Joe runs through every album on his iPod, mostly in alphabetical order, and offers some brief thoughts. Check out previous columns HERE. Obviously, Pedestrian Verse does not fall in line alphabetically, but as previously explained, I'm also using this column to talk about the best albums of the 2010s. This is the next album I am discussing. Come back in December to find out where it falls in the rankings.
Pedestrian Verse
Frightened Rabbit
2013
Pedestrian Verse was described by frontman Scott Hutchison as "a surface peek into a million different stories, happening now, somewhere across the globe." When I listen to this album, however, there is only one story I hear.
Even putting aside the idea of "stories," there's so much to love in Pedestrian Verse. The first four songs are probably the best opening 1-2-3-4 of any album of the decade—the pounding toms of "Acts of Man" as a welcoming, the relentlessness of "Backyard Skulls," how "Holy" manages to somehow up the ante, the towering choruses of "The Woodpile." If the rest of the album is somewhat of a comedown, that only means that you are focusing on the music. And that's okay! The music is great throughout, but yeah man, you can't really top the opening tetrad.
But the story here is important, and like I said, there's only one. That's the story of the life and death of Scott Hutchison.
We've explored how death effects art in previous entries, but Hutchison's 2018 death was the first for a musical artist that really knocked me for a loop. Why did his passing affect me so deeply? It probably had a lot to do with the music, how fucking heart-on-his-sleeve he was about everything that he wrote. He sung constantly about his struggles with depression, and his flirtations with suicide, and how hard he clung to life, no matter the temptation to end it. His death feels like a loss, not only in that we lost Hutchison, but a literal loss, like the power of music itself lost. To think that that's possible is, to me, a continuous gut punch.
So if you want to see Pedestrian Verse as the reflections of a doomed man, then that's your choice. It's a choice I make every time I hear it, and it deepens my relationship with the album every time I dare listen. But it's a choice I wish I didn't have to make. I wish Scott Hutchison was still on this earth, still creating music, still trying, and hopefully succeeding, to reach those insane heights that he hits consistently here.
And when I say that I choose to hear this album as the work of a depressed man who is teetering on the brink, I'm not implying that I have to work for it. It's all right there. He sings those words, plainly, throughout most of the songs.
In "December's Traditions," he contrasts his mental anguish with how people think they can treat it like a physical ailment, how everyone asks him over and over, "What do you need from me?" while all the while, he doesn't know the answer. In "The Woodpile," he sings about how he "spent too long alone tonight," and is reaching out to someone, anyone, to come to him and help him. In "Nitrous Gas," he speaks openly about gassing himself just to get relief from the pain.
In "Dead Now," well, okay. In interviews in 2013, Hutchison described this song as "maybe one of the funniest songs I've ever written," but here in 2019, it's not really that funny anymore. "I'm dead now, can you hear the relief," he asks, and technically that's true, he is at peace now, but there's no relief for those still here.
It's interesting, though, that he described "Dead Now" as a joke, because despite the somber tone that completely envelopes Pedestrian Verse now, there are a ton of attempts at humor and undercutting of the depression throughout the album. "Late March, Death March" is probably the best example of this, how the song opens with a jaunty whistling and a joke ("I cursed in church again..."). But nevertheless, it's clear that the attempts at lightheartedness are really a battle against something bigger and darker.
"I don’t think people come to a Frightened Rabbit show to feel sad," said Hutchison at one point. "There is a release there. Private little moments of excitement for all of us in the band become this outpouring of celebratory, 'we’re all fucked, but it’s okay!' sort of thing." So despite the overtones of death, it is true that the moments of optimism are appreciated by the audience. "The Oil Slick," Pedestrian Verse's finale, ends on an incredibly optimistic way. Over pounding drums, we hear: "There's still hope so I think we'll be fine."
As part of that audience who listens to Frightened Rabbit to feel close and to feel loved, I take these words to heart. There is hope, goddamn it. I feel so fucking sad listening to this and knowing that Hutchison eventually couldn't see the truth in his own words. But his words echo on, and I will hold them close.
"A million stories." Pedestrian Verse itself is not that. It's one story. But as we listen to Pedestrian Verse together, it in turn becomes a million stories.
Willow was born on May 8th, 2018, and two days later, Scott Hutchison was dead. A million stories, some ending, some just beginning, all of them passing through Pedestrian Verse in one way or another.
It's a remarkable album. Please listen.
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If this album sounds interesting, then try this song: "Backyard Skulls"
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Stray Observations
- That's all not to say that Scott Hutchison plays every character he sings about. I don't want you to infer that he is the toxic males described in "Acts of Man," though, like any good self-deprecator, he does question himself by the end of the song—I try not to be like these men, but am I anyway?
- He is also clearly not the woman sung about in "State Hospital," a woman who is the victim of domestic abuse and life's circumstances. The song is pure fucking poetry (even though it's the song that gives us the pedestrian title of the album), and it affected me for entirely different reasons during today's listen-throughs, for reasons that I won't get into now.
- Throwaway pair "Housing (in)" and "Housing (out)" are probably the only thing standing between Pedestrian Verse and perfection, but even so, can't really blame the band for wanting a couple breathers on this tracklist. Otherwise it might be too dense, ya feel me?
- ALBUM COVER: We have a blue hardbound book with a simple cover, its contents unknown. Though, possibly, this is the theoretical book mentioned in "December's Traditions." In referring to his struggles with depression, Hutchison sings: "If I had the answer, I'd write a book of what I know."
- I did not include this album on my 2013 Best Music list, simple because I hadn't heard it yet. I didn't actually listen until 2014 (and for that year's list of "Best Pre-2014 Albums," I included the album, calling Frightened Rabbit "the Scottish Arcade Fire"). It was a terrible omission, and you better bet that this shit is going to be rectified in our Best of the Decade List. (Hello to all those in the future who were linked back to this article from that list! Welcome!)
- You always learn something new while reading Genius.com's lyrics and listening along. Today, I learned what was meant in "Late March, Death March" in the lyric: "Well, like Bulver said, less heart and more head." Bulverism is basically a mix of gaslighting and ad hominem arguing, in that you don't want to believe that something is true, so you attack the source.
- Shout out to the person who called the hotline I work at while I was listening to this, and had to put up with my sniffles throughout the conversation! Thanks for your patience!
NEXT TIME: Sleep Well Beast by The National (then we'll get back to the alphabetical list, promise!)
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