“Riotously unstoppable... irrepressibly infectious... everyone was left bouncing and smiling after his show.” - PHAT Bristol
Alexander Canwell is as British as wet festivals, piss-warm cider and the smell of woodsmoke in your jumper the morning after. His music lives somewhere between a folk tale and a punch-up behind the pub, a caravan-site campfire where folk, punk and hip hop meet, light a fire and have a laugh.
The first album, Folder 15, mixed acoustic grit with rough beats and set the tone for what was to come. Two stripped-back EPs, Crab Food Pt. 1 and Pt. 2, followed, full of songs that smelled of smoke and earth. After that came Freddy Fingit, his debut solo theatre play, a proper plunge into the imaginal mud.
Then came A Janky Man From Albion, the second album, a rap-folk-punk thing that grew out of late nights, long rambles and a refusal to clean anything up too much.
Now Alexander is working on his first fully improvised solo show because it seemed like the scariest thing to do. At the same time he is shaping the third album and getting back on stage with fire in his chest and fatherhood in full swing.
The songs come from a love of Albion, of its land, its gutter, its laughter, its stories. He is not here to polish it. He is here to wake the sleeping giants and sing for the janky woodsmoke folk who still care about something real.
His music is rough round the edges and proud of it. It has sparked mosh pits, pulled quiet messages from strangers, and carried his mantra, “create or be created,” through every beat.
For anyone who wants songs that smell like damp moss and taste like chips, Alexander Canwell is ready to play.