in, the #saveourvenues campaign was born and has since helped to save countless livelihoods and venues around the country. With more and more people and venues getting in touch, Frank embarked on a series of live streams from independent venues around the country, raising funds all the way. 

Talking the day after another successful round of payouts from the government’s Culture Recovery Fund, it’s clearly a celebratory time, of sorts. “Hats off to them, Music Venue Trust have done an amazing thing”, agrees Frank, “I also think it’s important, though I am not broadly speaking a fan of our current government, that there is a level there at which credit is due. There has been assistance given to large swathes of the independent music sector, and that’s almost entirely down to the Music Venue Trust’s work. I spend most days in awe of the whole team and the work they’ve been doing.” But here is where the gloves come off for Frank today, as some of his frustrations begin to emerge. 

“I’m going to stray into some slightly contentious territory here”, he warns, “Because though there has been a lot of gathering together from venues and artists, at the same time I’ve been quite disappointed by some parts of the music industry's response to all of this.” Explaining his belief that he would only do a handful of streams before others got involved too, things didn’t end up unfolding that way.  “That’s probably pretentious or overly-ambitious on my part, self-important, whatever, but it just seemed so obvious that everyone would jump on board. Because why wouldn’t you?” Naming no names, but it turns out that there were plenty of reasons given for not jumping on board. “And I think all of those reasons were shit” is his blunt analysis. “A lot of artists have done a lot of things. But there’s definitely been some of the higher echelons of the industry who seem to have regarded the idea of trying to help people as a bit beneath them. And I think that’s fucking shit.” It’s clear as he speaks that it is still something that angers him deeply. “It definitely feels like a lot of the more successful people, not just artists, seem to regard the whole infrastructure and ecosystem of the underground as being, at best, a means to an end and that’s fucking sad. There’s a lot of people who owe their careers to these venues, and to turn around and go ‘nah, it’s not for me’, well, it’s like, fuck you man. I am quite angry about it on some levels.”

I probe him for his thoughts on the anger provoked by a high-profile live stream from Glastonbury being broadcast on the first weekend where actual real-life shows may be happening in actual real-life grassroots venues, a situation that drew withering remarks from David and a host of independent venues, and he remains somewhat more diplomatic stating simply “Let’s just say that I’ve noted what the Music Venue Trust has said in response to them with interest”. 

Our talk turns to more positive aspects, including the crowdfunding campaign for Fightback Lager - a business that has also worked hand-in-hand with Music Venue Trust over the last few years, donating a percentage of profit from every pint sold to the charity. Having worked with Frank for a few years, including hosting a socially-distanced gig at The Troubadour in December, it’s another part of the connected grassroots web. “It’s very tasty too, they sent me a lot”, is his five star review today, adding “I no longer have any left, let’s put it that way.” Part of a huge drive to increase precious ticket sales across the land, the nature of ventures like Fightback goes hand-in-hand with the wider community aspect of life in grassroots venues, everyone helping each other out towards a shared common goal. Go to a venue you love, drink a beer from a company that you part-own. Simple.

We chat about the faces you see at gigs in these places, those working tirelessly behind the scenes as well as the dedicated punters who surface and head down the front every week. “It’s a shared interest isn’t it? I’m gonna get slightly dewey-eyed and philosophical here, but the aspect of being a professional musician that I like the least is this competitive angle that kicks in as you go up the food chain”, he explains fondly, “And there’s less of that on the underground scene, because there’s just a common purpose. Running an independent venue is never gonna make anyone a millionaire and it’s just people who are there for the love of it. There’s not this sort of looking over your shoulder award ceremony shitshow, it’s more just people who like music. And that’s much more to my taste.” 

For a musician who has played some of the biggest stages in the world, there’s a refreshing love of keeping it pure about and around Frank Turner, a willingness to keep his roots, and grassroots, very close to his heart. “It’s cultural, or even tribal, for me,” he agrees, “I spent the first 16 years of my life feeling extremely uncomfortable, like I didn’t fit anywhere. And then I found gigs, and I found specifically the hardcore scene.”

Life changed for him in 1995, that first gig watching Snug at The Joiners Arms in Southampton marking a new phase in his life, at the kind of venue where outsiders get to feel like they’re on the inside of something at last. “Just being in a room that smells of piss and duct tape, crammed up against people watching a band who is altogether too loud, and paying too much for a pint? I just love it.” The grin is ear to ear by now. “I’ve been fortunate enough to go on to bigger places and stages and all the rest of it, and I’m very grateful for it. But this is my passion. And you know, it is self-evident to me that I wouldn’t have the career I have had if I hadn’t been able to play these places. Noisy culture needs a space in which to exist, and without that space then it won’t exist”.

The passion pouring out of every syllable as he recalls fond memories down venues like the Joiners, Winchester’s Railway Inn or the Tunbridge Wells Forum. Rooms that have suffered in their silence for far too long as the world outside their doors crawled to a stop throughout 2020 and beyond. “That first time where I’m back in the third row of an indie venue, watching a band I like, drinking too much beer and shouting along to lyrics that I then realise I don’t actually know or whatever…”, he pauses with a grin on his face, leaving that delicious sweet gig fantasy hanging in the air between both of us for so long that you can almost taste it. The fightback continues.

Crowdcube for Fightback Lager here. Capital at risk.

More about: Frank TurnerSaveOurVenues