Lydia by Johan Dupont Trio

There is always a place, a refuge for our melancholy.
A dirt track along a river or the shade of an old chestnut tree. The beating heart of a city and its crowds to melt into. The terrace of a bar in the early morning and coffee burning in a cup. Cries of joy on a playground in the late afternoon, and the sweeping movement of a swing launching a child towards the sky.
Melancholy isn't sad. It just is. It's the in-between of the world, like a delicate veil over things and beings. The light mist through which we can make out the shape of our days. Melancholy is itself a refuge where we hide the part of us that is lagging behind our own lives. Melancholy is a place and there are places for it: it's a game of Russian dolls. If we are patient enough, if we carefully open each doll one by one to see what's inside - like peeling the skins and layers of an onion slowly to hold back the tears - perhaps we would discover the core of sadness hidden deep inside their bodies.
The little wooden doll as hard as a rock, the one that doesn't open; that is all you see. Finally, releasing her delicately from her gangue and rolling her between our fingers. We mustn't lose her. Contrary to all appearance, she is fragile. She’s a treasure; both obscure and sparkling.
Once you’ve put her back where she belongs and she’s hidden deep down again, you don't really know whether she’s a core of sadness or a core of joy. A bit of both, no doubt.
Because we need joy to live; in spite of everything, we need joy to give meaning to our absences, our deficiencies, our bereavements. Joy to live with our melancholies.
And there is always a place, a refuge.
But sometimes the forest paths are inaccessible. The café terrace has closed, and there are no more children on the playground. The abandoned swing stands still.
Then comes the music.

A classically trained pianist, Johan Dupont studied improvised music with Garett List at the Liège Conservatoire, and jazz with Eric Legnini at the Brussels Conservatoire.
Johan Dupont's unclassifiable compositions delicately explore a musical space bathed in childhood and nostalgia, inhabited by bittersweet memories of a lost paradise, where everything was possible and nothing was missing.