I was kindly invited down to the Fraser gig at Crofters Rights at the
end of January by Alpaca, and I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect. I’d spent the week looking for work and nursing a sore throat, so hoped for a fairly straightforward evening. I was fairly aware of one of the support acts – Sam Paul, a woozy bluesy singer-songwriter who I’d met a year or so ago. The main support – Foxwhelp, were another unknown to me.
Sam Paul
There’s something to Paul. His naturally laid
back sensibilities perhaps at odds with what you’d expect from a
frontman, but in truth its a reflection of the inward looking singer-
songwriter he is.
Rather his stage presence is remarkably comforting, making space in his
performance for the audience to latch on. Paul’s sleepy blues are
entirely mood driven, every time the organ goes out on its own, and
every time the brass swells, it gets through to an audience who have
been drawn in by this group’s unassuming exterior.
The same crooning horns and lilting organ are on the same
page with this brilliant, distinct artistic direction. The end result
is a deeply romantic one, where his songwriting shines. Among the
highlights is I Won’t Always Be There – Paul caressing the refrain in
his husky voice, with his band singing like a sleepwalking choir
behind him.
For my sins I snagged a setlist from Sam after the show. It revealed
what could have been – an encore of Folsom Prison Blues, but Paul and
his band sadly found themselves out of time after what became their
brilliant closer – Going Home, a sort of soulful version of Another
Girl, Another Planet featuring a to-die-for trumpet solo.
For fans of: Blood, Sweat & Tears, Van Morrison, and of course, Bob
Dylan.
Foxwhelp
After a brief break we, the assembled masses, returned for Foxwhelp, a
mysterious alt folk threesome. The singer, Joe, stood centre stage,
flowing mane of brown hair and thick beard, he was a striking and
refreshingly unabashed storyteller.
Their first song was dark and domineering. To his left, a five string
viola loomed and groaned. To his right a five string banjo that
coloured in the picture with loose fingerstrokes.
But the atmosphere soon lightened and the tension dissolved, Joe
rather opting to speak in a very down-to-earth way about the show and
the group’s music. His instrument had six strings – a Japanese Epiphone
acoustic guitar he had rescued from the Hobgoblin guitar shop on Park
Street. Half broken on acquisition, it took him nearly a year to get it
gig ready, but well worth the wait for how well it compliments the rest
of the band.
Joe noted how the songs appeared on the setlist in pairs, seemingly
two sides of a thematic coin, and I thought that observation
contributed to a bit of a throwback vibe to him and the rest of the
group.
While their subject matter was sometimes reflexive, the vulnerability
of their structure and performance lends a remarkable candour to the
group. Matched with a truly beautiful soundscape and clear aesthetic
philosophy, it was the honesty of the experience that led me on my own
internal journey through the gig.
They closed with Dead Ferns, a love song that walks hand in hand with
death, a duality much explored by the band, but it was as the last
chorus rang out that the romanticism of the whole affair stood out to
For fans of: Whiskeytown, Peter, Paul and Mary.
Fraser
Led by trusty principle songwriter Al Fraser Green, the five-piece
built their set slowly. They opened with slow songs and thin
soundscapes, allowing Green’s lyricism space to breath. The opening of
the set also featured the curious application of a screwdriver on the
lead guitar.
To generate these soundscapes their percussion was sparse, and the
screwdriver half slid and half bowed the guitar, which washed out over
Green’s careful vocals. The mood rose gingerly until the drums kicked
in during their third song, when the full nature of Fraser’s music
revealed itself.
Steeped in the post-britpop tradition of the 00s, Fraser’s music was
sleek and stylish. One standout song was The Hurricane, which, as its
name might suggest, came with a mighty crescendo, and as a collective
Fraser were able to up the ante with each song, that revealed more
about Green himself each time.
To be able to commit that to an audience comes with a level of
implicit trust. It’s a romantic idea really, that you can throw a rope
around those who’ve gathered in front of you and say that what happens
here is special and I’m going to be honest with you and I know that
you’re going to be able to understand me.
And then, just as the show reached its climax, it seemed Al couldn’t go
on any longer, his voice had gone, and it was too painful to carry on.
So a tragic end for our romantic hero, but he and the crowd were in
good spirits regardless as we filtered out into the wet Bristol night. Find them on Instagram or Spotify
For fans of: Stereophonics, Elbow.
Finishing Thoughts
The romanticism of the songwriter, writing either directly or by
degrees about truth, their truth, has always been a key part of
performance, and it was on full display last night. Each act had a keen
sense of the mood they wanted to instill in the room that night but
it’s another thing to execute it, and then another altogether for that
mood to lull an audience under their spell. If you’re looking for your
next musical valentine, look no further than these three.
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