I’m currently working on what I originally thought would be a much larger album. But with the new Zi Iacchos project, I’ve realized that I’m no longer interested in making long records—or albums filled with tracks just for the sake of it. Right now, Impression will probably end up being only four or five pieces, and that feels exactly right.

Ever since I came back from Vietnam, I haven’t completely returned to Paris. In many ways, part of me is still there. The journey allowed me to reconnect with who I used to be, while remaining fully aware of who I am today. I feel another major transition happening. Maybe that transition is simply called life.

I’ve never been someone who enjoys staying inside a comfort zone. Looking back, I realize that I’m happiest either living like a hermit or as a nomad. When I’m in that state, I feel open to the entire world. The worst thing that could happen to me is being trapped in one place. Lately I’ve also been thinking that happiness isn’t tied to geography. You can be happy anywhere, as long as you’ve done the inner work.

Impression is directly inspired by a Buddhist sutra that was given to me in Hanoi. Of course, I’m interpreting it in my own way rather than trying to illustrate it literally. The album is an extension of everything that has unfolded since the lockdown years. More than anything, it explores what quietly remains beneath every possible emotional state. Right now, for example, I could easily have fallen into a deep depression for several reasons, but somehow I haven’t. Instead, I find myself going out in the evening, sitting somewhere with a non-alcoholic cocktail, watching, listening, breathing—and, above all, continuing to work on music. I think music will always be the language through which I understand my own existence.

While I was in Vietnam, I received some wonderful news. More tracks from my album Cyber Hermit were broadcast on France Musique, allowing me to receive additional royalties. At the same time, another composition was used by a contemporary dance company in Germany. These moments remind me that music often continues its journey long after it has left the studio.

For now I’m back in Paris, although the idea of returning to Vietnam is becoming stronger every day. I want to explore what kind of life I could build there. Projecting yourself into a new future is both incredibly simple and surprisingly difficult. I’ve learned that the only way forward is to act before overthinking everything. If you listen too closely to every opinion, every administrative concern, every practical obstacle, you’ll never move. That’s a mistake I’ve made before.

There are still a few obstacles I need to overcome. I may keep my apartment in Paris for a few months while I figure things out, or perhaps one day I’ll simply let everything go at once. Either way, life keeps sending very clear signs.

Tonight, for example, I was working on a piece called The Sky of the Thirty-Three, but halfway through the session something unexpected happened. My instinct led me somewhere else entirely, and I suddenly found myself composing what became the fourth track of the album: The Ritual of Water. I didn’t plan it. It simply appeared. That’s how I work now. My sessions usually last around three hours, moving freely between lyrics, modular synthesis, guitar parts, and future arrangements.

Since returning from Vietnam, I remember this project with far greater intensity than my previous three releases. I still revisit those earlier works, transcribing performances that were originally recorded in a single take. I’m often surprised by arrangements or musical ideas I had almost forgotten. It may take months—or even another year—before I know these new pieces by heart.

I genuinely love this new project. Changing my artistic name to Zi Iacchos feels like more than a new identity—it feels like a new way of creating. I still struggle to understand much of what is happening in the world today, but I’ve recovered something I thought I’d lost: the ability to write things I can’t fully explain. Earlier today I opened the notebook I carried with me through Vietnam and continued writing in it. Somehow I’ve regained a creative freedom that had disappeared during the last four years.

On a more technical note, I’ve also been rethinking my sound. I recently stopped using an effects filter called Prism and replaced it with a cleaner signal path, without delay. Rather than relying on layers of effects, I’ve kept experimenting until I found another approach that feels more natural. I’m trying to use as few effects as possible. Instead, I rely on a second FX processor based on granular processing, which creates subtle polyphonic textures while maintaining the continuity of a single drone. Two separate signal paths feed into a passive matrix, allowing different atmospheres to emerge almost organically.

In many ways, Impression is still revealing itself to me. I think I’ll only truly be able to write about this album once I’ve lived with it a little longer.

Zi