Danny, all those little dioramas you would make
The suns would never set
The waves would never break
And above the mission
With a bell that never rings
Paper angels, paper wings
There's traffic on the hill and fog up on the ridge
And golden light upon the Bay beneath the bridge
It's got that feeling of a song you'll never sing
Paper angels, paper wings
There are things that you can't see about yourself
They're like secrets only someone else can tell
The way at night you leave the lights on in the house
The people passing by see in, you can't see out
Danny, I could see it in your eyes
Nothing changed
For you the spotlight and a cage were both the same
So there you dangled
Like a puppet on some string
Paper angels, paper wings
Once you learned to turn your hungry eyes up to the skies
Well heaven help us, you assumed that you could fly
Of course you couldn't
But it never lost its sting
Paper angels, paper wings
A quiet current hums in almost everyone
Some barely hear it, but they feel it when it's gone
There's a place where sea and bay are both the same
I know that feeling, friend, but I never knew its name
There's traffic on the hill and fog up on the ridge
And golden light upon the Bay beneath the bridge
River turns to ocean
Winter turns to Spring
Paper angels, paper wings
So this is sunrise, and all that it'll bring
Paper angels, paper wings
Paper angels, paper wings
Paper angels, paper wings
In my own life, suicide isn’t something I’ve seriously contended with. But like everyone, I know people who do.
When Scott Hutchison (the singer of Frightened Rabbit) died, a friend asked me to learn a dozen of Scott’s songs for a tribute show raising money for suicide-prevention causes.
A strange thing happens when you take apart and reconstruct that many songs written by one person. Whenever I’ve done this in the past — with Elvis Costello, Peter Gabriel, Harry Nilsson — there’s an embarrassing mix of voyeurism and possession.
But the sense of being possessed by Scott’s music was more intense. His voice is so unique, the way he uses words so visceral and exposed, I couldn’t help but feel I was retracing a map of his own mental health.
The night was a celebration of songs by a guy brave enough to let others see inside him. I know his music has helped many feel less alone, and I doubt it’s a stretch to say his transparency has probably saved lives.
But after the show I couldn’t shake the feeling — like a ringing in the ears — that I’d been trespassing on someone else’s creative world. The man and his music are so linked; more than it seems with some other songwriters, only Scott could REALLY give voice to the things that he communicated.
“Paper Angels” isn’t about Scott Hutchison, but it’s what I needed to say in the wake of learning, inhabiting, and singing his songs. I recorded the thing mostly alone at home; throwing sounds against the wall to see what stuck — synths, R&B percussion, folky guitars and piano, hiss and noise — then in confusion I sent the tracks to my friend Peter Rodocker at Yellow Room Recording and asked him, “Should this be a naked folk song? Should we remove all the acoustic instruments and let it be an electronic swirl?”
Peter came up with something that leaned folk, but with enough of the odd bits to offend the easy-listeners. Then we Droboxed it (I guess “Dropbox” is a verb now) to my incredibly talented friend Rob Flax in Boston — who added the string arrangements all by his lonesome. I love his parts on the bridge so much, in fact, that I decided to include his EXACT same part in the bridge of another song I’m working on… but that one is still a ways off from the finish line, so you’ll just have to take my word for it.
Now “Paper Angels” is out, and in keeping with the spirit of the Scott Hutchison tribute show, proceeds from this song will be donated to The American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. In a streaming world, who knows what that will amount to, but Scott has a lyric in one of his songs: “While I’m alive, I’ll make tiny changes to earth.” Maybe if we all listen, our .04 cents per stream will cumulatively add up to something more significant. Of course if you’re moved to make a larger donation to that organization directly, please do, and thanks.
-Chris