SINGLE REVIEW: Grumbeaux – Once I Was
‘Once I Was’ is the kind of song that creeps in slowly and refuses to let go, crawling out from the shadows with a quiet intensity that builds until it’s practically overwhelming. Grumbeaux starts sparse—just gentle, folky guitar lines and a vocal that’s both gravelly and fragile, like it’s been dug up from the earth. There’s something raw and vulnerable in that voice, something haunted.
The early moments feel deceptively mellow, but under the softness is a rumble—a chaos waiting to crack through. It’s a track that walks a fine line between beauty and bleakness, and Grumbeaux does it with eerie precision. There’s a macabre thread running underneath the whole thing, never overt but always there, like a shadow just outside the frame.
As the song unfolds, it starts to swell. The drums, initially sparse and crashing like sudden thunderclaps, become more consistent, driving the track into denser, post-rock territory. Strings creep in, adding this graceful, melancholic touch that lifts the arrangement without softening its emotional weight. It’s immersive in the truest sense—by the time it hits its full form, you’re completely submerged.
What really elevates it, though, are the harmonies. They don’t prettify the song—they sharpen it. The contrast between the rough lead vocal and those layered harmonies creates a tension that’s almost cinematic. It’s like watching something unravel in slow motion, beautiful and unsettling all at once.
‘Once I Was’ isn’t trying to be easy listening. It’s moody, heavy, and artful, but it never feels inaccessible. If anything, it pulls you in deeper with every listen. There’s a rare kind of emotional honesty here—one that doesn’t hide behind polish. Just sparse beginnings, thunderous endings, and everything in between.
