Mike Dunne’s “Once”: A luminous track on the horizon of his forthcoming album LIGHT. Sometimes, you fall for something you just can’t let go of. Sometimes, that is a song. Quietly forceful and intimately wrought, “Once” is not so much a song as a moment but a convergence of soul, spirit, and story.
“Once” invites you on a heart-tugging journey that feels intimately personal yet profoundly universal. From the first kiss of the piano, there’s the feeling of gentle invitation, as if we’re into something sacred. The piano sets the time, never pushing, never pulling, but walking side by side with you. It’s a recognition tick. The vocal follows velvety, double-tracked, nearly whispered. It doesn’t command your attention. It earns it. A committed air to the delivery gives every line the feeling of being sung directly to you or, better yet, with you. “Once” is not a performer on a stage. It’s a friend on your side.
As the track progresses, a cello enters, anchoring the piece like roots under a tree. There’s gravity in the tone, an octane of strength that implies not all love needs to be loud. Then, the violin ascends not to decorate but to raise. The solo dances above, octave by octave, note for note echoing, counterweighing, conversing with the cello below in a sort of musical Yin and Yang. Together, they aren’t just accompanying the song. They are the song’s heartbeat.