This fall will mark one year since I moved to Boston, and somehow, I had never attended a show at the Royale. After trudging down Tremont Street through a drenching thunderstorm and into the club to see Frank Turner and the Sleeping Souls, I immediately fell in love with it. The concert hall itself has the sophistication of a Victorian theatre, bathed in purple light and festooned with ivory busts of Julius Caesar. Given the sizeable porthole near the main stairwell, I felt like I was aboard some funky ghost ship.
The opening act, Larry and His Flask, brought a raw energy to the stage, the likes of which I have not seen since I saw the Morning Teleportation open for Modest Mouse at the Welmont in Monclair, New Jersey back in 2010. Members of the group darted back and forth across the stage, exchanging instruments and flailing them around in the air. Apparently somebody forgot to tell Jeshua Marshall on the double bass that the instrument weighs around twenty-five pounds and isn’t usually swung around one’s head a la Pete Townsend. Their exuberant, bearded je ne sais quoi had me wondering if someone had cloned Jethro Tull’s Ian Anderson.
Their bluegrass punk sound was like Mumford and Sons on speed, ornamented with searing mandolin licks courtesy of Kirk Skatvold. At a moment’s notice, the band morphed into a three-piece brass band, and I struggle to recall a time when I saw someone play a tuba so intensely. Their five-part harmonies and infectiously toe-tapping rhythms make you smile and move along with it, and you forget for a moment that you are getting soaked by lead singer Ian Cook’s sweat every time he flicks is hair back.
Larry and His Flask punctuated their set by clearing away a small circle in front of the stage and placing a cymbal in the middle. The drummer Jamin Marshall, who bore a striking resemblance to The Mighty Boosh’s Howard Moon, climbed atop his stool, said a few parting words to the audience, then jumped down into the crowd, striking the cymbal and bringing the set to a fittingly raucous end.
Exactly half an hour later, Frank Turner and the Sleeping Souls took the stage. Turner’s set seemed contrived, his lyrics overloaded and crammed with cumbersome poetics, like “Subterranean Homesick Blues” played at half-speed. In the middle of one of his songs, Turner initiated a sing-along and gave the audience incredibly detailed and belabored instructions, despite the fact that the refrain’s only words were “Da da da do.”
Perhaps Larry and His Flask set the bar too high for Frank Turner. Honestly, I would have been satisfied if the show ended with Marshall’s cymbal jump. Regardless, I look forward to more shows at the Royale.
You can find Larry and His Flask at http://www.larryandhisflask.com/ and Frank Turner at http://frank-turner.com/.
Click here for more pictures from this event!
By: Kyle Clauss