Playlouder - Music is the Network

Xtra Mile recordings presents a collection of rerecorded songs from three of their top songwriters. Jamie investigates:

Frank Turner

Frank Turner’s “indoor busker” routine as showcased on dangerously average 2008 single ‘Photosynthesis’ gets the recorded-in-a-shed treatment here. He’s got a lot to shout about, but you’d not know it from these terrible, terrible lyrics, which boast petulance and angst which might be excusable in a metal band, but do not stand up to scrutiny as a solo performer. “I won’t sit down, I won’t shut up…” he sings, sounding more than ever like an open-mic-compère's worst nightmare. I’d pay 79p to have this deleted from history.

‘Worse Things Happen At Sea’ is a bit darker and less… well… smug, but the “at least you never tried to fuck my friends” seems a bit much. I mean… she didn’t – you said so – so why the bad language? Still – this goes some way to reminding me why I didn’t always hate Frank Turner's output. I can still believe there’s a sharp songwriter fighting to get out of the petulant youth.

‘The Real Damage’, recorded live in Nottingham, goes some way to explaining Turner’s success as a live performer too, even if the lyrics are too shallow to get me to sing along.

Jonah Matranga

This man is boring. In a triple-showing that’s billed as “three of the best songwriting talents in the UK and the USA”, that would make Jonah Matranga one of the best songwriting talents in the USA. That’s simply not true; we’ve been lied to.

His songs slip past like cowardly eels, refusing to make themselves noticed, refusing to get all up in your face and shout out their excuses for taking up space in the world. At least you could never accuse Frank Turner of that. Matranga’s voice is syrupy and cloying, pouring all over his softly strummed guitar like a carton of double cream all over his cock. I’ve had enough.

Chris T-T

On ‘Old Men’, Chris manages to squeeze out a decent ditty, which loses little for being performed bandless. And ‘Ankles’ was not a favourite of mine from the album ‘Capital’ – the idea of domestic violence as romantic ballad presented by Chris, the Uncle Bulgaria of the singer-songwriter scene, doesn’t sit well with me – but continues the theme of the beardy one outshining his contemporaries in terms of hitting notes and striking nerves.

‘A Box To Hide In’ remains both rousing and tragic, but, stripped-down as it is, it also shows the limits of Chris’ voice. If we could somehow persuade Frank to perform Chris’ songs I’d be happy, but I doubt either of them would. (Nor would Jonah Matranga, whose name would not be on my guest list).

Thank the lord it’s download only, because the idea of having to sit through these stinkers for a couple of Chris T-T solo tracks… me with glee thas does not fill. For the most avid fans only.