The Clientele’s music has always felt wonderfully out-of-time to me, their reverb-drenched ballads evoking ’60s pop and folk, albeit ’60s pop and folk from some alternate universe where it’s forever grey and overcast.

Thus, it’s only appropriate for Alasdair MacLean to sing, in that woozy-doozy voice of his, about riding through “leaves still wet with rain” and reminiscing about the past: “I remember one Sunday, riding in through the gate/Three balloons in a white sky, 1978.” As he sings those enigmatic lyrics, though, his guitar melodies suddenly move in some unexpected directions, allowing a shadow of darkness and mystery to creep into the song for just a few moments before he’s back to la la la-ing.

The song never reveals what happened back in 1978, but those melodies imply something serious and significant, something that’s haunted MacLean ever since. And now it haunts you, as well.