Déjà vu is a fleeting yet profound sensation, a moment when time seems to fold in on itself, between past and present. It is a phenomenon of memory—both elusive and deeply personal—where recognition and strangeness coexist. Few artistic mediums can evoke this liminal state as powerfully as ambient music, where repetition, decay, and texture shape sonic landscapes that mirror the ghostly presence of the past within the present.
Canadian composer Richard Bégin has been steadily building a reputation in the realm of ambient music for his explorations of memory, crafting soundscapes that feel like echoes from a distant past, lost yet eerily familiar. His latest work, centered on the concept of déjà vu, follows in the tradition of artists like Boards of Canada, Fennesz, Philip Jeck, and William Basinski—musicians who have sculpted time-worn textures, fragile loops, and sonic artifacts to capture the essence of recollection and its inevitable dissolution.
Like Basinski’s Disintegration Loops, which document the slow decay of recorded memory, or Jeck’s ghostly turntable manipulations that awaken forgotten voices from the grooves of old records, Bégin’s music invites listeners into an auditory space where time is fluid. Fennesz’s digital deconstructions and Boards of Canada’s nostalgia-tinted melodies find an echo in Bégin’s work, which similarly embraces imperfection, layering textures that drift between clarity and erosion keeping the listener between the comfort of recognition and the disquieting realization that the past is always just out of reach.