Review Summary: Enrapturing
The Bandcamp album description for
Until The Light Takes Us is brief and stark:
“
Written during the dying days of love (2022-2023)
Bury me with this record”
That’s the kind of simple yet grand epitaph for which, 99% of the time, the actual product might prove quite disappointing. Fortunately, Rapt’s latest album more than delivers on its eloquent premise.
Jacob Ware’s London-based project demands an introduction, given it has consistently flown under the radar, despite his previous efforts being well-received by the smattering of listeners they’ve reached. Rapt’s first four LPs have covered a lot of ground - the blurred electronic soundscapes of the self-titled debut, the moody slowcore presentation of
None Of This Will Matter, the wintry ambient of
Drouth, and the dreamy folk of
Wayward Faith all manage to impress, despite their extremely varied styles.
Until The Light Takes Us is, again, a shakeup in style for Rapt, resulting in the finest work yet. Its blend of folk, slowcore, and chamber pop might bear resemblance in broad strokes to at least some of the preceding efforts, but there’s a delicate touch and a noticeable sense of warmth which distinguishes this material. The most clear-cut touchstones here might be the immersive sadness of Nick Drake (less so the skeletal gloom of
Pink Moon than the stately orchestrations of what came before), the mellowcholia of early Sun Kil Moon, and the subdued songcraft of Neil Halstead’s solo work (Ware’s unobtrusive vocals have a faint resemblance to the last’s, to my ears). What I like most about
Until The Light Takes Us, though, is that it feels like it could’ve been released in any decade - it’s an "out of time", deeply personal, piece defined far more by the distinctive lyrical style and the subtle accompanying arrangements than by the ins-and-outs of genre evolutions or the differing experiences of human generations, and as such it feels like singer-songwriter musicianship delivering upon its oft-incomplete promise by enabling the broadcasting of an individual’s unique vision without barrier.
This isn’t a long album - eight songs totalling less than thirty-seven minutes - but it still runs at its own slow-burning pacing, reflecting the rural English sensibility which the record exudes. Songs like “I Will Be My End” and the title track are transcendently beautiful, but every tune contributes exquisitely to the whole, and all (minus the brief instrumental opener) provide a wonderful lyrical canvas, with a different line likely to prove soul-shattering with every listen. Overall, the LP is imbued with an impossibly radiant sense of glorious sadness. At times, it flirts with over-earnestness - “
our dreams may fade, be glad that you had them yesterday” or “
my cousin died in the morning, he didn’t even feel the sun” - but if anything, the result is an album which I’d be a bit uncomfortable listening to with friends - it’s a little
too personal, like baring some shadowy parts of my soul I’d rather keep hidden. What I’m saying, I guess, is that I love this record. It’s beautiful, it’s crushing, and while listening, I don’t ever want it to end.
