Hello. This is just another post to keep this blog on y’all’s radar. I have a feature for Metro coming up in about two weeks that is shaping up to be really, really good, though my editor seems to be MIA. Haven’t heard from him in about a week and a half. I hope he’s getting my e-mails. I don’t want this story to slip through the cracks.
I am very excited about going to see Frank Turner this week at the Rickshaw Stop. If you haven’t yet turned your attention toward Frank Turner, you probably should. I was introduced to him by a friend of mine a few months ago and I’ve been listening to the CD she burned me over and over and over and over (and over).
Turner has a fantastic command of language and a flair for storytelling, hovering over the mundane and everyday and also the unanswerable, like life and death and what we’re all doing here. It’s unlike anything I’ve heard in quite a while, and makes me feel a little guilty that I’m not adhering to the carpe diem lifestyle he preaches in stuff like “Photosynthesis” and “The Road“.
I’ve been trying to shop around a story on him to local blogs because I have tons of questions I am dying to ask him (and also I was hoping to get into the show for free), but no one’s picked it up. I want to talk about life, death, and women with Frank Turner. If you have nothing to do this Wednesday evening, come out to the Rickshaw Stop. It’s a cheap show. From what I understand, he’s pretty big in the UK and was signed to Epitaph last year. This might be the last time you get to see him for so little dough before all the literary hipsters get a hold of him.
One of these days, we will meet and I will ask him my thousands of questions. Listen up, Frank. I’m comin’ for ya.
I might want this song played at my funeral. I haven’t decided yet.
And if all you ever do with your life
Is just photosynthesize
Then you deserve every hour of your sleepless nights
That you waste wonderin’ when you’re gonna die…