Life Makes Echo

Some Thoughts On The “Rapture” Tour That’s Just Been Announced

The Rapture announced a tour yesterday. But there’s a curious thing: the poster says “The Rapture,” but you only see Luke’s face.

So first, to be clear, I am not playing on this tour. That’s no big surprise. And while the public communication has been vague, it would seem, both from the wording of the announcement and the image on the tour poster, that Vito and Gabe aren’t involved either. It looks like it’s going to be Luke and a bunch of hired guns.

So here’s the thing. He’s gonna start by pretending that nothing’s changed. Then, when enough people ask why it’s just him in the photo, he’s gonna say something to the effect of, “Well, the other guys didn’t want to do it.” And on its own, that sounds reasonable. But it leaves out the part where he created a situation where no one would want to do it, by acting like a selfish, ego-driven maniac and being impossible to work with.

Bands are tricky things, even under the best of circumstances. That tension—those so-called “creative differences”—is where the magic happens. The best Rapture songs, like “House of Jealous Lovers,” came out of full-band jam sessions, built on clashing ideas and contrasting energies. The push and pull, the way we challenged and supported each other—that was the spark. It wasn’t always easy, but it made the music better. And we carried that ethos into the way the band worked. Credits, money, band decisions—they were all shared equally.

But somewhere along the way, Luke stopped seeing that as a strength. He started to believe that he was the sole driving force, and the rest of us were getting in his way (or even taking advantage of him). And from there, it got harder and harder to work with him. He was always volatile, prone to changing his mind without warning and leaving the rest of us to scramble to make it work, acting like your best friend one day to get you to open up, and viciously turning your most personal fears against you the next. But in the later years, it went a step further. He lost sight of what made the band special in the first place, and that’s when things started to go beyond the pale: demanding more power and control, a greater share of the money, trying to rewrite history—both in the public eye and within the band itself—and publicly bashing other members when he couldn’t get his way.

There were efforts to bring it back together over the years. But it always fell apart for the same reason: he couldn’t accept that the magic came from the mix. He felt his genius was being taken advantage of, instead of seeing that we all brought something essential and amplified each other. And now he’s wrapped the whole thing in a personal narrative about grief and rebirth, but the end result is the same: a version of The Rapture where it’s just him, backed by hired guns he can control.

That’s not a band. That’s a branding exercise. Look at the poster again. Can you imagine a Strokes poster with just Julian? Or Interpol with just Paul? No, because they understand the power is in the band, not just the guy up front.

So what are we left with? Honestly, this version of The Rapture is the Mike Love Beach Boys. A familiar name. A bunch of (presumably) competent players recreating songs from a catalog that means a lot to people, but without the original chemistry that made it matter.

And hey, cover bands are fine. They serve a purpose. They let people hear the songs they love and feel a bit of nostalgia. But even the best cover bands can’t recreate the spark of the real thing. That’s not an insult, it’s just how chemistry works. You can’t fake it. You can’t manufacture it. You definitely can’t dictate it from above. Call me naive, but I believe in the magic of the band.

People have been asking if I was invited to be a part of it. I wasn’t. But truthfully, Luke knows I wouldn’t be interested in this version of the band. Because I believe in the real version—the one where four musicians came together as equals and built something bigger than any of us could have done alone. That was the energy that made it special.

We live in an era where social media, Wikipedia, and the death of properly-funded journalism (music journalism especially so) make it easy to rewrite history, especially around the margins (such as the history of a niche but loved indie dance band that had its heyday 15-20 years ago). Most people won’t know it was ever any different, but the truth remains the truth, regardless of how people manipulate it toward their ends.

And look, I’m not sitting around pining for a Rapture tour. I’m happy touring with Poolside, and I’m proud of the music I’m making and releasing as lovetempo. But I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t something beautiful—beyond the money, beyond the recognition—about the idea of getting onstage again with those three other guys and feeling that electricity. That feeling of being part of something greater than the sum of its parts.

But Luke’s ego won’t allow that version of the band to exist. So instead, we get this.