New video from Killer Whale
When I was a teenager I lied about my age and got a gig supporting Frightened Rabbit (then largely unknown) in a dingy basement bar in Glasgow. Scott Hutchison’s genius that night changed my life. His music was a revelation – you can be from Glasgow and be in a band that doesn’t sound like Oasis! Unfortunately, he quipped that my own ramshackle group reminded him of High School talent shows. Inspired nevertheless, I took my free copy of their home-recorded album, Sing the Greys, and I listened to it on repeat all night.
Killer Whale was born after a summer of festivals, good times spent amongst good people, hippies, reprobates, fugitives, grooving to the boogie, selves lost in singalongs, deep chats round the campfire long into the morning.
All such revelry, sadly, must end, often dying somewhere around the autumnal equinox and the comedown of the six-month Scottish darkness that is euphemistically termed “winter”.
Yet out of this crash, creativity often sprouts; out of the darkness, light; in the light, shadows; like the patterns on a killer whale.
The songs on this debut album were written in that twilight - attempts at faith in a godless universe. An attempt to deal with comedown, loss of purpose, a striving towards a sense of wonder.
The sonic inspiration for Killer Whale? The poetry of Leonard Cohen and Neil Young with the lush musicality of Wilco and Death Cab for Cutie; the sentimental melodies of The Blue Nile and Hot Chip with the experimentality of Brian Eno and The Velvet Underground; the fragile vocals of Arthur Russell and Bon Iver with the sincerity of Joni Mitchell and Frightened Rabbit.