Frank Turner: An artist has one responsibility, and one only, which is to their art

Marking 20 years since his first headline tour, the folk‑punk veteran explains why he's sceptical of celebrity activism, the causes he champions from the inside, and the two rules his gigs always follow.

I’ve always been clear about where my focus lies when politics and activism come up. The ideas behind many campaigns are admirable, but I wouldn’t describe myself as an active member of any particular movement. I have a huge amount of respect for people like Billy Bragg and the way he approaches activism, yet for me songwriting remains my paramount concern, above any campaigning. I’m a little wary of the whole “celebrity activist” narrative because history is full of examples where a famous voice has actually moved the dial in the opposite direction to what they intended, and I would very much rather not end up with someone like Nigel Farage as prime minister if I could avoid it.

That wariness keeps most of the activist work I do inside the world I understand best – music. One of the first projects I took out on tour was a group called Safe Gigs for Women. When I first heard the scale of sexual harassment that can happen at shows I had the typical male reaction – shock, horror and a feeling of complete unawareness. The aim of the group is to change that culture. I don’t think anyone should ever have to deal with harassment, but the arena where I can actually make a difference is my own shows, so talking about safety, respect and how to report bad behaviour fits naturally into the concerts I run.

A second effort that fits the same logic is Stay Up Late. They bring adults with learning disabilities and autistic people to live‑music events and pair them with a “gig‑buddy,” a carer who can accompany them into the venue.

More recently I became a patron of Able UK, a new charity set up by an old friend which focuses on disabled‑access venues. I have always believed that venues should be as accessible as possible. Able UK has just registered as an official charity and I joined a small group of patrons who are now gathering ideas for a launch that will include shows and campaign literature. It feels natural to use the platform I have to push for better access, even if the bulk of my time still revolves around being on stage.

Living in that touring bubble makes it easy to forget how many people can’t afford a ticket. I travel a lot, I get to follow my passion for a living, and I exist, to a large degree, in a world where the people I meet are broadly on the same page as me. That bubble also makes me constantly aware of how fragile the health of the music industry can be. A lot of people come to shows, a lot of people don’t, and a lot of people can’t afford to. I want to protect the industry – the crew, the venues, the structures that keep us all employed – because those structures are what let us keep making music at all. Proper compensation for the people who work in the industry and the long‑term health of the institutional side of things are things I think about constantly.

My sister works as an anti‑poverty activist in Morecambe. She’s involved with Citizens Advice in North Lancashire and does incredible work with the local Labour and Green parties. The people she helps often have no interest in my industry, and that’s fine – the two worlds don’t have to intersect. I try to stay in my lane, but I also respect the different ways people try to make change. 

My whole political awareness came from anarcho‑punk bands I listened to as a kid

I grew up in a world of fairly extreme anarchist politics. I spent time sitting around oil‑drum fires talking about how agrarian communes would be organised after a revolution. My whole political awareness came from the anarcho‑punk bands I listened to as a kid. They used to publish reading lists in their album sleeves, and I read them all. Those books helped shape how I see the world, and they showed me that music can change individuals and even communities. But looking back it feels like a lot of self‑indulgent talk that never changed anyone’s life for the better.

I try not to over‑think the impact of each song. If I spent too much time being mechanistic – trying to write a song that forces a specific feeling – the result would become brittle and false. I wrote Be More Kind not as a manifesto but because the line felt right in the moment; once the song existed the message was there without me having to push it. The song itself is an imperative, and it just seemed like a good thing to say. How I present my art, shows, recordings and the rhetoric around them is something I consider, but I try to keep that space slightly pure, ephemeral, and free from the kind of mechanistic concerns that can undermine authenticity.

Standing on a raised piece of flooring in a room full of people who have paid to see me gives me a tiny amount of control over the atmosphere. That’s why for the last 15 years or so my gigs follow two simple rules. Rule number one: don’t be a dickhead. Rule number two: sing along if you know the words. Friends have told me the vibe at my shows is way nicer than the shows they go to, and that makes me really happy. 

In my opinion an artist has one responsibility, and one only, which is to their art. If we choose to do other things that’s fine – we have the right to speak up or stay silent. The idea that artists should be forced to champion every cause feels, to me, like absolute horseshit. I’ve seen a lot of bands who basically suck, who use their music as a vehicle to promote activism. I respect that to a degree, but the better solution is simply to write better songs. If an artist doesn’t want to speak up on a particular topic, that is entirely their right. I get people who can’t believe I haven’t spoken up about certain issues, and I could make the longest list in the world of things I haven’t addressed because I don’t know enough or think differently. I think it’s nonsense when people try to force music to be a tool for their agenda.

I also think it’s absurd to demand that musicians comment on everything from climate change to foreign policy.

I would rather listen to actual scientists on climate change than to a celebrity shouting from a platform they don’t understand. The arts can expand minds and change opinions, but they shouldn’t be the ultimate objective.

That said, I once shared a stage with Stephen Fry who talked about how popular culture, the arts and music have changed public perception of homosexuality, and he said the arts are now doing a similar thing for the conversation about mental health. I’m an ambassador for Calm which works to destigmatise mental health and combat loneliness, and that feels like a manageable task for people in the public eye, even if the arts aren’t going to solve the Middle East.

All of this comes back to one simple idea – keep writing honest songs, keep the stage a decent place for everyone, and let any activism be a natural outgrowth of that. If a fan walks out of a gig feeling a little kinder, a little lighter, that ripple is the only change I need to see.

Frank Turner is currently on the 20th anniversary tour, with dates across Australia and beyond. Find out more here

This conversation with The Skylark took place on 13 April 2026 and has been edited and condensed for clarity.