Chantal Acda - Communicating through silences

Silences in music

How did the recording sessions for your new album “Silently Held” go?

Initially I wanted to record the songs in Belgium with my live band. I love my band, but when we started rehearsing the songs there was maybe too much energy. And these songs needed something else, more fragility. So I thought about working with Bill Frisell, whom I'd already collaborated with in the past and with whom I feel very safe. He lives in New York, so we went to work in Shahzad Ismaily's studio, which was free at the time. Eric Thielemans and Thomas Morgan were also in the studio.

I was amazed to discover that “Friends Parade” and other tracks were recorded in one take!

Before going into the studio I'd decided to try to capture something real, visceral, imperfect. I didn't even bring sheet music with the chords. When we started working I told the others we'd listen to the demos a couple of times and then play and record in one take. We didn't know what shape the songs would take; then it all just happened, almost like magic. It was one of those things where you realize it could never happen the same way again.

What was it like working with so many people in the studio? For “Saturday Moon”, the many collaborations had taken place remotely.

For me it was probably the most moving thing I've ever done, not just musically. The songs are so honest that it felt like my heart was right there among us. A really strong connection formed between us, something we could never have built if we hadn't recorded the songs playing together in the same room. It was truly beautiful!

Did you want to give the arrangements a jazzy feel from the start, or did that take shape simply from playing with the others in New York?

I don't think of my music in terms of genres. Instead, I try to collaborate with people who can connect with the feelings of an album. I hadn't planned to make a jazzier record, but obviously, if you work with Bill Frisell you'll get a different result than if you collaborate with Alan from Low.

The album is really cohesive: it feels like a single oasis of peaceful, meditative sounds, and it's always very moving! Listening to it from start to finish is like a trip!

That's because when you record the basic tracks for nine songs in two days, you're in a kind of trip. For us, at least, it was!

Silence seems to play an important role on the album. What does the silence evoked in “Silently Held” represent?

In music generally, silence is important to me, because it lets me listen and perceive the space I'm in. Within the silences of “Silently Held” there are lots of little details, a deeper layering, which Phill Brown preserved in the mix. I wanted the space we captured in the studio recordings to stay in the songs, so that it could invite in everyone who would listen to the record.

I really love an image in the lyrics of the first song, where you sing about dancing in silence. Do you often dance in silence?

Sometimes I do. I remember one time when I was on tour in Italy. We were somewhere near a forest, looking at the trees, and at some point Eric and I just started dancing. It was strange, but I'd recommend trying it sometime!

In “Seafoam” it feels like you're completely immersing yourself in the nature around you, almost transforming into one of the birds you sing about.

I'd never thought about it that way, but I've always sought a connection with nature and animals. You're probably right!

It reminded me a lot of “Pūwawau”: there too you showed a deep connection with your surroundings.

Yes, that record was very connected to the natural world. I usually write songs after spending a day with my horses or after a walk in nature with my dog, so it's natural for my reflections to be strongly tied to nature.

Why did you choose to cover “I Can’t Make You Love Me” by Bonnie Raitt?

While I was writing the album, I listened to it a lot and realized I wanted to do a cover, even though that's not something I usually do. Obviously it's a love song, but for me it's much more than that. The original version is beautiful and I felt a bit intimidated. But, funnily enough, when we played the demo for Bill and Thomas, they thought it was one of my own songs and didn't want to believe it was a cover!

You really did make it entirely your own. It also blends really well with the rest of the album: it's like a necessary stop on this long journey that is “Silently Held”. The video for the song, though, was shot in Iceland, right?

Yes, that beach is one of my favourite places. But Iceland in general is special to me.

I read that you like the music of boygenius and Phoebe Bridgers! How do you relate to this new US singer-songwriter scene?

Yes, I love Phoebe and boygenius. There was a period when I listened to nothing but their music for three, four hours a day, and I'm not exaggerating! In general, I really like this scene, because I find it combines sweetness with raw visceral intensity, and sings about a vast spectrum of emotions.

(02/06/2024)

On the occasion of the release of her latest album, “Saturday Moon”, we got in touch with Chantal Acda to ask her some questions about the making of the new songs and of the magnificent “Pūwawau” from 2019. We ended up discussing some recurring themes that run like a leitmotif through her whole songbook, and, among other things, the singer-songwriter told us how her collaboration with Mimi Parker and Alan Sparhawk of the legendary Low came about…

Hi Chantal, how are you?

I'm good! Although I'm impatient to play live again. I miss it so much! I hope you're doing well too!

You recorded the songs for your new album “Saturday Moon” by yourself at home, and while you were working on it you started collaborating with a lot of musicians. What was it like writing with other people during the pandemic — being together and alone at the same time, apart yet always able to communicate with each other?

It wasn't too strange for me. I think about it in a more spiritual way, let's say. The people I collaborate with, the ones I really feel connected to, are always present with me, even when they live on the other side of the world. We had to adapt, of course, but it wasn't actually that unnatural. I feel really lucky to have met these people.

The new songs touch on themes like absence and distance, memory and remembrance. There seems to be a strong abstraction from physical reality. We find ourselves in a kind of mental space, in a place deep within ourselves. Do you think this very brave attempt to represent what is absent is partly due to the experience of lockdown? Or are these thoughts you already had in mind?

I've always had them in mind. I've thought this way since I was a child. I've always felt connected to what we can't express in words, the things we can't explain. And I always feel very present when I make music. It's no longer about me. I'm also transmitting something else. It gives me a strange sense of freedom. This world is so focused on the ego that it's liberating to be able to step away from it and create a shared space. When I make music, I always include the listener; they're present at the moment of creation. It's not about me. It's about us. And I truly believe there isn't enough "us" in the world around us.

Even so, words and music can bring us closer and connect our minds and souls even when we're distant and separated. I believe this is an idea that's very close to your heart, and one that can also be found in other works of yours, like “Pŭwawau”, for instance. Is that true?

So true! Being means everything. And it's always present whenever I do something. I write very instinctively, and my instincts always seem to have pushed me in that direction. It really happens to me unintentionally.

For the song “Disappear” you collaborated with Mimi Parker and Alan Sparhawk of Low. What was it like writing music with them? Can you tell us more about this song?

It was strange and beautiful at the same time. I've been a huge Low fan since 1996. We toured together in 2012, and during that tour I fully understood why I loved them so much and why I felt so connected to them. They carry their music well beyond our “world of words.” And they have an incredible intensity. We stayed in touch, and I told them I was writing some new songs. I sent them a few, just for fun, and before I even realized what was happening I got them back with their own files added. I have to admit I cried a little. It felt a bit like the feeling you get when you finally come home.

We all love Low's music. Which of their albums do you prefer most? Are they a source of inspiration for you?

Mhmm, it's hard to choose. I love them all. Okay, let's try! “Secret Name” and “Double Negative”. They're two very different records. I've spent a lot of time listening to their music, and so in some way that flows into mine. As I said before, I love their intensity, the hope and purity that comes through in their songs. And also the fact that they always do their own thing.

I feel that “Conflict Of Minds”, “Disappear” and “Time Frames” are somehow related, not just because of their darker mood, but also because we find ourselves in this very abstract mental space, where in some way the world around us loses its physical dimension and becomes more undefined. Do you see any connection between these tracks?

Only afterwards. I lose myself in myself when I write. I have no idea what's happening until months later. It makes me laugh sometimes. For me, though, “Conflict Of Minds” isn't very related to the other two. It's a song I wrote and sang at the same time: the vocal line you hear on the track is the one from the very first recording. It just came out that way. It carried me away, and I cried; it took me a while to understand what I was feeling. But I knew it was a very, very strong emotion. That's why I didn't want to redo the vocal parts. It was with piano, but it sounded too heavy, so Borgar wrote the guitar part that accompanies my vocals. He did a really great job.

I found the cover art for “Saturday Moon” very interesting and unusual. What's the idea behind it?

I had seen this artist's work years ago and it stuck with me. It really reflects how I often feel. A bit crazy, connected to animals and nature, sometimes a bit harsh, and I also wanted to celebrate life. Everything fits and comes together so well!

In the first song, “Saturday Moon”, I sense some similarities with “Tumanako”, the last track on your previous album. I thought it might be a kind of bridge between the old songs and the new ones. Does that make sense to you?

Yes, it does. I'd never thought about it... Interesting observation!

“Pūwawau” was one of my favorite albums of 2019. Could you tell us something about the concept behind that record and how you wrote those compositions? I loved how you experimented simultaneously with electronics and orchestral arrangements. It was like a true union between future and past.

That record was really special! Usually I write very instinctively. But with “Pūwawau” I actually did research. I wanted to learn more about the connective power of voices all over the world. The Maori in particular were a huge source of inspiration. What happens if we step away from the Western world, where the result matters more than the ritual, and when we have the courage to really feel when we sing and connect with others? With these ideas in mind, I started writing. After that, I worked with Valgeir Sigurdsson to write arrangements that wouldn't have been easy at all for other singers. We took a lot of risks!

Do you think that after the pandemic our lives will change on a social or personal level? Could this experience perhaps positively change the way we relate to nature, to flora and fauna?

I really hope so. I hope we'll be able to simply “be” rather than “do”. I hope we'll stop craving everything so greedily all the time. I hope we'll manage to be more at peace with where we are and that we'll be able to reconnect a bit more with nature, so as to protect the planet from climate change too. Yes, I know, I'm very naïve.

Do you have any news about Distance, Light & Sky?

Aaaah not yet, but I can't imagine we won't make another record together. Playing in this trio couldn't feel more natural. There's no need for words.

Thank you for your time and for your music. I hope to see you somewhere soon and hear your voice singing these songs live. Stay safe!

You too!

(25/04/2021)

by Lorenzo Righetto

I had a band called Chacda. I loved playing with them, but I was missing something that was entirely my own. So I started Sleepingdog, but since Adam Wiltzie is my best friend, the project naturally developed into a duo. Working with him was such a stimulating process. The combination of songwriting and ambient sounded really special.

How would you describe your evolution as an artist and songwriter during your years with Sleepingdog? How do you look back on that experience from your current perspective as “Chantal Acda”?

I learned a lot in those years. I think I slowly began to feel my need, in making music, to calm myself down. To feel at ease in the world. Adam is a fantastic musician, who lets himself be inspired by sounds. That was new for me, being an impulsive musician. His atmospheric sounds calmed me down. After a while, though, I started to feel stuck. I felt the need to free myself. As much as I loved, and still love, Sleepingdog, it was also fairly static, in a way. I felt the need to be free and to play with other people through improvisation. To capture moments, instead of months of work. To work with more people, fewer overdubs, more people in a room recording songs. I needed a more spiritual approach to music. To free my voice and find my own strength instead of hiding behind someone as strong and beautiful as Adam. That's when I started working on my solo record.

So you decided to put Sleepingdog to rest and started a truly solo project, with your own name on it. What led to that decision?

I wanted to work with other people, but not through a 50/50 collaboration. I wanted the music, and the process behind it, to be a way of embracing my emotions, my struggles, my intensity and spirituality. Adam and I remained emotionally involved, and it became hard to keep the music separate from that. All things considered, I think I needed to find my own strength. And I could only do that by fully embracing it instead of being afraid of my own fragility.

“Let Your Hands Be My Guide” is also the result of many collaborations. How did you meet the collaborators on the record, and how did you work together?

I had known Peter Broderick for a long time, and through him I also met Nils [Frahm, ed.]. I had been to several shows by both of them, and I also played in support of Nils at a show in Paris. He played a few songs with me, and that same week we started talking. About me feeling stuck – it slowly became clear that we would end up working together. Gyda [Valtysdottir, cellist of Múm, ed.] was one of the people, along with my boyfriend, who told me I was trapped in a box. It was my salvation that she confronted me with that fact. It made me think. We met while she was on tour with A Winged Victory For The Sullen. We opened with Sleepingdog and she started playing with us. Shahzad [Ismaily, ed.] wasn't supposed to be part of the recordings at all. He was only supposed to work on the mixing. But his energy struck me deeply. Nils, Peter and Gyda were drinking coffee at a moment when I was rehearsing a song. Shahzad walked in, grabbed my guitar and started playing. Then Nils ran to the recording desk and we started playing together. He put everything in the right place.

I loved “Let Your Hands Be My Guide”, definitely one of the most moving records of recent years. I also noticed a certain shift in tone compared to your previous records, a greater maturity and a more restrained way of conveying your emotional intensity. Do you see this as purely a result of the arrangements, or did you notice (or seek) a change in your songwriting as well?

It's very touching to hear that you appreciate the record so much. What I feel is that I'm in a different place now. Nothing felt the same after the recording sessions. Really strange. I felt truly freed from a huge stone that I had always carried inside me, in my body. I think I had been fighting against the world a great deal. I didn't feel at home. In those moments, in the studio, the world started to make sense. I still wonder whether other musicians have any idea how much this affects my everyday life. It's wonderful that it comes through to the people who want to listen to the record.

How do you plan to play “Let Your Hands Be My Guide” live? Despite being so stripped-down, I imagine it's not easy to fully reproduce it... Will you be touring with Peter or Nils?

I just played my first five shows in Belgium. Nils was there, and we have an amazing jazz drummer, Eric Thielemans, and a guitarist, Gaetan Vandewoude. They managed to bring me back to the right place. My goal will be to hold on to the freedom I found in the studio, and I feel I can do that with them, even though it will obviously be different. It's important not to just try to copy the recordings. The only thing that matters is the spirituality. The feeling of being able to be so vulnerable makes me stronger than ever. Does that make sense? Sometimes it's hard to explain these things!

You represent an important part of the Belgian independent scene, as part of Sleepingdog, True Bypass and now under your own name – you were also in Isbells. Can you give us a quick sketch of the current Belgian music scene?

Belgium is a somewhat strange country. There's so much chaos here. I love it. A lot of musicians help each other out. I like the fact that there's a lot of cross-contamination between different styles. That's something I missed a lot when I was living in the Netherlands.

Can you tell us about your future live plans? Is Italy part of them?

We're working on it. I have a really lovely boyfriend who's working on it. We'll first do a tour of Germany and Belgium, and I know he's working on something in Italy right at this moment. To be honest, the reactions in Italy have been absolutely moving, and I can't wait to play for all these open, sweet people.