Before we start talking about today’s song, let’s make a short prelude and refresh another one: do you remember Zwielicht, from Schumann’s Liederkreis, op. 39? A song about a threatening dusk, without our ever knowing exactly why? Would you like to listen to it before you keep reading?

Dear readers, something happened to me this week that I had never encountered in more than fourteen years. It turns out that I had chosen a song to share, had documented it and had "written it in my head" — which may sound a little strange, but it is how I produce the first version of my articles. I had listened to several versions of the piece and had chosen two finalists [...]

We all have in mind, thanks to cinema –which has presented it in a more or less mythologised way– the image of the writer who creates with the help of alcohol: sitting at the typewriter with a glass of whisky beside him. To complete the scene, cigarettes and an ashtray. What I don’t remember now is the image of the writer creating the next day, as soon as he wakes up, with a hangover that barely lets him open his eyes.

A couple of weeks ago we listened to a song by Gabriel Fauré, Avant que tu ne t’en ailles, in which the poem by Paul Verlaine was structured as if it were two interwoven poems. That made me think of another song, Sanglots, this one by Francis Poulenc with a poem by Guillaume Apollinaire.

I'm drawn to songs about the sea. Mainly because the sea is an essential part of my landscape. While many people find their greatest pleasure in the mountains (a modern version of waldeinsamkeit) you're far more likely to find me contemplating the sea. Fortunately, close to home. And when I travel, always seeking out other seas wherever I can.