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Time Stops and Songs Begin: Mikel Rafael’s The Eternal Hour

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Some music feels like it’s made for driving with the windows down. The Eternal Hour isn’t that kind of record. Mikel Rafael’s debut EP is made for sitting still—really still—and letting yourself feel. Not in a heavy, sob-into-your-pillow way, but in a “the wind just reminded me of someone I used to be” way. Poetic, poignant, and piercingly human.

From the first note of “Maples and Pines,” it’s clear Rafael doesn’t write songs—he weaves spells. His guitar is delicate but deliberate, and his voice carries the kind of vulnerability you can’t fake. The track feels like morning light on old wood: warm, gentle, and somehow holy.

“The Stream” feels like you’ve wandered too far into a dream and now must follow the river out. It’s melancholic but not bleak, romantic but not naive. Rafael sings like he’s holding something precious in his hands, afraid it might break—or vanish entirely. It’s folk, yes, but folk by way of literature and lore.

By the time “Rise Into The Gentle Night” unfolds, you’re not just listening—you’re floating. This is the kind of song that makes you want to write letters you’ll never send, or walk into the woods without looking back. There’s something sacred in its restraint, in its refusal to rush the inevitable.

Mikel Rafael doesn’t need a full album to make a statement. With just three tracks, The Eternal Hour says what many artists take years to learn: sometimes the quietest music hits the loudest. And sometimes, it’s the space between the notes that leaves the deepest echo.

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DAMNAGE’s Debut Album Is a Decade-Long Friendship Set on Fire

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Some bands are born in basements. Others in backyards or borrowed studios. DAMNAGE was born on the road — in dressing rooms, rehearsal halls, and after-hours hotel bars while touring with some of the biggest artists on the planet. Now, after years of playing behind global icons, the trio steps into the spotlight with a self-titled debut that’s as volatile as it is vulnerable, as thoughtful as it is ferocious.

The band — made up of Tim Stewart (guitar/vocals), Jonny Drummond (bass/vocals), and Tosh Peterson (drums) — represents the convergence of deep friendship, shared history, and a hunger to create something truly their own. Their chemistry is immediate and undeniable. “We’ve known each other for over 10 years,” the band explains. “We toured the world together with different artists. Each of us carries the same passion and desire to be in a band together. So we seized the moment.”

That chemistry powers every track on DAMNAGE. From the blistering opener “Wasteland” to the sardonic stomp of “Important,” the album channels frustration, anger, and confusion into a sound that punches hard but hits smart. It’s a record born from lived experience — not just as musicians, but as human beings grappling with a world that often makes no sense. Tracks like “Try” and “Time” mirror the collective disillusionment of a generation worn thin, but refuse to collapse under the weight.

One of the album’s standout qualities is its ability to balance intensity with nuance. Yes, it rages — but it also thinks. DAMNAGE isn’t here just to blow out your speakers; they want to shake something loose inside you. Whether they’re taking aim at fame’s fragile ego on “Important” or critiquing social performance in “Semisocial,” there’s always something more under the surface. It’s punk with a purpose.

Sonically, DAMNAGE sits at the intersection of several genres without ever sounding derivative. There are echoes of hardcore, post-punk, and grunge, but what ties it all together is the band’s unrelenting energy and unshakable conviction. The guitars are jagged and melodic, the basslines thick with tension, and Peterson’s drums anchor it all with a confidence that belies his age. You can hear the years they’ve spent on stage — and the freedom they’ve found in finally owning their own.

It’s also a deeply personal record. “Never See It,” in particular, feels like a gut-punch — a slow-burning closer that aches with emotional honesty. It’s a reminder that underneath all the noise and bravado, DAMNAGE is built on real emotion, real friendships, and a desire to connect. There’s nothing performative here — just three artists speaking their truth in the loudest way they know how.

DAMNAGE’s debut isn’t just a strong first record — it’s the sound of something long overdue. A project forged in history, heartbreak, and defiance. In a culture where so much feels fake or filtered, DAMNAGE is the real thing: loud, raw, and impossible to ignore. This album isn’t just a listen — it’s an experience. And it’s one you won’t forget anytime soon.

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