I don't write what I lived. I live what I wrote.
For years I made music to be heard. To please, to get played. Then one day, it stopped being enough.
OBSYDN is what came after. Sidereal Electronic Music: sub, strings, choirs, machines, and a voice that says more than it sings. Dark, slow, built to be felt in the chest before it is understood.
I've always felt there is something under the surface of things. When a room has just emptied. At three in the morning, for no reason. For a long time, I thought I was the only one who felt it.
BEFORE THE WORDS
Born in 1995 in the north of France, in a family where the unseen was a quiet part of everyday life. Nobody made a show of it. It was simply there.
As a child, I couldn't tell what was mine from what was theirs. The mood of a room, the weight someone carried in without a word. I learned to read everyone. Never myself. At twelve, a guitar became the first place where all of that could go. Later came a first album, Stellar Dream, written with a close friend. It taught me that a song could hold what I couldn't say out loud, and it gave me the nerve to leave.
THE CROSSING
Then came a journey abroad, alone. Other cultures, other lives, and the size of the world hitting me all at once. Fellow travellers opened the door to electronic music. I walked through it.
NEPTUNE was born there, in 2017. A track about the beauty of the world, about friendship, about feeling part of something whole. It is still the compass I come back to.
UNDER THE SURFACE
For me, under the surface is not a figure of speech. It is the first thing I notice, everywhere. What stays in a room after the people have left. The weight someone carries in without a word. The moment just before something happens.
I don't invent this world. I see it. It comes in dreams, in meditation, sometimes in a state where I feel lifted off the ground. Images come first, long before any sound. I can't explain them, so I put them in the work.
Making music is how I go down there. I go lower in music than I go in myself. And higher too. It is as if I entered another phase of my own mind.
That is why a track sometimes knows more than I do. I finish it, I listen back, and it shows me something buried in me that I had never seen.
The Beyond started that way: an image that came long before the music. I didn't design that world. I wrote down what I saw, and then I made it sound. What I saw, you'll see.
I'm not chasing your attention. I'm chasing the shiver: that moment when a sound tightens your throat and you don't understand why. A beauty that hurts a little.
THE MUSIC ARRIVES FIRST
I don't see my emotions as they happen. The tracks write them for me. And the world I wrote doesn't invent anything. It gives me back what was already there.
Then something stranger. I finished a track, and months later, what it told happened to me. Not a theme. The thing itself. It has happened twice.
THE DESCENT
OBSYDN is not a series of singles. It is one story, told track by track, like a film. A descent below the surface, and the way back. It opens with The Beyond, the crossing. Then The Void, the bottom. Then Salvation, the way back up.
Every track has its images, its storyboard, its place in the arc. The second act will leave the screen: an immersive experience, 360 sound and space, built with Black Square Production.
WHO IT'S FOR
It's not only things. It's people too. Those who hold everything together and were never asked how they were doing. Those who feel too much and learned to stay quiet. Those who leave a room and can still feel what was in it. And those who hide. Those most of all.
What I fear most isn't what you'd find. It's being seen. Truly seen, with nothing in front.
I'm at the very beginning, and almost everything is still to be done. If you stay, you'll watch it being born.