Klô Pelgag

The upper echelon of pop music isn’t just the hooks, the vocal belting or impeccable production.

The sterling tunes that stick around find the knife’s edge balance of bombast and empathy. Think Kate Bush’s “Cloudbusting,” using the backdrop of government conspiracies and weather-making machines to tell the story of a young man working through the trauma of his missing father, as strings and a chorus march behind her. Or Bjork’s “Jóga,” where the very elements of volcanic Iceland underscore a tumultuous relationship. To do that for a song is a blessing, to do it for a full album is a miracle. And Notre-Dame-des-Sept-Douleurs is one of the most miraculous albums in recent memory.

Klô Pelgag’s third album earns comparisons to Bush and Bjork for devastating emotional gut-punches and immaculate arrangements, sweeping through a history of pop music from 17th century art songs to Max Martin jams. Thanks to Pelgag’s deft ear and malleable voice, she bounces from muscular funk that would make Christine and the Queens blush to a slew of piano and brass ballads that feel out of time, as comfortable echoing through the halls of a greystone castle to whispering through stereo speakers. And the two things stitching this vibrant tapestry together are bombast and empathy. Even at Notre-Dame-des-Sept-Douleurs’ most melodramatic moments, Pelgag reaches a hand out, urging us to dive further in, following to work through her, and our own, trauma and doubts. We got to chat with Klô over email about Notre-Dame-des-Sept-Douleurs, we hope you enjoy. 

Both “Remora” and “Soleil” have strong horn and brass arrangements that feel very warm and bombastic. What drew you to brass to emphasize those songs? Was it to match the lyrics, or did they add something else? 

I had this desire for a long time to do a brass/voice song. When I wrote “Soleil,” I realized that I finally had the right song to implement this idea. The brass arrangements colour this ceremonial ambiance. The idea was to wrap around the words like a blanket, to give them a sacred dimension. The song is about a childhood memory, a first contact with illness, hospitals, death. I like to find complementary ideas that make things more meaningful. Like a title can, for instance. In “Rémora,” the brass brings a more percussive side, they emphasize the tumble and the sense of urgency at the end of the song.

On the song “Ramora,” there are two fake-outs, where it sounds like the chorus is going to start, but instead there’s a choir singing or this low brass and you singing. What was your choice there, was it to subvert the expectations of the listener? 

I generally think that I love surprises in life. I prefer movement to stability. “Rémora” is a song about imbalance, a toxic relationship, regrets, healing, rebirth. It’s a rather heavy song thematically, so the music had to be as well. I may have wanted to convey a transition towards something else. Death, maybe. There is something celestial about this choir singing.

For “Ramora”’s music video the director, Baz, said it represented the relationship between arts and audience, you’ve said it’s more of a view of a toxic romantic relationship. How did you two come together on the vision for the video? 

I think we wanted to show the suffocating quality of expectations, of the perception of others and oneself, in a profession where you’re simultaneously adored and hated. Sometimes, the toxic relationship is the one you have with yourself. We’re probably the best person to hurt ourselves because we know our greatest fears and vulnerabilities. To me the music video includes all of that. Someone who goes with the flow and, finally, transitions towards freedom in a somewhat strange ritual.

“Umami” has this long, near ambient outro that fades into “J’aurai les cheveux longs.” Did you arrange that to let the energy of that song flow into the next easier? 

I wrote those two songs during the same period. Initially, “Umami” was my attempt to “sabotage” the fluid pop song it represented. It was very instinctive. It was natural to me that this song about depression would end in confusion, in a blur that echoes the feeling of being lost and depressed. The chords at the end of “Umami” are indeed those at the beginning of “J’aurai les cheveux longs.” There is a natural transition between the two. I enjoy when songs on an album talk to each other. Each one makes the other more meaningful—they are complementary.

You’ve said that “Melamine” is the song you want to play live the most, when concerts are possible again. How do you envision that performance?

 For the first time in my life, while writing this album, I might have unconsciously wanted to write songs that would allow me to let loose on stage. Songs where I wouldn’t necessarily play an instrument, where I could jump around, climb on things, lose control. I think that “Mélamine,” “Rémora” and “Où vas-tu quand tu dors” would be ideal for that. Since I’ve played live a lot in the past, I know how much I need concerts to be an experience, a challenge for me. I love when things degenerate.

For the album, was searching through heartbreak and depression a cathartic experience or was it exhausting at times?
 
It was cathartic. A bit rousing sometimes. These creative moments taught me to identify and understand things. It was an extraordinary experience, with many diverse, contradictory feelings. I was kind of searching for myself, and it allowed me to find myself again. To point a finger at me in “Mélamine,” to forgive me in “J’aurai les cheveux longs,” to identify wounds in “Für Élise.” For this album I basically kicked my own ass. A journey towards happiness requires constant efforts and a lot of humility. You have to be able to recognize your flaws and to avoid settling into them out of habit. 

Étienne Dupré and Pete Pételle were your rhythm section for this album, and many of the songs are rhythmically focused (the driving bass on “Umami” or the drums on “Melamine” for example) how important was that for you as a singer and as a performer? 

It was vital. I remember telling Étienne: “Even the bass line has to me memorable, it has to be melodic.” I had the chance to be surrounded by the perfect musicians for this album. It wouldn’t be the same record without their contributions. They’re great listeners, very sensitive and available. Pete Pételle was very involved, he wanted to give his best for every song. Everyone worked to create the best music possible at that moment, we all learned a lot and we overcame our own limits. Having people with such great energy by my side made me better, I think. There was this extreme goodwill and respect for the music.

What was your biggest fear as a musician going into this album?

Failing to complete it. At the beginning of every album, at the moment when nothing exists yet, it’s always dizzying. That’s the beauty of it, this is what will always inspire me to want to outdo myself and to keep moving forward. Even though the fear is always there.

Where do your songs tend to start? With a vocal part or a piano chord progression? Or something else?  

They tend to start with everything at the same time. Lyrics, melody, chords, all at the same time. Sometimes, I build it as a whole, with the arrangements, as I go along. It allows me to see the big picture. “Mélamine” started with a keyboard riff, then everything else fell into place in a single evening. That song was eager to come to life. It’s probably the most surprising song (for me) that I wrote because this energy can’t be found in any other song of mine.

During the pandemic, most people have had a lot of time to sit and think, perhaps too much. How have you felt in the wake of the album’s release without being able to tour on it?

It was very challenging, very difficult. It felt like a huge void. I’ve been waiting to perform this album live for eight months. More than ever I’m aware of how much I enjoy being on stage, playing live music, sharing it with the audience.

“J’aurai les cheveux longs” has a very vivid image of tree top castles in the lyrics. That seems reflected in the “La maison jaune” video. Along with that, there’s plenty of lyrics referencing nature, throughout the album. What drew you to those sorts of images? 

I don’t really know. As a kid, I had this treehouse that my father built. It’s a very striking image in my mind. I grew up in wide open spaces, by the sea in a small region called Gaspésie. I believe that childhood influences the way we see our future. I admire nature, which is way more imaginative than us, it’s so surprising and incredible. It’s the first music in the history of the world. 

Have you been surprised by some of the reactions from non-French speaking audiences?

Yes, very much. It’s a dream come true. To be able to express myself in French, the language of my heart, a language that is so rich and emotional for me, and for people who don’t necessarily understand it to still listen to it. It proves that the emotions come through, that my music is powerful enough to transcend it all. It’s flattering for a francophone artist from Quebec especially. We are used to making the effort to try to understand a foreign language (or to just listen to music without understanding the lyrics). Because people don’t adapt to us. I believe in the reach of music, in its inherent strength.

Interviews