Frightened Rabbit

Sometimes, it’s the shyest among us that have the most to say.

This was true in the case of Scott Hutchison, a guitarist and singer from Selkirk, Scotland. (Fun fact: William Wallace was named Scotland’s defender here!) Growing up, Hutchison was so fearful of human interaction his own mum dubbed him a “frightened rabbit.” His own mum.

Think they give many “participation trophies” in Scotch country? Not so much. Fortunately, the wee kit grew up to become a (albeit visually) well-adjusted adult who sings, plays, and interacts with the audience quite naturally.

The nickname, however, stuck around, as Hutchison used it as a stage moniker for his solo performances starting in 2003. He was later joined by his brother Grant (drums) and another guitarist by the name of Billy Kennedy. Today Frightened Rabbit tops out with five members.

Hutchisons and co. put out their first record, Sing the Greys, in 2006, and followed it up with The Midnight Organ Fight in 2008, The Winter of Mixed Drinks in 2010, A Frightened Rabbit EP in 2011, State Hospital (an EP) in 2012 and, most recently, Pedestrian Verse in February this year. Not quite as prolific as their furry namesake, but still pretty impressive.

Aside from having some really fantastic album titles, Rabbit’s music is heartfelt and catchy folk-pop, though not entirely remarkable. Some of the potential vigor might be absent from this particular performance, as Scott announces early on it was meant to be an “off day”, with a dream performance scheduled the following day at San Francisco’s historic Fillmore venue.

But at heart these guys aren’t head-banging material. Nor do they need to be. There’s enough aural variety -- mixed guitar riffs, lively keyboards, cosy harmonies, sentimental and Scottish accent-delivered lyrics -- to keep your ears entertained. After half a dozen albums, they’re comfortable in their own pelt.

The songs have a range of depth, and are at their most powerful when more driving, layered, and repetitive -- similar to the work of their countrymen The Twilight Sad and We Were Promised Jetpacks. Comparatively, they may demonstrate a slightly wider sound palette, floating about among the realms of light, dark, heavy, and airy. Does that make them better?

Not necessarily.

But we all have biases. Grab yourself some mates, a couple pints, throw on all three, and decide for yourselves. Just make sure you get an opinion from the shy one.

NOTE: These guys hit Lolla on Friday, August 2.

Twilight Sad: "Cold Days from the Birdhouse"

Please welcome Juke Box Hero, checking in with his weekly guest post and yet another great indie band from across the pond.

Call it seasonal affective disorder, but Brittany’s post about the blues yesterday definitely got me teed up to continue the conversation. Other signs also pointed to why I should piggy-back my lovely hostess: yesterday's featured band The Black Keys’ just released a new music video for the glittery gospel rock "Gold on the Ceiling," off their latest release El Camino; then, of all things, a live version of Janis Joplin’s muggy, soul-crushing blues ballad "Ball and Chain" shuffled up on the ol’ iPod. But no, I thought, this is not a blues-only blog (though maybe it should be). Let’s mix it up at least a little.

Enter Scotland’s brogue-tastic electro-drone version of the blues: The Twilight Sad. Hand it to ‘em, because even their name would make Robert Johnson ask the devil about refinancing his soul just to keep up. This near-Glasgow-based indie trio has been shoegazing together since 2003, but they didn’t release an album until 2007, the critically acclaimed debut Fourteen Autumns & Fifteen Winters. Their heavy lyrics and multi-layered, multi-instrument soundscapes make a particularly deep impact in live gigs, where they’re known to add several players and crank that shit up to 11.

Aside from being a timely title for the season, "Cold Days" is a dark and brooding, yet still powerfully energetic block of audio venting, worthy of following up the Keys. There’s a focus to their intensity, like a laser beam of angst, and the trance-inducing electronic chords opening the track set the stage for the more profound eardrum assault on the way.

Though sonically the Sad don’t follow any kind of bluesy structures, their lyrics are the right kind of vague, dour mix that’s simple enough to not mean much to the casual listener further than "my baby left me," but they still ring true, straight to the ticker, in the raw emotion through which it’s vocalized – and that’s blues enough for me.