Flume & Vera Blue’s “Rushing Back” Explores the Chaos of Emotional Relapse
Some songs hit instantly, not because they’re catchy—but because they say something you didn’t know you needed to hear. That’s what happened when I first heard “Rushing Back.” You don’t choose this track—it chooses you. Here’s why I think it matters.
When Flume released “Rushing Back” in 2019 with Vera Blue, I actually didn’t hear it. It wasn’t until recently that it hit me, hard. It felt somehow like I gained some unspoken knowledge—emotionally and sonically, it was an ‘aha’ moment. It’s the kind of song that doesn’t beg for attention, but captures it from the way it twists vulnerability into something hypnotic. You don’t just listen to it—you fall into it.
Right from the start, there’s a tension. Vera Blue’s voice enters with a kind of aching clarity: “I always let the days slip away, I should have been making up my mind.” There’s regret laced into every word, but she doesn’t wallow. Her voice carries forward, even as it trembles. That emotional honesty becomes the foundation of the track—soft, human, and exposed.
Flume meets her there, but in his own language. The production is unpredictable: glitchy, off-kilter, and strangely soothing. He’s always walked the line between chaos and control, and in “Rushing Back” he leans fully into that tension. Synths melt and reform, drums sputter and stutter, but somehow it all holds together. It’s not polished, but it’s intentional—like he’s building a world that mirrors the feeling of being pulled back into something you thought you left behind. I’ve always had a thing for nostalgia.
That’s really what this song is about: emotional relapse. The pull of an old love, a familiar mistake, a moment you swore you moved past but keep returning to. It’s messy, and Flume doesn’t try to clean it up. He leans into the distortion. And Vera Blue never overperforms—she stays grounded, honest, and open, which makes the lyrics cut even deeper.
The video brings it all into this dreamy, symbolic world—Vera Blue in the passenger seat of a drifting car, Flume behind the wheel, everything moving and static at the same time. It doesn’t spell anything out, but it doesn’t have to. The whole piece—the song, the visuals, the feeling—is about motion without direction. Not lost, but not found. Just being.
It’s not a loud song, but it says a lot. And like the best kind of emotional truth, it doesn’t offer a clean resolution. It just sits with you. And sometimes, that’s exactly what we need.
The Hub Hayley 