Scott Hutchison wrote honest songs. Listening to Frightened Rabbit doesn’t feel like a peek into his journal so much as it feels like he’s sat down across from you with it spread open on his knee and is reading aloud notable excerpts. He was never shy, he was brave sometimes. Most times. He was funny when it mattered, and angst was never more anthemic nor pain more poignant than in his hands. He was I think most of all, for me, a companion in loneliness at a time when I was very lonely.
It’s difficult to gauge how to feel about the loss of someone you loved but didn’t know - and for all his honesty, for all I instantly recognised him and felt recognised in return, I didn’t know him. I knew the facets of himself he shared through his music and his art. For the people who did know and love him, his family, friends and band mates, and a brother who was all three, I extend every thought of love and hope I have to give, and all of my sympathy.
Nevertheless, I’m so so sad he’s gone. I’m sad about how, sad about why, sad about when. I can’t rationalise that sadness away by reminding myself I didn’t know him. It won’t budge because it doesn’t care.
I think it’s okay that I can’t make myself feel anything less than deeply sad. Sadness can be a tribute sometimes. Scott did so much in his time that is worth paying tribute to. From enabling rooms full of people who couldn’t talk about their troubles feel bold enough to sing about them to making Scottish accents kinda cool to helping you feel less alone once in a while.
I loved Scott, I love his music, and I’m so very sad and sorry that his road has ended. He was important, and he made his tiny changes to earth and then some. A fair bit for a young man from Selkirk.
Keep yourself warm, Scott.
