Come gather in my lungs, Scottish wind
Belt out your blackest poems
As the sea around you sings
When that drone takes to the air
A single note to raise my hair
Carry songs beyond my lungs cold, Scottish wind
Come fall upon my shoulders, Scottish rain
And dissolve all of the worry
That has hunched this back of mine
So let the hurt run down the drain
To the reservoir one day
I’ll add a drop of my own worries to a dram
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Gather heavy in these long Scottish winds
All the fag smoke in the ether
Of the grouse has clipped your wings
Now I cough just like my granddad
And his grandpa before him
Ah, blow youth into these lungs, oh, Scottish wind
Come burl around my body, Scottish blood
I’ll try not to spill a drop
Oh, I’m sure you’ve spilled enough
And the English fucking rule
Who mean nothing to these times
Ah, run forever in my veins, bold Scottish blood
Obituary: Scott Hutchison (Frightened Rabbit), 36
11 May 2018 | James Porteous | Clipper Media
“There should be a study about the teenage complex and distortion because there’s definitely something that happens to teenagers when they hear distorted guitars. That kind of faded for me when I turned 18 and 19 and started getting into more longing and romantic music but before that, I was all about [heavy] guitars…. It’s such a satisfying way to learn…” Scott Hutchison
His is not a name known to most people.
Which was probably fine with him.
He seemed to relish the moment, the one-line summation, the play on words that worked so well, both in song and on the stage.
I only saw them play once but I was so taken with his absurdly friendly stage manner. Minutes into the show you could be convinced that he was doing a home show, in your very own living room.
Many of his songs talk about bringing back the music of your youth.
At my age, there is nothing in the music of Frightened Rabbit that brought back memories of my youth. Or memories of anything else.
So why the affection? Why the absolute joy I felt each time I put on a FRabbit album? And make no mistake, it was a band effort, every time.
Well, I guess maybe it comes down to this: Am I a man? Or am I a bag of sand?
And for goodness sake, please “be so good to everyone you love.”