After three records and six sides, it’s over. The needle spins its rounds in the last groove. What remains is that unmistakable
crackle. But it’s not all over just yet. The music is still in the room. It has permeated the furniture, the walls, the air, and us.
The music is still there, telling stories of nights of passion and joy, love and longing. It is precisely these that are the driving forces
behind the tracks of Rising Sun. Always in the knowledge that it is naïve to believe that all of this is even possible, but continuing
to search for it anyway. This music has an open and honest face, its gaze is as clear as it is melancholy. Carefully wrapped up in a
cotton wool of nineties nostalgia spun in the British Isles – or New York, or Chicago, or maybe even Detroit. With the same
romance and power, but not just a copy. From the same broken passion, but with its very own unique vision and a raised fist
among fiery moments full of euphoria. A reminiscence of long-forgotten utopias, where nights went on for whole days.