It’s weird when you recognize a voice from a band you’ve never heard before. Even weirder when you recognize that voice from your morning (hell, late-morning, maybe early-afternoon?) work slog through the shittiest BART station in all of San Francisco. And don’t quote me here (I’m a writer, not a scientist) I’m pretty sure that this trio of gentlemen absolutely pounding their instruments together to craft a song that’s one-part Reverend Horton Heat, one-part Bright Eyes, and one part loud, when their pockets were a little tight, actually did spend some time in the piss-stained halls of Powell Street Station (or whatever piss-stained station it was, they run together) busking for a few tourist nickels. I’ve looked up before even, thought they were good but maybe not so memorable, but this, this little blast of rockabilly sweetness, is a game-changer for a small-band. It’s fun first of all, energetic enough to get your ass up and moving. But it’s also smart in that sort of literary way so many of our great songwriters manage to be. And beyond all that it, beneath the stampede of guitar and harmonica and vocals, there’s an open, honest sadness, just there on the periphery, peeking in. I don’t imagine, with this sort of song, the type you might see performed on a large stage with a bunch of wasted, smiling college kids swaying and singing along in front of you, that Rin Tin Tiger, the talented folk that they are, will be spending much more of their time in the grimy atrium of a public transportation depot. It just doesn’t seem to be in their cards.
:Rin Tin Tiger – Small Cuts That Bleed A Lot: