Paris-based indie art-rock project Books Of Moods has just released their debut album, “Dreams”. Guided entirely by Hugo Sailer, a self-taught singer-songwriter, multi-instrumentalist, and fiercely independent one-man studio, the record arrives as a hazy, beautiful shock to the system. Sailer wrote, performed, produced, and directed the accompanying visual universe from the ground up. I’ve spent the last few days letting these tracks sink into my daily routine, and the overarching theme is deeply unnerving in the best way: the album captures that heavy, visceral pang of nostalgia for beautiful memories you never actually lived.
This is an oneiric voyage, full of brilliant left turns. On “Space, Pt. 1,” a delicate melodic pattern expands into a massive, triumphant climax, charting a cosmic escape from a troubled past. Then, abruptly, the tempo of your life shifts. Tracks like “Slow Day” and “Sunday Mood” deliver unfiltered indie pop leisure. They bounce on plucky, sunny grooves that practically dare you to drop your worldly anxieties and exist cleanly in the present moment. The transition is striking, but completely human.
Sailer possesses an uncanny knack for framing romance as a place of absolute safety. The title track, “Dreams,” alongside the French-inflected “Amoureux,” bypass typical heartbreak. Instead, they lean heavily on sparkling hooks and warmly strummed acoustic chords to explore the surreal, effortless harmony of perfectly aligning with someone. Even failure gets a cheerful coat of paint. “Holidays” maps out a disastrous, physically exhausting vacation, yet the steady, driving momentum insists those messy, uncomfortable accidents are precisely the shared fragments you will cherish most.
But there is real shadow to balance the light. On “Space, Pt. 2,” Sailer violently strips away standard narrative structure. He deploys incredibly sparse vocalizations over mournful, soaring lines, perfectly capturing the psychological weight of unspoken thoughts and the suspended tension of a distant conversation. It aches, beautifully. He soon rebounds, pivoting to “Gaia”, an expansive, cinematic folk anthem revering the earth’s ancient mysteries before dropping the theatrical, quirky art-pop of “Fashion Romance” to marvel at a partner’s flamboyant wardrobe. Eventually, the euphoria hits an energetic peak on the liberated, breezy “Travel” and settles into the lush, ambient contentment of “Happiness.”
It leaves a remarkably strange imprint on the psyche. When the music finally stops and the comforting illusion fades, are those phantom memories any less real than the ones you actually experienced?
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