These are the songs that never found their place.
Too hesitant for "Shades And Colours", too dimmed for "Colours And Shades". Yet they lingered.
"Remains: Colours And Shades" gathers what was left behind. Each track is named after a hue, a pigment not to define a feeling, but to paint one. These are not direct expressions, but emotional reflections: fragments of love, doubt, nostalgia, and stillness, each refracted through colour.
Together, they form a palette of what almost was, of moments too delicate or dissonant to belong elsewhere, now given space to breathe.
They don’t resolve, and they don’t proclaim. They simply exist, quiet, unfinished, and honest.

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Remains: Colours And Shades

Restlessness beneath still skies.
"Terre de sienne brûlée" simmers with quiet frustrationnot loud, not chaotic, but insistent. A pulse that won’t settle. Its foundation lies in dual bass lines and erratic shifts in rhythm, mimicking the feeling of needing to move forward while trapped in place.
The melody never resolves, it wanders, stumbles, pushes ahead. Somewhere within, a synth whispers in code, spelling a name that refuses to fade.
Like watching the same stretch of desert blur past for miles, knowing something waits beyond, if only the world would change.

Terre de sienne brûlée

The sound of wanting to become.
"Vert de vessie" drifts between dreams, of love, of identity, of a future just out of reach. It opens with a gentle nod to jazz, but holds back, uncertain of its voice: a quiet guitar, hesitant chords, a rhythm section too modest to claim attention. Then something shifts. A new shape emerges.
The piano begins to believe in itself, melodies forming, harmonies blooming. Still, nothing quite settles. It reaches, then fades.
Like letters written but never sent, it’s a song filled with hopes that may never arrive, but written all the same.

Vert de vessie

Everything begins in silence.
"Blanc titane" is the page before the story, the first breath before sound. It holds the quiet tension of potential, the weight of all the things that could be said, felt, written.
Built on a single, looping motif, the piece moves without motion, slowly growing not in shape, but in presence. A blank slate doesn’t ask what’s next, it simply waits, wide and bright, for something to begin.

Blanc titane

A single night, vivid as a lifetime.
"Orange" is a pulse of fleeting romance, born from one brief encounter and everything it left behind: the shimmer of a smile, the mystery in a glance, the perfect stranger written into memory like a myth.
Its electronic textures build slowly, evolving like the moment itself, familiar at first, then suddenly luminous, almost surreal. A park at night becomes a dream in motion, coloured in synth and light. Some loves are too quick to catch. This one lingers, dancing just out of reach.

Orange

A sky full of feelings you no longer name.
"Bleu céruléen" moves without clear direction, built in parts that repeat, shift, return. It’s structured, but not confined. The pulse is steady, the sound layered in soft tension: electronic textures drifting somewhere between clarity and abstraction.
There’s love here, still, but diluted, like colour in water. A quiet pride lingers too, not for what became of it, but for having felt it so deeply.
It feels like watching clouds from below: shapes come and go, familiar for a moment, then gone, yet somehow beautiful all the same.

Bleu céruléen

Melancholy in its softest shade.
"Noir" opens the album not with weight, but with shadows, those that settle over the memories never made, the moments imagined but never lived. Each note is sparse, plucked gently, like reaching for something that isn’t there.
Its rhythm drifts between shapes, long tones, syncopations, and uneven pulses, layering into an ambient drift that never bursts, only breathes. A beginning painted in absence, dim and delicate.

Noir

Joy without reason, movement without direction.
Caught between tension and release, "Jaune citron" doesn’t search for clarity, it dances in the unknown. A looping motif anchors the song like a thought that won’t leave, while each section spins off unpredictably: shifting shapes, an improvised burst, then back again.
There’s something almost lighthearted in its indifference, like standing in a crowded room, half-listening, half-lost in your own rhythm. Not certain where to go next, and, for a moment, not needing to know.

Jaune citron

A breath between memory and becoming.
"Vert guignet" is quiet introspection, an unfolding reflection on everything that came before, and a soft curiosity for whatever lies ahead. From one musical idea, the song splits and blossoms: melodies diverge, reunite, echo, and evolve.
It doesn’t rush, there’s patience here, and expectation.
Like writing in a journal beside a slow river, hidden deep in a forest, the page filling with thoughts shaped by what’s been lived, what’s been lost, and what might still arrive.

Vert guignet

A promise whispered into the void.
"Vermillon" begins in dissonance, like grief searching for its shape. Built around an unusual scale, the song drifts through uncertain tones, its sadness too deep to name. But then, quietly, something opens. A melody appears, simple, beautiful, almost shy. A glimpse of what once was, or could have been.
It vanishes again, but not for long. It returns later, like a thought you couldn’t keep down. A final echo, floating in a strange, scarlet sky.

Vermillon

Love that lingers where no light should reach.
"Outremer" stays beneath the surface, deep, quiet, and unwavering. It reflects inward like the song before it, but now everything narrows to one truth: the memory of someone still loved. The music doesn’t shift much, but it grows, one motif, slowly gaining strength, swelling until it breaks gently into light.
It feels like drifting through a submerged world, wrapped in a silence that isn’t still but gathering, glowing with distant neon, waiting to rise, waiting to speak.

Remains: Colours And Shades

Claire's Prelude