The view from my office is straight into the upper stories of Stockholm’s Royal palace, across the street. Nobody ever seems to be home, but the guards don’t let on. Today, in the courtyard behind the palace, the marching band assembled in a light drizzle and played some standards while I skirted some tourists on my way to lunch. Just before the band was out of earshot, a jolt of recognition: Super Trouper, by ABBA, in all its brassy splendor. Per. Fect.