Soleil mâché’s sun doesn’t shine like a conquering star, but more like a fragile mascot – handmade, a little frayed around the edges – meant to comfort rather than dazzle. That’s the almost childlike image that gave rise to Marco Ema’s third album.
“The concept started with a sun-shaped mascot. I wanted something that would mirror the album’s entire frame of mind, which is, basically, like a comfort blankie,” says Ema. That’s the core of the project: an imperfect, sentimental object, full of gentleness, but tinged with lingering fear.
“It’s like the sun is comforting you, but it suddenly starts smiling at you in a slightly unsettling way,” he adds with a laugh. “It’s the calm-before-the-storm kind of sun, but also the forward-looking gaze after my father’s death.” That loss, which permeated his LP Anyway, Mommy Love, still lingers in the background – though now polished with a longing for optimism.
The title song came together very early on, though its meaning wasn’t immediately clear to its creator. “I wasn’t sure what it was really about,” he says. “Eventually, someone helped me realize it was my father’s death still lingering.” The song became a place where memory, loss, and the act of creation – hence the nod to papier mâché – collide. “The album was created in a deeply DIY spirit, so the idea of scrap-booking isn’t too far off, either.” Soleil mâché : an image that protects without quite shielding. “It’s full of light, but fragile – like a handmade suit of armour,” says Ema.
Unlike his previous albums, built around clearly defined concepts, Soleil mâché came together in fragments, drawn from scattered moments. “This one was made up of little bits: on tour, while vacationing in Îles-de-la-Madeleine,” he says. Each song carries a geographical, almost sensory imprint. “There are lots of places tied to the songs, and it’s like I’m there again when I hear them,” he says. “A lot of lyrics were written all over the place. A lot of songs I thought weren’t any good ended up making the album, and are now some of my favourites.”
The process itself is highly instinctive. Ema bluntly describes it as a “text vomit.” A phrase sticks, takes over, and the rest follows in a kind of automatic writing, from which something eventually emerges. This letting go is part of a broader mindset shift. “It’s a very personal album. I’m really proud of the lyrics. I let go of my expectations of the industry, and did it for myself,” says the musician.
That stripped-back stance is crystallized in the intimacy of <3, affectionately dubbed “Less Than Three” by the artist. “I’m not saying I want to die, so I don’t hurt my mother, but sometimes I really do think about it,” he sings (free translation), over languid strings and a simple guitar melody. Written late in the album’s creation process, after the main recording sessions, it quickly felt inevitable. “We felt like the album needed something that went straight to the heart, and that one showed up,” he explains. It’s a song that distills the record’s intent: writing without filters, without calculation.
Select the image to access the video of the Marco Ema song “Comme un refrain”
Sound-wise, Soleil mâché also marks a shift. “We had fun leaning more into rock,” says Ema. Co-producer Cédrik St-Onge played a key role in that expansion. “It allowed me to get as close as possible to what I actually want to make,” says Ema. The textures are more saturated and the structures more flexible. “We broke with formality. We asked fewer questions and we were freer for it.”
His lineage with Vendôme – his band with Cédrik St-Onge, Tom Chicoine, and Bobo Laurent – naturally surfaces. “With Vendôme, we mess around more,” says Ema. :”We’ll start from a dumb idea, and for us, the fact that it’s a bit stupid is a sign it’s going to be good. But when I’m working solo, even when chaos creeps in, things always stay clear,” the songwriter explains. Ema isn’t trying to erase that duality, but to channel it: “I didn’t want to make Vendôme 2.0. What I love about Vendôme is the creative genius. I take that part and sprinkle it into my own project.”
His own album came together in an equally porous setting. “A good part of it was made at my place and at Cédrik’s,” he says. “The living room became the studio. Someone would drop by to record percussion. A roommate was moving out while we were fine-tuning arrangements. A Netflix reality show was playing in the background while we worked on edits. Little by little, it became everyone’s album.”
Ema hopes that listening to his album will give people a feeling of calm. The themes of exile, home, and an idealized countryside form a little journey that may even be a bit “cheesy,” he admits with a laugh, but it’s one that’s sincere. He says he feels more confident, and less at odds with himself now.
On stage, Soleil mâché will take on a visual dimension. “We want everything to feel cohesive,” says Ema. “A slight rock edge, but very much like a friendship party.” The handmade sun will take centre stage. “It’ll be the fifth member of the band,” he laughs. A symbol that’s both fragile and unifying, just like the album itself: a light carefully shaped by hand.