Mikel Rafael’s The Eternal Hour is what happens when you hand a poet a guitar and a map of forgotten places. This is folk music that reads like a myth, feels like a memory, and sounds like moonlight filtered through trees. Over three intricately crafted songs, Rafael explores longing, solitude, and that strange magic we only notice when the world goes still.
“Maples and Pines” sets the tone with its soft, hymn-like energy. It’s not trying to impress you—it’s inviting you in. The guitar lines fall like early morning rain, and Rafael’s voice hovers somewhere between a lullaby and a secret. It’s the kind of track that catches you off guard with its stillness.
“The Stream” is where things get dreamlike. It’s the EP’s mythic spine, its emotional center. Rafael sings like someone searching—through water, through memory, through silence—for something just out of reach. The song doesn’t resolve so much as dissolve, like waking up from a dream you can’t quite remember but don’t want to forget.
Closing track “Rise Into The Gentle Night” is as much a farewell as it is a benediction. It moves slowly, like dusk settling over a field, giving space for breath and reflection. There’s grief in it, yes, but also grace. The night isn’t feared—it’s embraced.
With The Eternal Hour, Mikel Rafael doesn’t just release music—he builds a world. A small one, yes, but vast in feeling. This is the kind of record that doesn’t beg for attention but quietly earns devotion. You don’t just listen to it—you live in it, for a little while.
