Philippe Aubin-Dionne is JACQUES GREENE and his music exists in the space in-between.

Before I sat down with Greene, I revisited an old blog draft of mine which displayed a ten-page dissection of the emotional potency of his discography. I thought back to an early memory of me listening to his music. The person next to me turned and said, “This song reminds me of your soul. Gut-wrenching.” And that is exactly how I would describe Greene’s discography. It’s gut-wrenching, but in the best way. 

The drama, the longing, the limerence. The push and pull of desire and loss. His music makes you feel it all. Greene takes an emotion and meticulously finds its nuance, translating it into layered synths, swinging drums, and intricate textures. The music has an atmosphere of its own, and it dictates the energy of the room.

With an ever expanding discography, categorizing Jacques Greene’s music has felt like trying to hold water. His sound is undefined, which is why there’s such depth to it. The closest word I’ve found to describe it is hiraeth, a Welsh word for a longing that isn’t for a person or place, but for something unreachable. Like trying to remember an old dream, or watching your soul grieve something it can’t name. Spiritual nostalgia, longing, Toska, Saudade—whatever you want to call it.

His upcoming album, jg, feels like real presence. Pure energy and concentration. The kind that only something like a hot and foggy room filled with dancing bodies and a rich soundscape can describe. The record is dynamic enough to be swallowed up by the dance floor, yet melodramatic enough to unmistakably be Jacques Greene.