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You've probably seen Henry Gibson out and about, especially if you've ever been to McKay's Used Books and Music, but you probably don't remember him.

In person, Gibson comes across as quiet and unassuming. Shy, almost. Pass him on the street and he'll blend into the background; strike up a conversation with him, and he seems like the nicest guy in 10 counties, tall and lanky and fumbling for the right words, looking sheepish and vaguely uncomfortable in his own skin.

Strap him into a guitar and give him a microphone, and Gibson transforms. The guy who smiles politely and quickly averts his gaze when you cross paths becomes a rock 'n' roll Goliath, shedding his inhibitions and channeling all of his bottled-up emotions and pent-up frustrations into a singular incendiary performance.

With Cold Hands, Gibson has found a vehicle that's perfectly suited to this transformation — a rock band that blends elements of power-pop, New Wave and dance rock into an ferocious thing with the urgency of a runaway Freightliner.

"I think what happens is that when I'm on stage, that's who I really am, deep down inside," Gibson told The Daily Times this week. "That sometimes scares people, and the only way I can let it out is in those venues. It's therapy for my frustration about things — anger or whatever. It's an easier way to say what you really mean, and a way to say the really mean stuff you want to say to people sometimes."

Cold Hands isn't Gibson's first foray into the local music scene, but it is the project with which he's been associated the longest. Credit the chemistry he has with his bandmates, scene veterans Zach Land, who propels the Cold Hands engine through guitar power that's as smooth and menacing as a Porsche engine; and Jason Bowman, whose driving drumbeats anchor the whole affair with the weight of battleship chains.

Gibson first moved to East Tennessee in 2000, starting a band briefly before moving to Nashville. He only stayed in Music City for six months, and when he returned to Knoxville, he started making a name for himself as a solo performer. After a brief stint in The Invocation, he formed the Chelsea Horror with Land, a project that lasted for six months before calling it quits.

At that point, Bowman came to work at McKay's, and when Gibson and Land decided to forge ahead with another project, they asked Bowman to come on board and play drums. The three took part in the annual Halloween show at local indie rock club The Pilot Light, a night when local acts dress up and perform covers as more famous peers. Land, Gibson and Bowman performed as The Jesus and Mary Chain, and that's when the three realized that the chemistry they had would translate well into an original project.

"It's just a camaraderie," Gibson said. "I get along with both of them, and I feel like I can trust them, because they're very serious about what they do. I think we're compatible as far as how we play together. We don't necessarily like same things, but we all add something to the table, and we all add an equal share of everything. And I think a lot of it has to do with the fact we're pretty serious about doing this."

The more the trio worked on original music, the more they identified elements that classify Cold Hands as a member of the burgeoning dance-rock scene.

"When we first started off, we really wanted to be part of the new dance-punk kind of stuff," Gibson said. "I play more of that, but Zach plays more of a melodic style of rock, and I think he tries to go for a more sinister sound. Now, we're just trying to come up with something that's catchy and moves people to dance."

Saturday, Cold Hands will perform a "pre-release show" for the new self-titled Cold Hands EP; the guys had hoped to have it ready for sale at the show, but delays have pushed back its arrival a week or two. The good news is that it'll be available for the holiday season, and for anyone who's a fan of good music period, it's a must-have.

Only five songs, it's explodes out of the gate like a juiced-up racehorse, with Gibson's pleading, yearning vocals pushed onward by Land's frenetic fretwork and Bowman's skittering backbeat. Throughout the course of all five songs, that intensity and urgency never let up; if there's one drawback, it's the limited number of songs — it leaves the listener hungry for more.

"I think a lot of it has to do with the catchiness of the music, but a lot of it has to do with the live shows, too," Gibson said. "We've improved a lot since we started (in July 2005), and we're pretty comfortable playing live now. There's a lot of attention being placed on us, and that's great and it's what we want, but I think people tend to get into it more when they see us live.

"They can look at us and dance, too, and that's what we set out to do. Whenever we play out of town, we're trying to win people over, and by the end of our set, they're moving and dancing."