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.