Capturing presence — and holding onto the emotion

Single coming out this Friday! Stay tuned!

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After all the hours spent practicing, recording, and editing the audio, there’s still one last mountain to climb — the video recording. This part of the process is where everything comes together, not just sonically but visually. It’s where the musical intention meets the performance space in front of the lens. And even though I know the piece deeply by now — every phrase, every nuance — I still find myself facing new challenges the moment the camera starts rolling.

There’s a strange duality in this final stage. On the one hand, my instinct is to simply play, to let go as if I were on stage in front of an audience. The phrasing is already inside me. The colors are clear. I’ve shaped the piece into something that feels honest. But the camera isn’t the concert hall. There’s no applause, no breathing space, no single take to rise and fall on its own. The lens captures everything — not just sound, but expression, body language, the subtle flicker of involvement (or absence) in your eyes. So I find myself constantly balancing two roles: the performer fully immersed in the music, and the observer who has to maintain composure and continuity across takes.

In a concert, you also need distance — that mental space where you keep track of where you are, where you’re going, so you don’t lose yourself mid-phrase or fall into a blackout. But in video recording, the distance is different. You need to remember not only the music but the emotional shape of your interpretation. You need to make sure your gestures, your gaze, your breathing — all align with the emotional journey you’ve crafted, because if you lose that thread, the footage won’t feel alive. Sometimes I think it’s a bit like acting. You have to recall the emotion of a take you did twenty minutes ago, even if you’re tired or in a different mood now. The ability to “rescue” that moment, to re-enter it fully, is almost theatrical. It’s not faking — it’s reliving.

And unlike live performance, there’s no room for spontaneous reinvention. You can’t make drastic changes mid-session, because different takes won’t match visually. You have to commit. Commit to a version of the piece — one voice, one personality — and bring that to life over and over again until it’s captured just right. It’s a strangely intense form of concentration: one that asks not only for technical control, but emotional memory, physical consistency, and genuine presence. By the end of it, your body isn’t just playing the music — it’s embodying it. And that’s a kind of artistry I’ve come to love, even as it exhausts me.

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And now we’re almost there — just a few days until the release.

Thank you for being here with me.

Warmly,

Merce