Dear Spencer, You probably don’t remember but I called for an interview just after Sunset Rubdown released Dragonslayer, in 2009, and it was a rainy day in Finland (for you) so halfway through the call a double rainbow hatched outside, and you were grabbing the rest of the band to tell them – and apologising down the phone to me – but the way you described it arching over some weird piece of Finnish civil architecture (a giant metal flower?), and the fact you were collaring people from the support band (who I think were Siinai) to come and see, it seemed like simultaneously the least rock and roll thing, and the most endearingly unselfconscious thing a person could possibly do, and so it made me happy just to hear the commentary, 1,000 miles away. So, anyhow, last week I was on a train from Kristianstad to Malmo, gliding at 200 km/h between dark green pine forests and golden fields studded with a single red deer looking up, and the rain broke for a few minutes. I was doing what all devout fans do before a big new release; namely: bingeing on the back catalogue in chronological order – and just as I reached the lines “I asked you where you want to be buried / and you asked me… the name of the town where I was born” (which I’ve called the single most romantic thing I’ve heard in years), that’s when I saw the rainbow to the southeast of the train, only half an arc in the mud-grey sky, but pointing back to the place we were rushing away from, as if to say “No, really, you can slow down now; you already made it; you've already found enough that’s worth having and seeing and doing.
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