Frightened Rabbit evolve the right way with this release, changing their sound, but not so much that they lose their trademark sound. This is still the Frightened Rabbit we all know and love, as gloomy as we last heard from them.
There is certainly the same sense of comfort and loneliness on Painting Of A Panic Attack that comes from visiting a memorial or monuments.
Painting of a Panic Attack, like previous albums, can get a bit mired in wistful, midtempo soul searching, but it's by far the most immediate and inclusive collection of songs that the band has laid to tape to date.
Painting Of a Panic Attack, while not their best release musically, may well be their most emotionally mature.
Painting of a Panic Attack may sound bigger and thematically a little more mature, but any fans who were worried that happiness on the West Coast might change Hutchison’s relationship with his art can breathe a sigh of relief.
Dialing back the buoyancy and bombast of the celebrated trio of albums that preceded it, Frightened Rabbit turns to a more graceful sound on Painting Of A Panic Attack.
Painting of a Panic Attack is Frightened Rabbit dressed up as The National for Halloween. It’s a nice change, but still very much the band fans have come to love.
Throughout the record, the presence of The National’s Aaron Dessner can be felt through its bold instrumentation, while frontman Scott Hutchison once again steers his band in the sombre yet reflective direction that they’ve managed to navigate so well before.
Now that the band has vastly outgrown its origin as a vehicle for Hutchison’s enviable lyricism, those retreats back to an earlier status quo are that much more glaring.
With Aaron Dessner behind the boards, Painting of a Panic Attack is more a sensible repositioning than a reinvention.
Hutchinson still feels connected to his inner voice, a poet who’s mastered the art of the relatable sad-sack, though in Painting it takes more of an effort to take his hand and pull him up from the mud.
The incorporation of frontman Scott Hutchison's verses of cagey lament and realization into Dessner's poignant pop arrangements feels contrived rather than meant to be.
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