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Artist
Johan Dupont Trio
3+ albums
Belgiumjazz
about
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
