I remember how my old golden retriever, Barnaby, would tilt his head every time that whistling section started. It was a staple of the years when I was first starting to build a serious record collection, providing a kind of melodic clarity that I still search for today. James Mercer has a gift for writing lyrics that feel like a secret shared between friends, though I should probably stop before I get too sentimental. This track has aged remarkably well compared to much of what was otherwise on the radio in 2001.

It feels very sharp and very yellow, like sun hitting the press. !indierock ☀️

the shins while i wait for the incubator to beep. sometimes the fly room feels like deep space. !indierock