Compare The Rabbit Dot Com

Do you often find yourself mistaking some bands for certain others due to their ridiculously near-identical silly names? Have you been getting your Black Kids mixed up with your Black Lips, crossing your Howling Bells with your Broken Bells or swapping your MGMT for your N.E.R.D? If so, you are not alone. Jaz has become so infuriated by a particularly bad case of Multiple Bandname Disorder recently that we've felt it necessary to safeguard society from what's fast becoming a global epidemic: Bunny Flu.

"I in true Glaswegian fashion made the error of shooting my mouth off about a homegrown beardy Scottish collective called Frightened Rabbit only to stand bruised and bashful as six stylishly clad Brooklynites took centre stage under the nom de plume White Rabbits. Seriously, what the buck teeth is that all about?"

That's right. The suffix Rabbit is due to overcome the ampersand and quite possible the 'The' as most popular requirement for rockgroup christenings. To help you correctly distinguish between White Rabbits and Frightened Rabbit, Jaz has written a full rant-fueled guide over on Who's Jack: http://www.whosjack.org/?p=4543

Also useful are the following visual aids:-

Exhibit A: White Rabbits with Percussion Gun from second album It's Frightening...



Exhibit B: Frightened Rabbit with Swim Until You Can't See Land from third album (just released on Monday) The Winter Of Mixed Drinks...



Be safe...

Jaz x

Night 1

Alas, it begins. I’ve already missed the opening band (The Cheek) due to my pinot grigio distraction (this challenge requires pace). Ready to see a new band I have been listening in on, genuinely enjoy and am set to wave my Scottish flag to – Frightened Rabbit – I spot a crowd of American Apparel’d, clean-shaven Brooklynites approach the stage… “Give it up for White Rabbits!”. Give me strength! You’d think lapine nomenclature would be scarce among new rockers. Confusion aside, they serve up an ample slice of percussion-led indie verging on Kid A-era Radiohead with a good dose of musical chairs-styled instrument-swapping to measure and a cocktail drummer with energy to rival an entire jungle of Um Bongo characters.


To the main event: Delphic, which literally means “relating to Apollo (the Greek God of light)” – a very significant aside. Shrouded in darkness the trio approach the stage by way of torchlight, a moment I soon regretted not savouring. Most musicians, like humans, breathe oxygen. Delphic breathe halogen, and at the rate of an asthmatic. A migraine sufferer from the age of eight, I can take or leave pulsating darts of retina-burning white. Such was the power of this light display, however, it awakens my inner epileptic; I feel like I’m living between the musical staves of Underworld’s Born Slippy. Lager, lager, lager, lager, lager…. That, or I imagine this is what ELO meant by Blinded By The Lights. ‘Will there be a side of music with the Blackpool Illuminations tonight?’ was one question on my mind. The other, ‘Is Boots open late?’. To answer the former, Delphic are trying really hard to be Bloc Party, and who wants to be Bloc Party? Kele Okereke evokes the spirit of a mute cemetery attendant. At their Mancunian best, they’re New Order without Hooky’s winning basslines. It’s the same song looping over different light colours/rates, each one getting more and more aggressive, like the tracks on a speed metal album (probably, I don’t listen to speed metal). As blue lights turn to green, I feel alienated. If this and 3D cinema is the future of entertainment I am incompatible... like an old Acorn computer. Squinting with my arm shading my brow and committing the cardinal sin of sporting sunglasses indoors (it was an emergency), I’m ready to jump on the energy efficiency bandwagon. CUT THE LIGHTS! One hour later, vision impaired, more precious short-term memory neurons slaughtered and a sickbag on the list of things to include in case of necessity for my purse tomorrow night, I wonder whether Delphic’s assault on my optics has scuppered my campaign. I withstand breaking into Pulp’s Help The Aged. But really, help us. One day you’ll be older too.



Jaz x