Seven days.
I sleep very little. I can feel something coming, something separating from me. I put so much love into this album. It has been my reason for being for two and a half years. The sleepless nights at the piano. The doubts that eat away at you. The certainties that return. The abandoned versions. The melodies that resist. The surges of inspiration. The long trips. The sessions with artists I admire. The difficult choices. The necessary renunciations. Everything converges toward a single point. A date. Next Thursday. Midnight.
I’m having flashbacks. Moments of creation rising up without warning. A studio in New York in the middle of the night. A melody found at sunrise. A look exchanged with an artist when we both know the take is the one. I savor each day because these last moments go too fast. I want April 17 to arrive, and at the same time, what I feel while the album is still a secret is unique. No single has been released. Every minute of this album will meet you for the first time.
I feel happy. Excited. Proud.
And there is this awareness that everything is about to change, irreversibly. As long as the album isn’t out, it belongs to me. I know it by heart. I know what it holds, what it hides, what it promises. In seven days, it won’t be mine anymore. It will be yours. You will listen with your stories, your emotions, your joys, your memories. You will attach this music to moments in your life that I will never know. The album will live as many lives as it has listeners. And I will have no control over that.
It’s dizzying. And it’s exactly what I hope for.
There is a kind of separation in releasing an album. You let go of something you carried alone for a long time. Something intimate, fragile, that you protected from the outside world for months. And one morning, you open the door. You say: here. It’s for you. Take it. Do whatever you want with it.
I’ve done a few private listening sessions these past days, for the quality of the exchanges with journalists who are writing about the album right now. It’s fascinating. There is so much to say about these twenty tracks. So many layers, so many stories behind each scene.
I think back to the first notes played in my house in Los Angeles. The sun was rising. I didn’t know yet that this theme would become « Sunrise In Your Eyes ». I didn’t know I would record in Prague, in New York, in London. I didn’t know that fourteen extraordinary artists would enter this film. I was composing. I was dreaming. I was imagining the best scenarios for my music. I was following my intuition.
Two and a half years later, that intuition has become twenty tracks. Sixty three minutes. A cast. An orchestra. A choir. Six cities. Eight studios. And soon, thousands of hands opening a vinyl, a CD, pressing play on the first track.
I imagine some of you listening on the platforms from midnight to 1:03 a.m., on Thursday night into Friday. Others will wait to receive the object, to hold it in your hands before you let the first note begin.
I don’t know what will happen in seven days. I don’t know how this album will be received. What I do know is that every note is in its place. Every breath has been weighed. I kept nothing for myself. And that craftsman’s certainty is enough to leave me at peace.
Sincerely,
Sofiane Pamart
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May God always grant you peace and success!🙏🥰