A concert in a church is a beautiful thing. I am not Christian, but even I know the expectations a band has when their audience sits in pews. A performance in a church must be nothing short of perfect — anything else would be rude to the holy oak carvings in the repurposed St. James Community Square. The echoes of past concerts reverberated from the walls. The Fugitives walked on, quietly picked up their instruments, and we started to fly.
The Fugitives are a folk band formed in Vancouver in 2004. They originally focused on spoken word before UBC theatre and film alum Adrian Glynn, the current co-lead vocalist, joined the group. Most of the original members left for other projects over the years. Now the band consists of lead singers and songwriters Glynn and Brendan McLeod, violinist Carly Frey and Chris Suen (a UBC religious studies alum) on banjo. They also sometimes collaborate with outside musicians. Sally Zori takes up the role of occasional drummer with boisterous glee.
Glynn was not always a folk fan. He was a classic ‘'90s grunge guy — until the Coen brothers’ Oh Brother, Where Art Thou? and the Vancouver Folk Festival (VFF) opened his eyes to the lyrical power of the genre.
“Lyrics are really important to me,” he said in an interview with The Ubyssey. One of the things that draws him to folk is the central role lyrics play — they’re “usually at the forefront [of the mix].” Glynn saw the Fugitives perform at VFF before he joined them. He worked with their producer, and when the band needed another lead singer in 2009, Glynn was the first person they called. He played a couple of songs with them and has been a key part of the band since.
Part of me wishes I could be objective and neutral about this band; the other part of me knows that I never could be. The Fugitives are one of the best bands I have ever seen. In my first year at UBC, I found them while exploring folk concerts happening soon, and I fell in love with their music. Their 2020 album Trench Songs specifically roused a part of my soul: nostalgic, bombastic and melancholic. I cheered listening to the bittersweet drinking song, “Where Do We Go From Here, Boys.” I nearly cried when I heard the lyrics, “Here’s an end to this mournful story / For death is a distant friend / So here’s to a life of glory / And a laurel to crown each end,” in “The Next Man Who Dies.”
The first time I went out in Vancouver was for their concert. They played in St. James Community Square in October 2023. The Rogue Folk Club (RFC), which rented out the converted church, booked them to celebrate the release of their album, No Help Coming. I had moved from Texas a couple months prior — I was homesick, lonely and incredibly new to BC. I heard them play and my jaw hung agape for the entirety of their two-hour show. Frey’s violin lifted the room. Glynn’s and McLeod’s vocals complemented each other perfectly. Suen had a broken finger and still shredded on the banjo. When they hit their most complex harmonies, the venue lights changed colour and I haven’t been the same since. Their music to me is the sounds of looking at a Vancouver moon, the city lights of North Van twinkling like the stars.
When I saw they were performing with the RFC, I jumped at the chance to get a ticket. This was a return to St. James Community Square for the release of their new self-titled album, out on April 10. I went with high expectations and no knowledge of their new album, accompanied by The Ubyssey’s Photo Editor Sidney Shaw.
Seeing Sidney become converted during the show was a highlight of my year.
The Fugitives are a perfect band to see live. It's obvious they’ve toured with each other for years. On March 7, they told stories from the road, added context to songs and had banter that Statler and Waldorf would envy.
Zori made a surprise appearance and their drumming gave the songs a controlled but bombastic rhythm. Glynn and McLeod’s vocals swirled upwards in the space — they sang with even more passion than on their recorded tracks. Suen couldn’t make the performance due to health complications and another Chris, Chris Baxter, replaced him. Unlike Suen’s folk-style clawhammer, Baxter plays bluegrass banjo, which gave the music a fantastic layered sound. He took The Fugitives’ song “Bigger than Luck” and invoked classic country breakdowns like “Cripple Creek,” going so far as to almost change the meaning of the words with his southern influence.
Frey’s violin was the highlight of the night. She gave the music a distinct rhythm, texture and imagery. The way she sawed the fiddle lifted the band so high they floated on the pulpit. When the band played, I heard the fireflies from back home. I could smell the campfire. All of their songs feel like you’re sitting on grass and looking up at the star-backed mountains.
Glynn and McLeod effectively put the feeling of distinct Canadian vastness into their lyrics. The Fugitives’ upcoming self-titled album is about the feeling and stories of touring across Canada, and you can feel that while listening to the work. On these tours, “you can't help but be amazed, awestruck and also honestly bored at times,” said Glynn.
I cannot stress enough how fantastic their performance was live. Songs like “Old Mistakes” went from the rousing tune from the record to filling the church with uproarious delight — but what stood out to me was their melancholy. For the last half of their performance, Sidney slumped on the railing in front of our seats. They had put their camera down a while back, and I checked to see if they were tired. They told me with a smile that it was just sad. Good, but sad.
The Fugitives know how to extract metaphors and ideas for all they’re worth. Off their new album, “As An Ending” is written from the perspective of a guitar that was stolen from them in Newfoundland years ago. What could have been a humorous but surface-level tune becomes a deep reflection about a breakup that needed to happen. McLeod wistfully sings "There's a weight inside my lungs / There’s a hole that you have dug / Another flame I need to tend to / So take this as an ending.”
That's what The Fugitives (the album) is like. “Firefight” is a meditation on researching the tunes from their previous album, Trench Songs: “I read the books but there were too many mistakes / I stepped inside your steps but I was walking way too late / Tried to count you but you had too many names.” “Wolf Road” is about seeing the Milky Way above you on a long ride.
During the concert, they mentioned that the new album was self-titled because they couldn’t think of a name. I honestly couldn’t think of a better one. The Fugitives is the perfect meditation on 22 years of band history — the touring, the research and seeing the divine vastness of Canada.
Sidney was entranced with the Fugitives by the end of the concert. We both freaked out at the instrumentation, harmonies and how their voices filled the concert hall with nearly holy energy. When I asked them why they liked the music, they talked about how human the songs were. They said that even if so much of the world is terrible, you listen to The Fugitives and believe they’ll change the world for the better.
The Fugitives’ music is the vastness of the plains, the ruckus of drinking songs and a nostalgia for hope. If you see them in concert, you’ll fly in a church with the fireflies around you.
