Album Review: Vivre comme si on avait l'éternité devant soi by Stills
Man, this album. It’s like stepping into a dream where time doesn’t exist—kinda fitting for an album with a title that translates to “Living as if we had eternity ahead of us.” Released in 2016 by the Belgian artist Stills (who's actually Pak Yan Lau wearing many hats here), this record feels less like music and more like… I dunno, an experience? A vibe? Whatever it is, it sticks to your soul.
The whole thing floats between non-music and electronic vibes, leaning heavily into experimental territory. And honestly? That’s what makes it so damn unique. There are no big choruses or beats you can dance to—it’s more like soundscapes that pull at something deep inside you. Like, you’re not just listening; you’re feeling it.
Now, let me tell ya about two tracks that really stuck with me. First up, “Take 1.” This one opens the album, and wow, does it set the tone. You’ve got these delicate piano notes that feel almost hesitant, like they’re tiptoeing around your ears. Then there’s this saxophone line from Audrey Lauro—it sneaks in like smoke curling through the air, soft but kinda haunting too. It’s the kind of track that makes you stop whatever you’re doing and just sit there, staring out the window, thinking about life or nothing at all. Weirdly beautiful.
Then there’s “Take 2,” which hits different. The electronics kick in stronger here, layered over samples that sound like fragments of old memories. It’s glitchy but never chaotic—you get the sense that every little sound was placed exactly where it needed to be. It’s hypnotic, man. By the end, I swear I forgot where I was for a sec. It’s not just music; it’s like being inside someone else’s head while they daydream.
What gets me is how personal this album feels. Everything—the pendulum-like rhythms, the Typatune textures, even the photography by Ian Dykmans—it all adds up to something intimate and raw. Adrien Silvestre deserves props for recording and mixing this because he somehow managed to capture the fragile magic of it all without messing it up.
And yeah, sure, it’s experimental, so it might not be everyone’s cup of tea. But isn’t that the point? Music shouldn’t always fit neatly into boxes. Sometimes it should challenge you, make you uncomfortable, or leave you wondering what the hell just happened.
So, final thoughts? Listening to Vivre comme si on avait l'éternité devant soi feels like holding onto a secret you don’t fully understand yet. It’s messy, strange, and utterly human. Oh, and fun fact: after hearing this, I started googling Belgian jazz clubs. No clue why—it just felt right.
