“Frozen in Motion: Jesse Blake Rundle’s Haunting Hymn to Becoming”

Jesse Blake Rundle’s “Continuous, Wait” feels like stepping into a memory you didn’t know you had. It’s quiet but vast—alt-rock with a poet’s pulse, unfolding like a slow-motion breath held just beneath the surface. The track opens in a kind of suspended animation, layered guitars brushing up against each other like waves under moonlight. Rundle’s voice, soft but unshakably present, invites you in with the ache of someone who’s lived through rupture and is learning how to stand in the quiet after.

There’s tension here, but not the kind that breaks—it lingers, like a question left unanswered. You can feel the years behind the song: the leaving, the searching, the reclaiming of self. It’s not flashy, but it’s cinematic in its own right—each sonic detail carefully placed, from the shimmering guitar tones to that ghostly, unexpected tuba that seems to call from across some foggy river. It’s as if grief, identity, and time itself are stitched into the melody.

Produced with care and a kind of reverent stillness by Lizzy Ellison, “Continuous, Wait” stands as both a whisper and a reckoning. Rundle doesn’t just sing—he surrenders, and in doing so, gives us something beautifully raw. It’s the kind of track that stays with you, humming in the background of your thoughts long after it ends.