To try to talk about the songs of your new album, Toda la vida, un día, is a challenge, because they are an invitation to letting go… Those songs speak of life, sensations, and desires, with lyrics by poets or by yourself… What is your connection to poetry, and in particular with that of the American William Carlos Williams, whose poem runs through the album?
If, in some of my songs, I sometimes feel limited in expressing certain things, I know that poetry combined with music is the most expansive and profound way to express feelings. For Toda la vida, un día, I wrote poetry for the first time, without even thinking about it! I had an idea in mind, and I wrote right away. It’s probably the closest thing to automatic writing.
Your music is inspired by other music, like a field of flowers one walks through. Can you tell us about those influences and affinities?
I’ve always thought life is too short to restrict yourself to one musical genre. I aim for a broader creation. My music is like my life: it is influenced by the people and styles I meet along the way. Those encounters help me achieve a more precise, expansive expression. For instance, classical music has taught me to pay better attention to counterpoint and sound quality. With popular music, I’ve discovered a capacity to distill things, and benefited from its generosity. From jazz, I’ve learnt improvisation and freedom.
French music nowadays draws less from traditional influences than Spanish music…
My voice is quite Iberian! From a very young age, I was exposed to traditional music. Traditional music is important because there’s something eternal about it. It gives you solid foundations that allow you to create. In Toda la vida, un día, there are Brazilian and Argentinian sources, flamenco and classical music. I also listened a lot to British songwriter Nick Drake, who died in 1974 when he was only 26. His approach greatly influenced the arrangements of my own songs.
Toda la vida, un día reflects a particular relationship to sound in the way it was recorded. Take, for instance, the reverb in “Aterrados”…
“Aterrados” is a poem by William Carlos Williams I set to music. It appears three times on the album: once in French, another time with that reverb effect, and then with an Italian choir. It served as a sort of guide in the conception of the album, which is made up of five movements which correspond to the five ages of life. In the one dedicated to youth, the sound is very carefully crafted: it unfolds in all directions, much like when we’re young and venturing out into the world. Working on it this way, I wanted to step out of my comfort zone: the family home I sing about in the previous movement. As a producer, I tried to find different atmospheres, places, and influences which I then brought together in that movement dedicated to youth.
Toda la vida, un día is a carefully thought-out work: is it a sort of manifest in your musical career?
When I’m composing, I let go of everything. It’s a natural process. But I also understand after a while that I’m composing! Lilian Herrero, a 75-year-old Argentinian singer, helped me become aware of that. She helped me see where I was in the composition process, as well as in the course of my own life. This record is a moment of transition—turning forty. I was able to look both backwards and forwards and experience the feelings that inspired me.
You’ll be singing at the Opéra Grand Avignon tonight. What is your history with the theatre stage?
My connection with theatre developed when I arrived in Barcelona and had the opportunity to sing in plays. I connected to the texts, the words and their power. Theatre and dance are great influences on my stage presence. I try to fully inhabit my whole body when I’m singing. I also pay close attention to the scenography and the lights. My last album is probably the most theatrical, in the sense that I am following a script, moving from act to act, movement by movement, through the ages of life. Close to ninety musicians took part in the recording. There is a forty-person choir, professional singers from Barcelona whom I admire and who became my friends. There’s also a saxophone quartet, a trombone, strings, pianos, double basses, guitars, flamenco musicians from Jerez, an Italian choir, and musicians from Cuba, Portugal, Mexico, Argentina… It’s a record that celebrates friendship. I wanted to present solitudes coming together. When it comes to playing it live, there are four musicians: three instrumentalists and myself. I need multi-instrumentalist musicians to capture the different colours of each movement. I’m accompanied by Bori Albero on double bass and synthesiser, Marta Roma on trumpet and keyboards, and Carlos Montfort on violin, drums, percussions, and trumpet. I sing and I play guitar, saxophone, and synthesiser. This way, we managed to convey the five colours of the album.
What do you hope to bring to your audience?
The most important thing for me is to reclaim the beauty of vulnerability. For a long time, I felt sad in a world which was moving too fast and which seemed shallow and superficial. After much reflection, I understood what I wanted to do: to be careful, to take my time, both when recording and when playing live. During concerts, I try to bring solitudes together so that the audience feels alive. At the same time, I make sure I always have time to create, as well as time to rest. The poem “Aterrados” urges us to pay attention in spite of the immensity of the world that surrounds us. If, little by little, we take things one by one, flower by flower, song by song, person by person, then we can achieve our goal.
On a previous album you sang “Corrandes d’exili”, a song about Spanish exiles, which was a reminder that being a Spanish singer also means expressing a political conscience…
Political songs are very powerful. No one can silence the person who sings them. They have the power to remember and to reveal themselves as immortal. I don’t sing many political songs. When I do it, it’s about taking a stand, and it always starts with the emotions. “Corrandes d’exili” was written in the 1980s by the great Catalan singer Lluis Llach. He fled his country, but by foot. Beyond the emotion, beyond the exile, there is this slow flight which allows all the landscapes he passes by to slowly blend within him.
Interview conducted by Marc Blanchet (April 2024) and translated to English by Gaël Schmidt-Cléach