Ambre Ciel’s still, there is sea feels like a long voyage across open waters. Whether aboard a sailboat, a rowboat, or a cabin cruiser – carried by Ciel’s voice, the sea here sounds like an invitation to set off. Eyes fixed on the horizon, day turns to night and night to day. Over the course of eight tracks, we drift between the blue of the clouds and the blue of the waves, no longer entirely sure which way is up or down. There’s something beautifully otherworldly, even fairytale-like, about the project by the Canadian singer, violinist, pianist and composer from Montreal. Some vocal passages might evoke Agnes Obel, certain instrumental moments hint at Hania Rani – yet Ciel weaves these references into something new, creating a deep, timeless space.
For just under half an hour, we are carried away – and find ourselves in no hurry to return. Perhaps that’s the feeling that resonates most in this moment: the longing to disappear for a while, to savour joy without shame, and to retreat into the little larders of memory – and stay there, quietly, until the storm has passed.
