Belgian sensation Iliona returns with a bang with her first full-length album, What If I Break Up with U?, following her two EPs, Tristesse (2020) and Tête brulée (2022). The protégée of Pierre de Maere and Angèle, with whom she went to school, has been composing on the piano since her teens, when she wrote her sad and beautiful ballad Moins joli, which allowed us to discover her.
An album that deals with breakups in both the literal and figurative sense, as the artist reveals herself musically as never before, deeply involved in the textures and atmospheres of this collection of 11 hushed and unique songs, which she composed, arranged, recorded, and mixed alongside Maxime Le Guil.
Deep-water diving.
Welcome opens simply with a piano refrain that quickly expands with ethereal synth and choir arrangements, leading us to the unmissable Stp, which gently sets the tone with its hypnotic guitar riff reminiscent of Fauve’s style, quickly joined by trip-hop-esque percussion over autotuned vocals that settle scores: “You’re lucky to only think about yourself, you’ve changed so much I don’t recognize you.” Lâche-moi la main follows, starting unpretentiously on acoustic guitar before unfolding into one of the best vocal melodies on the album: “I’m bored, I don’t want to write about you anymore. I don’t want to romanticize what we’re not.” It splits into a dialogue-like refrain just before the bridge culminates in an impressive vocal canon.
Mention should be made of the sound sample of a soda can replacing the snare drum in the hinge, which is a much-appreciated feature. In my opinion, it’s a really beautiful production and one of my favorites. On Rater une rupture pour les nuls, self-deprecation and textured synths are present, as well as the influence of Angèle, where her proximity is most evident. Next comes the surprising Le Lapin, the most alternative track on the album with amplified guitar, staccato percussion, sheet metal, and post-punk chords à la Love Will Tear Us Apart.
This leads into the darkest track on the album, Nyctalopia, with its melancholic and disturbing refrain featuring flute-like accents and a conclusion featuring Iliona’s voice alongside a male voice, arranged in a very inspired way.
On Ça n’existe pas, we cross a cabaret with smoky jazz tones to find the exit, a late-night stroll where the sky is dark that takes flight throughout its little more than 5 minutes. On Text Back, we take a breath of fresh air before heading towards De ton côté and its simple and effective melody that unfolds in the finesse of its arrangements. Fishsticks is a melancholic farewell ballad that frees itself by letting go, both musically and emotionally. Finally, 23 is Iliona-the-producer’s calling card, since it is literally a “drop the mic” in terms of arrangements, layers of sounds, textures, crescendos that unfold against a backdrop of existential reflection for 6 minutes, leaving us to settle. With its highly polished production, its straightforward, intimate poetry, sometimes poignant, sometimes humorous, like “I mix excuses and I make treasures out of them”
and its rich palette of arrangements and rhythms, this album is a must-have for 2025 for those who appreciate creative productions and unique worlds. The themes of romantic failure, doubt, and painful yet necessary realizations are addressed with authenticity and vulnerability, always with honesty and self-deprecation, making this debut album touching and endearing, as well as sonically sought-after: a favorite.
