‘Reasons Why I Wish I Could Be A Professional Rapper'
Frightened Rabbit's Scott Hutchison

Ramble, rant or reminisce, this is an artist’s opportunity to pen their own Clash article.

This issue, ‘Reasons Why I Wish I Could Be A Professional Rapper’, by Frightened Rabbit’s main man, Scott Hutchison...

“At the risk of reducing an entire musical oeuvre to a series of primary coloured clichés (a job the vast majority of the rapping fraternity has been doing quite adequately for some years now), here are some of the reasons why I wish I could be a professional rapper.

Though I certainly don’t hate my own name, Scott John Hutchison doesn’t quite manage to distil my undoubted lyrical skill and physical menace into an unforgettable title. It has too many syllables, and gives away very few clues as to the potential size of my balls. Useless. Rappers such as Chamillionaire and Cunninglinguist have got the right idea, expressing in a single word their wealth/lyrical skill/sexual ability/likeness to a lizard. Upon introducing myself by saying, ‘Hello, I am Massif Testes’, any stranger would be left in no doubt as to my God-given prowess. Plus I could be backed up by a group of MCs called ‘The Testes Massive’.

Moving beyond the name, each rapper has the opportunity to elaborate on the subject of his or her own brilliance within the actual rap songs themselves. Being the singer in a heartfelt ‘indie’ band, it’s difficult to express self-confidence without coming across as a right cunt. I’ve essentially forged a sort-of career out of a certain brand of self-deprecation, so to have the opportunity to go out on stage and scream about how magnificent I am would come as a refreshing change. Arrogant working titles include ‘Good At Making Wordz Rhyme’, ‘Fast At Talking (At Least Faster Than U)’, ‘Not Even Nearly In 2 My Overdraft’ and ‘That Ain’t My Dick, Thatz My Wallet (But If U Move UR Hand To The Left A Bit, Yep… Thatz My Dick)’

Is the microphone on? Yes. Does it have bulky shiny bits on it? Yes. Beyond that, what does a rapper have to worry about during a live performance? A bad monitor mix can completely ruin my evening, and probably the audience’s too. A shitty sound has the potential to cause me to sing way the fuck out of tune and subsequently hate myself for the rest of the night. A rapper has no such concerns and I’m incredibly jealous of that. The only consolation is that they have lots more words to remember, but even then I manage to forget the lyrics to one of my ‘two-verse-two-chorus’ tunes every other night. Fucksake.

4. FUR
I tried on a fur coat once, a few years back. It wasn’t real, let alone chinchilla, but I liked how it made me feel and secretly enjoyed the ‘vibe’ it gave off when I had it on. Everyone laughed and I pretended to join in. ‘How ridiculous,’ we all chortled, ‘doesn’t Scott look like a tit!’ But I was quite taken by it. Rappers appear to have permission to wear whatever they please. I am fully aware that I do too, this being a free and reasonably liberal country. Yet I just don’t have the license. Only in my wildest dreams am I Mr. Massif Testes the rapper, walking through the cobbled streetz of Edinburgh wearing a beautiful white fur coat, a chocolate top hat and holding a cane carved from a supermodel’s thighbone. In reality, I met my girlfriend for a bowl of soup this afternoon wearing a cardy, slip-ons and a pair of very average sized testes.

If only for the royalties, this is one privilege (reserved for R&B stunnas and rap stars) I would like to be entitled to. Look on the back of any rap record and at least fifty percent of the songs ‘feature’ another performer’s input somewhere. At times the featured artist is nigh on undetectable, yet I’m sure they are still granted a handsome cut of the proceeds for doing little more than going into the studio and enjoying a packet of Space Raiders in front of the mic. I’d happily sing on a shit record if it meant I could buy a hugely expensive and heavy golden necklace, but I know I’ll never be offered the chance. This may be down to the fact that most youngsters would become so bored trying to read to end of the phrase ‘featuring Scott Hutchison from Frightened Rabbit’ that they would have poured glow stick liquid into their own eyes to alleviate the ennui. And the record companies can’t have that kind of mess on their hands…

Just once. Just for one day. Loads of them. All over the house. All oily. Then they can fuck off at midnight so I can watch River Cottage.”


Follow Clash: