“What’s past is prologue…” With all that’s befallen them, London-based quartet The Boxer Rebellion have a history that reads like a grand, intricately woven design. For a band who have been together almost ten years – during which their first (and, to date, only) label went bust shortly after their debut release and a key member had a near-death experience – such fluctuating fortunes would surely see most bands imploding in frustration. So what marks The Boxer Rebellion out from the rest? How have they endured in relative obscurity, held down day jobs to self-release a follow-up, and arrived at a kind of renaissance so far down a jagged career path? Well, one could point to the quality of the songs or the almost wanton uniqueness of their sound, but that would be remiss – they’ve always had the talent. Perhaps it could be faith in their own abilities – a bloody-mindedness that refused to go away? Not so – every band that has ever existed (or not) tends to think they’re the reincarnation of The Beatles. The simple fact is, the reason The Boxer Rebellion have endured thus far resides in a single