Artic Melancholy — An Interview with French Post-Punk Project The Memory of Snow

The Memory of Snow comes out of Caen, France, like a boreal wind with a chilling bite—Albin Wagener’s solo project after his stint with Overcast. For a decade, Wagener found himself stalled by a creative drought that left him in a long, slow mourning for music. Fortunately, he found his spark once again, stitching together strands of new wave, post-punk, dream pop, and a hint of soul-drenched blues; pulling from Depeche Mode’s gloom, Slowdive’s haze, and The Chameleons’ edge.

The name alone, The Memory of Snow, is imbued with icy melancholy: Wagener found his muse in the Arctic Circle of Finland, lost in snowdrifts and silent landscapes. There’s nostalgia in it too, a callback to his childhood winters, a time before the snow started disappearing, a victim of climate change.

Atlantic, the project’s latest offering, is an intimate exploration that marries themes of love, isolation, and resilience. Each track is meticulously crafted as a self-contained world, held together by an undercurrent of melancholy and resilience.

Albin Wagener spoke with Post-Punk.com about his creative process, the striking visuals they’ve created for the music, the effect global events has on his writing process, and recurring themes for the band.

The name “The Memory of Snow” is quite evocative and poetic. Can you share the story behind the band’s name and what it signifies for you personally?

For me, the name ‘The Memory Of Snow’ is connected to three things. First, a magical, serene, and very impactful moment I experienced in Finland in 2018, where I traveled up to the Arctic Circle, getting lost in the snowy landscapes. I felt a sense of fulfillment I had never experienced before. It’s also a memory from my childhood, when winters were still snowy, and I loved the sensations it brought: the silence, the calm… something that made it feel like being outside of time, in a way. And finally, it’s also a reference to the climate crisis, with the risk of losing this snow in many places. So it’s something very personal, and I think it also reflects the style of music I create.

Your sound blends classic post-punk elements with modern influences, creating something uniquely yours. How did your musical journey begin, and what kind of diverse influences have shaped the band’s sound over the years?

In fact, the ‘The Memory Of Snow’ project emerged after ten years of musical silence; I went through a very long creative block. When I was younger, I made music in bands (Dawn, Overcast) or under my own name, and suddenly, I could no longer write lyrics or compose music. It felt like a slow mourning process: I thought nothing would ever come out of me again. And then, all of a sudden, after moving to a new place, everything came back: I found everything I needed to compose and write lyrics again, and I feel like the songs I write now are more accomplished than ever. My influences are quite varied: of course, there’s new wave and post-punk, but there are also more pop or electronic influences. In other words, I could mention Depeche Mode, Manic Street Preachers, Eyeless In Gaza, Peter Murphy, Tears For Fears, George Michael, The Chameleons, or Slowdive. Music has always been a passion for me.

In your recent tracks “Atlantic,” “Grande Biesse,” and “Borealia,” there seems to be a range of emotional tones—from the enduring hope in “Atlantic” to the nostalgic intimacy of “Grande Biesse” and the introspective isolation of “Borealia.” Is there a common theme that ties these songs together, or do they represent different stages in your creative evolution?

My new album Atlantic is both intimate and conceptual. I aimed to convey various emotions, but I wanted something focused and cohesive, in nine tracks – and in the end, each track will have its own video. It’s really an album that I envision as a complete artistic project, and once again, I wanted to keep control over the entire process to fully produce what I envisioned artistically. But there’s always a touch of melancholy and nostalgia in the songs: while the title track Atlantic seems hopeful, it’s first and foremost in the face of adversity. Grande Biesse is clearly a love song, Borealia revisits that Nordic theme of necessary isolation. More broadly, from the opening track Bodies, which speaks of universal vulnerability, to the final track ‘Something Has Died Along The Way,’ which leans into dark folk and southern gothic, the whole album navigates through different intimate feelings. ‘Atlantic’ should really be listened to as a set of nine interconnected tracks, both lyrically and musically, to fully grasp its atmosphere.

“Atlantic” has a particularly uplifting atmosphere, while “Borealia” is more introspective and haunting. Can you walk us through the creative process behind these tracks? How do you balance these emotional contrasts in your songwriting?

Atlantic, along with All Cats Are Blue, is indeed one of the only tracks on the album that focuses on the possibility of hope in the face of life’s absurdities. It’s like a form of perseverance in this ongoing struggle against whatever negative things might come our way. I always try to connect the lyrics and the music, of course, but with Atlantic, I really put a lot of effort into crafting the atmosphere of each track. I wanted to create a little planet for each song, and these nine planets form a coherent galaxy. When I engage in songwriting, I often start with a melody in my head, which acts as the heartbeat of the song. From there, I build the rhythmic part, but I mostly focus on asking myself what atmosphere, what world the song should exist in. For Borealia, for instance, I wanted to capture that polar dryness, that coldness which is both bright and solitary. And with Atlantic, I needed something expansive, like an ocean opening up to the world, to the realm of possibilities. Then I work on it until the track feels right to me.

The visuals in your music videos are always carefully crafted and evocative. How do you go about selecting the visuals for your songs, and what kind of atmosphere are you hoping to convey, particularly with tracks like “Atlantic” and “Borealia”?

Since Atlantic is a highly conceptual and complete album, I also spent a lot of time working on the videos to ensure they reflect the overall atmosphere of the tracks. For Atlantic, you’ll find all these elements close to my heart, evoking that very particular coastal ambiance you find in the west of France or Great Britain. I really wanted to capture that sense of freshness, openness, and the field of possibilities. For Borealia, again, I was looking for that polar and solitary feel. For Bodies, the focus was on human bodies, in their diversity, to show the beauty of vulnerability and how universal that vulnerability is. For ‘World Cup’, it was about the absurd intersection between the horrors of history and our collective ability to transcend them. I really want the videos to reflect both the lyrics and the music, as that’s something important for this album. Atlantic demanded a lot of work, but I feel a deep artistic satisfaction from it. I’m ready to work on the third album now! 😉

Your sound can be compared to bands like The Jesus and Mary Chain, The Church, and Joy Division. While these comparisons can be flattering, how do you strive to be different and carve out your own identity?

Thank you for those comparisons, they’re very flattering! 🙂 Indeed, I’m trying to craft my own sonic identity. My first album, Home Is Where The Heart Aches, was a musical awakening after ten years of silence: I wanted to use that opportunity to pay homage to the music I loved listening to, plain and simple. So it was really a fresh start. For Atlantic, the approach was different. I wanted to bring all those influences together and synthesize them to create my own sound. It takes time, but I would say that what defines The Memory Of Snow’s sound are the atmospheres, the focus on melodies, and the quest for the right sounds to express all that. I spend a lot of time searching for the right sounds, and as musicians, that’s obviously a very exciting part. I’d say the musical identity of The Memory Of Snow lies somewhere between new wave, dream pop, southern gothic folk, and even something more pop or soul. I try, humbly, to synthesize Slowdive, Curve, Depeche Mode, and Manic Street Preachers. They’re probably the four cardinal points of my musical compass, in the end.

Can you describe your recording sessions? Were there any unexpected challenges or breakthroughs during the process, especially when developing more recent songs like “Borealia”?

I’ve worked on several tracks for Atlantic. In fact, all the EPs released before the album’s release date include B-sides or unreleased tracks produced during the recording sessions. I’m actually thinking about releasing a deluxe version by the end of the year to showcase all these tracks. When I compose, I isolate myself: I first work on the music for all the songs, which obviously takes several days. Only after that do I have dedicated vocal sessions, allowing me to really focus on the vocals at a specific time. I feel this approach makes me more efficient and helps me push further vocally. Once all my tracks are done, I move on to mixing and then mastering. But what’s the most exciting part for me is definitely the sound design: browsing sound libraries, tweaking synths, searching for the right atmosphere, the right pad, the right guitar sound… that’s often when I have moments where I think, ‘That’s it, that’s the sound, that’s the vibe I want for this track.’ And that’s really satisfying.

Mental health and emotional depth seem to be recurring themes in your lyrics. “Borealia,” for instance, explores themes of isolation and searching for meaning. What motivates you to explore these subjects in your music, and how do you channel those emotions into tracks like “Grande Biesse” or “Borealia”?

I’m generally a joyful person in everyday life: I laugh easily and I enjoy making others laugh. But like many people, there’s a lot going on behind the mask. I have, like many others I imagine, a deeply intense emotional life. While I also enjoy the happiness of social life, I believe that life is profoundly absurd, without any real meaning, and our only task as human beings is to try and find, or create, meaning in all of it. As a result, there are always darker themes in my music, and I try to use artistic creation as a catharsis, a way to release negative, dark, or desperate feelings. In fact, I need music to fully express myself, and I believe that sharing darker themes helps listeners feel like, ‘Okay, I’m not alone, others feel the same way I do.’ That’s what I feel when I listen to bands like Clan Of Xymox, Joy Division, or Type O Negative. I think, ‘Okay, I’m not crazy, I feel less alone.’ And in the end, that’s what helps keep us from sinking completely.

The international indie and post-punk scene has evolved considerably since you first entered it. How do you feel about the current state of the genre, and where do you see it heading in the next few years?

I don’t really know which direction my music will evolve in. Maybe in the end, I’ll make very minimalist stuff like Eyeless In Gaza, or more experimental like David Sylvian: I want to explore the whole range of possibilities, but still keep that sonic unity. I feel like there are some interesting revivals happening, around post-punk, dream pop, or shoegaze, for example. But in these genres, it’s hard not to just repeat what’s already been done well by others. It’s tough to make Cocteau Twins-style music when Cocteau Twins already did it, you know what I mean? What interests me is to keep experimenting, making music that I like, without worrying too much about genres. And I try to make those experiments accessible, which is why melodies are so important, I think. I’m still really impressed by the 90s, which I feel were incredibly creative in terms of genre creation and unique blends. I imagine we’ll go through a similar movement at some point, maybe when people get tired of hearing only hip-hop on the radio! 😉

You’ve performed in various unconventional venues. What has been your most memorable live performance experience so far, and how do these unique spaces influence the energy of your shows?

For The Memory Of Snow, I haven’t done any concerts yet. It was such an intimate project initially, focused on awakening musically, that I really concentrated on the studio. So, in reality, I can mainly talk about concerts from my previous musical projects, which were a long time ago. I can particularly mention concerts I did in Germany, where I always found the audience very receptive to post-punk, new wave, and other similar music styles. More generally, I know that Northern and Eastern Europe are quite fond of these music styles; where I currently live in France, it’s a bit less easy. But I’ve always enjoyed playing in smaller venues: the direct contact with the audience is immediate, it really motivates me to give my best, which is really important. I was also fortunate to open for IAMX at Den Atelier (Luxembourg) with my previous project Overcast, and that was a really great experience!

In light of the current global events, how has your approach to creating and sharing music changed? Have recent world events influenced the tone or themes of your songs?

Global events definitely influence my songwriting. Climate crisis, of course, and with World Cup, the wars, particularly in Ukraine, have clearly pushed me to revisit our collective historical absurdities. I can’t help but refer to these things: I wouldn’t say that art has to be necessarily political or engaged, but there’s inevitably a moment when world events shock, hurt, or uplift us. We can’t be indifferent to what’s happening in the world, to injustices, and so on. We have to do something with it: musical creation can be a form of response or release. There’s a constant back-and-forth between the universal and the personal.

And for sharing music, I do what most artists do now: Bandcamp and streaming platforms – which, by the way, push us into a completely ridiculous statistical competition in terms of number of listens. It’s absurd; I don’t like it. Music is intimate, subjective, and about emotional sharing. It’s not about statistics or social listening. I really dislike all these coaches who contact you to say, ‘Go on TikTok, post your tracks at a specific time on Instagram.’ Honestly, I don’t make music to be a community manager. This is completely absurd.

Can you share any details about upcoming projects, and are there any new themes or musical directions you’re excited to explore?

I’ve already started working on a few tracks for my third album, which I’d like to release in 2025. The reason is quite simple: this album is, modestly, a sequel to David Bowie’s Outside released in 1995. In 2025, that album will be 30 years old, and I’ve always loved the experimentation and narrative universe of that record. To me, it’s simply Bowie’s best album. I thought I’d like to try something a bit more ambitious by composing songs for an album called ‘Inside,’ which will be a response to Bowie. A sort of echo, thirty years later.

Please note: I don’t pretend to consider myself a genius as immense as Bowie, certainly not! It’s simply a humble yet committed proposal to echo this great record. I don’t know yet where this will lead me, but I’m putting quite a bit of pressure on this project. I’ll probably lock myself in the studio this winter and spend a lot of time on it! 😉

Listen to Atlantic below, and order here.

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