On her new single “Such Reverence,” French-British singer-songwriter Emma Broughton confronts the complicated relationship between love, memory, and personal accountability. Recorded in a single imperfect take, the song captures years of emotional reflection in a moment of extraordinary intimacy. Ahead of her debut album, BLUMI opens up to MUNDANE about the importance of silence, the vulnerability of her voice, and why understanding the past sometimes requires letting go of the need to control it.
There is a particular kind of heartbreak that doesn’t reveal its meaning until years after the relationship has ended.
In the immediate aftermath, everything feels urgent. The disappointment, the confusion, the need to understand what went wrong. We replay conversations, revisit memories, and search for explanations that might make the experience easier to accept.
But emotional clarity rarely arrives on demand.
Sometimes the most important realizations emerge only after we’ve stopped trying to force them.
For French-British singer-songwriter BLUMI, the artist project of musician, composer, and multi-instrumentalist Emma Broughton, that process of delayed understanding became the foundation of her new single, “Such Reverence,” released October 6 via Capitane Records.
The song explores the aftermath of a difficult relationship, but rather than focusing exclusively on the pain of being hurt, it turns toward something more complicated: recognizing one’s own role in the relationship’s failure.
At its emotional center lies a deceptively simple realization:
“We don’t always love how we’re meant to.”
It’s a sentence that took Broughton years to arrive at.
And when it finally came, the song followed almost immediately.
“There’s a great release of tension and pain when I landed on that idea and that sentence,” she tells MUNDANE.
For BLUMI, songwriting isn’t simply a way to express emotions.
It’s a process of making them intelligible.
A means of transforming experiences that once felt overwhelming into something she can finally understand.
But perhaps the most remarkable aspect of “Such Reverence” isn’t simply the time it took to write.
It’s how quickly it was recorded.
What became the final version was never supposed to be the final version at all.
The Difference Between Feeling Something and Understanding It
There’s a tendency to romanticize the idea of the impulsive songwriter.
An artist experiences something devastating, picks up an instrument, and immediately transforms that emotional intensity into a song.
But BLUMI’s creative process works differently.
She rarely wants to write about an experience while she’s still living through it.
Doing so, she explains, can feel like releasing the emotion before she’s had the opportunity to understand what it means.
“I don’t like immediately translating something I’ve experienced into a song,” she says. “I feel like I’m evacuating the feeling too quickly, before having had the time to fully live it.”
Instead, she allows experiences to settle.
Sometimes for months.
Sometimes for years.
Her songs often function as reminders to herself, capturing realizations that have emerged through reflection rather than immediate reaction.
She describes wanting her work to contain a kind of dénouement—a resolution or moment of understanding that gives the experience a shape.
That doesn’t mean her writing process is entirely calculated.
The initial creative impulse remains emotional and spontaneous.
She might sit at a piano, pick up a guitar, or begin humming without knowing exactly what she’s about to express.
Gradually, chords and words begin to emerge.
And eventually, she recognizes the story she’s ready to tell.
“Ah. This is the story that wants to be told.”
It’s a beautiful way of describing the relationship between emotional experience and artistic readiness.
The feeling may have existed for years.
But the song can only arrive when she’s ready to encounter it differently.
“We Don’t Always Love How We’re Meant To”
The central realization behind “Such Reverence” challenges one of the most comforting assumptions about romantic relationships.
That loving someone is necessarily good for them.
That sincerity guarantees compatibility.
That the presence of genuine affection means a relationship should be preserved.
But love, BLUMI suggests, can exist without necessarily producing something healthy.
“We love, but it doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s good for us,” she explains.
It’s a distinction that allowed her to reconsider a particularly difficult breakup.
Rather than continuing to search for blame, she began examining what she could understand about her own behavior.
The realization didn’t erase the pain of the experience.
But it gave her a different way of organizing it.
“It unknotted something in me,” she says.
That image feels especially appropriate.
Emotional pain often resembles a knot precisely because its different elements become impossible to separate.
Love, resentment, guilt, nostalgia, disappointment, and longing all exist simultaneously.
Trying to identify one definitive cause can make the experience even more difficult to understand.
But recognizing that love itself can be imperfect creates room for a more nuanced perspective.
Two people can care deeply about each other and still be unable to sustain a relationship.
They can act with sincere intentions and still cause pain.
And acknowledging those contradictions doesn’t necessarily invalidate the love that existed.
For BLUMI, that understanding became a form of emotional release.
Not because it provided a perfect explanation.
But because it allowed her to stop demanding one.
The Beauty of an Imperfect Take
If the writing of “Such Reverence” required years of reflection, its recording happened almost by accident.
BLUMI and her band were together in the live room, running through the song before what was intended to be the proper take.
The lyrics weren’t entirely finalized.
Her voice hadn’t been warmed up.
The drums were bleeding heavily into the vocal microphones.
And outside, birds in the garden were making themselves heard.
By conventional studio standards, the performance contained several elements that might have justified recording it again.
But from the control room, musician Romain heard something worth preserving.
“It sounds great as it is. There’s a great vibe to this take.”
The musicians listened back.
And decided to keep it.
The rehearsal had become the final recording.
For BLUMI, the decision reflected an increasingly important principle in her creative life.
Technical perfection matters less than emotional truth.
“It’s when I feel the emotion is properly captured,” she explains when asked how she knows a performance is finished.
“It’s my guide.”
The recording preserves the physical circumstances of the performance.
The slight instability of her voice.
The interaction between instruments.
The ambient sounds that entered the room unexpectedly.
Rather than treating those details as imperfections to be corrected, BLUMI recognizes them as part of what makes the performance emotionally specific.
They document a moment that cannot be recreated exactly.
And perhaps that’s what makes the song feel so intimate.
It doesn’t simply communicate an emotion.
It preserves the circumstances in which that emotion was expressed.
Learning to Let Life Into the Music
The birds heard outside the recording studio might seem like an insignificant detail.
But for BLUMI, their presence reflects a much larger personal transformation.
She describes herself as someone naturally inclined toward control, particularly when it comes to her music.
She’s attentive to detail, careful with arrangements, and deeply invested in ensuring that her songs communicate precisely what she intends.
Yet she’s increasingly aware that excessive control can become a limitation.
“One of my paths in life is definitely to move away from this tendency, towards more openness and flexibility,” she explains.
The accidental inclusion of outside sounds became an opportunity to practice that philosophy.
Rather than trying to eliminate the unpredictability of the recording session, she allowed it to remain.
“When life simply happens, I tend to welcome it gratefully.”
There’s an interesting parallel between that decision and the emotional themes of “Such Reverence.”
The song is about learning to understand a relationship without controlling the narrative surrounding it.
The recording process required a similar surrender.
Accepting that the most meaningful version of something might not be the most polished.
That imperfections can reveal rather than diminish beauty.
And that sometimes the attempt to make something perfect can remove the very quality that made it worth preserving.
From Political Sociology to Songwriting
Before pursuing music professionally, Emma Broughton worked in political sociology research.
It’s a background that might initially seem distant from the intimate, emotionally nuanced world of BLUMI.
But for Broughton, the two disciplines share a fundamental motivation.
Both emerge from a desire to understand the world.
And both require an unusual degree of precision.
“I feel like my desire to pursue sociological research and my desire to write songs come from the common source of needing to make sense of the world,” she explains.
Her academic background helped cultivate a discipline that remains central to her songwriting.
The ability to examine complex ideas carefully.
To distinguish between what she knows and what she assumes.
And to search for language that communicates an experience without unnecessary embellishment.
She describes wanting her writing to be as precise and lean as possible.
That commitment is particularly significant in music that often leaves considerable space between its elements.
Rather than overwhelming listeners with elaborate arrangements, BLUMI frequently allows a single phrase, a restrained vocal gesture, or a moment of silence to carry emotional weight.
Her songs suggest that clarity isn’t necessarily achieved by saying more.
Sometimes it comes from knowing exactly what to leave unsaid.
When Silence Becomes Part of the Arrangement
Over the years, BLUMI has collaborated with an impressive range of musicians, including Bon Iver, Feist, The National, Mina Tindle, This Is The Kit, Thousand, and Bibi Club.
Those experiences have placed her within a musical world that values experimentation, intimacy, and the expressive possibilities of unconventional arrangements.
But one of the most distinctive aspects of her own work is her relationship with silence.
For BLUMI, silence isn’t simply the absence of sound.
It’s an active part of the composition.
“I like the abstractness silence brings to a groove,” she explains.
She values the ability to hear individual elements clearly, allowing arrangements to breathe rather than constantly filling every available space.
The same philosophy extends to her vocal delivery.
She pays close attention to how words are articulated and how their emotional resonance continues after the sound itself has disappeared.
“I like articulating my lyrics in a specific way that, to me, makes the silence ring in the aftermath.”
It’s a striking description of musical restraint.
A phrase doesn’t necessarily end when the singer stops singing.
Its meaning can continue unfolding in the space that follows.
And for an artist whose work is concerned with memory and hindsight, that relationship between sound and absence feels especially appropriate.
Sometimes what remains after something ends is as important as the thing itself.
The Strength of a Fragile Voice
BLUMI’s voice is often described through its fragility.
Slightly veiled, intimate, and capable of moving between restraint and emotional intensity, it recalls the expressive vulnerability associated with artists such as Beth Gibbons, Rozi Plain, and Adrianne Lenker.
But for Broughton, that quality isn’t simply an aesthetic choice.
It has a physical dimension.
She was born with a small nodule on one of her vocal cords, a condition that has affected her relationship with singing throughout her life.
Without careful technique, her vocal cords may not close properly, potentially causing fatigue and hoarseness.
The experience has required years of attention, practice, and adaptation.
It has also shaped her understanding of what her voice can do.
There are limitations she finds frustrating, particularly when she wants to project more powerfully.
But the same physical sensitivity has contributed to her ability to communicate vulnerability.
“I’ve lived with this fragility all of my singing life,” she explains.
Rather than pretending those limitations don’t exist, she’s learned to understand them as part of her musical identity.
There is something especially compelling about that relationship between the body and artistic expression.
The fragility listeners hear isn’t necessarily something being performed.
It’s something Broughton experiences physically.
And when she sings about uncertainty, emotional exposure, or the difficulty of accepting loss, that vulnerability becomes inseparable from the sound itself.
A Debut Album That Refuses to Stay in One Place
“Such Reverence” arrives ahead of BLUMI’s forthcoming debut album, expected in early 2027.
But listeners shouldn’t assume that the single represents one fixed sonic direction.
In fact, Broughton is increasingly interested in resisting the pressure to make every aspect of her artistic identity feel perfectly consistent.
She points to the contrast between “Such Reverence” and her earlier single “Jaguar” as an example.
The two songs approach production differently.
And she’s learning to embrace that difference rather than treat it as a problem.
“I often feel a pressure to be coherent, in my music, my production, and my visuals,” she explains.
As she gains experience, however, she’s becoming more comfortable accepting the parts of herself that don’t necessarily fit into a single recognizable aesthetic.
One of those qualities is volatility.
A tendency toward change that she once felt somewhat ashamed of.
Now, she’s beginning to see it as something worth celebrating.
There’s even a song on the forthcoming album called “Volatile.”
The record, she suggests, will reflect the different emotional and musical landscapes that exist within her.
Rather than constructing a perfectly uniform artistic persona, she’s allowing the project to accommodate contradiction.
It’s another expression of the same philosophy that shaped the recording of “Such Reverence.”
Letting go of the idea that everything needs to be controlled.
And trusting that the most authentic version of the work may be the one that allows room for unpredictability.
In Conversation With BLUMI
MUNDANE: It took years for you to find the path into the story behind “Such Reverence.” How does the process of sitting with a memory for so long change the way you eventually write about it, compared to a song that arrives more impulsively?
BLUMI: It’s quite rare for me to write a song impulsively. I don’t like immediately translating something I’ve experienced into a song. I feel like I’m evacuating the feeling too quickly, before having had the time to fully live it.
My songs tend to be lessons to myself, reminders. I like them to have some sort of “dénouement,” and this can only happen with some distance.
The impulse is the emotion. I have a strong emotion that needs to be released. I’ll pick up an instrument—a guitar, sit at the piano, or just hum to myself—and start slowly drawing the emotion out.
Chords will appear, as will words, in a very spontaneous way, and that’s when I’ll realise: “Ah. This is the story that wants to be told.”
It means I’m ready to address the issue.
MUNDANE: “We don’t always love how we’re meant to” serves as the core of the track. How did landing on that specific realisation change the way you looked back at the relationship you’re writing about?
BLUMI: Oh, it really, really helped. There was a great release of tension and pain when I landed on that idea and that sentence.
As I said before, I write songs to make sense of what happens to me. They encapsulate an event in a way that is intelligible to me, and that brings me a lot of relief.
When I came up with the idea “we don’t always love how we’re meant to”—we love, but it doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s good for us—it unknotted something in me.
It gave me a narrative to make sense, if only partially, of the very difficult breakup I had just gone through.
MUNDANE: You mentioned that keeping the “immediacy” and the “rough edges” of the first take was more important than technical perfection. When you’re in the studio, how do you know when a performance is “finished”—is it when the sound is right, or when you feel the emotion is properly captured?
BLUMI: It’s exactly that: it’s when I feel the emotion is properly captured.
It’s my guide. I’ve really realised it, and owned it, for this album.
My responsibility, when I write a song and when we produce it collectively, is to make sure the original emotion is properly captured.
It is my one great job.
MUNDANE: There’s a beautiful sense of intimacy in the recording, with the sounds of birds in the garden bleeding into the track. Did the presence of those outside noises shift the atmosphere of the recording session, or help you feel more comfortable in the performance?
BLUMI: When I recorded the vocals that ended up being the final vocals, I thought we were just rehearsing, so I never thought the enthusiastic birds would be part of the final version.
I didn’t really pay attention to it. But when it became clear that we were going to keep this very rough first take, I had to ask myself what I thought of all this outside space coming into the song.
I tend to be, by nature, quite control-freaky about my songs. One of my paths in life is definitely to move away from this tendency, towards more openness and flexibility.
So when these things happen, when life simply happens, I tend to welcome it gratefully.
I’m grateful that life helps me let go, and gives me these reminders regularly.
MUNDANE: You moved from a career in political sociology into music. Do you find that your background in research and social structures informs the way you analyse your own life or relationships when you’re writing lyrics?
BLUMI: That’s a tough one to answer.
I feel like my desire to pursue sociological research and my desire to write songs come from the common source of needing to make sense of the world, with as much precision as possible.
One thing I learned and hopefully have kept from that past life, which I very much cherish, is a discipline: while writing, to try to write as close to my thoughts and emotions as possible.
To be as precise, and as lean, as possible.
MUNDANE: “Such Reverence” feels like a bridge to your debut album. How does this single set the tone for the wider emotional or sonic world we can expect from the record?
BLUMI: “Such Reverence” is quite a departure from the production of “Jaguar,” the first single. I like that.
I often feel a pressure to be coherent, in my music, my production, and my visuals.
As I gain more experience as an artist, it becomes easier to let go of the model I feel, for some reason, I should be following.
I find it very freeing to finally accept certain things in me I’ve always been slightly ashamed of—here, my volatility.
There is a song on the album called “Volatile,” actually.
The record represents this variability in me, so you can expect quite a few different landscapes. 🙂
MUNDANE: You have an impressive list of collaborators, from Feist to The National. How have those experiences influenced the way you balance silence and arrangement in your own compositions?
BLUMI: I have been very fortunate to meet amazing musicians along the way. I am so grateful for that! I have very generous friends.
I don’t know how these collaborations influenced this particular aspect of my music, but it is very true that silence plays a very strong role in my music, and always has.
I like the abstractness silence brings to a groove. I like being able to hear each part of the production very clearly.
I like articulating my lyrics in a specific way that, to me, makes the silence ring in the aftermath.
I don’t know where this comes from! I have no explanation.
It is just something that makes me vibrate in a very enjoyable way. 🙂
MUNDANE: You describe your voice as having “controlled fragility.” How do you cultivate that particular vocal quality, and does it come naturally when you’re dealing with more vulnerable material?
BLUMI: I have a fragile voice to begin with.
I was born with a small nodule on one of my vocal cords, which means that if I’m not careful, or don’t use good technique, my vocal cords don’t close properly.
This in turn can cause fatigue and hoarseness.
I’ve lived with this fragility all of my singing life. I’ve worked on it a lot, interrogated it a lot, and learned about it a lot.
It’s part of my identity as a musician, with cool aspects and very annoying ones.
It can be harder for me to “belt,” to project my voice powerfully, which really frustrates me sometimes.
But feeling this fragility very keenly in my body means expressing vulnerable material comes quite easily to me.
I can relate to vulnerability easily.
MUNDANE: As you head into this autumn tour, how does the process of bringing these deeply personal songs to a live stage, where they are exposed to an audience, transform your relationship to them?
BLUMI: Well, I guess we’ll see. 🙂
But I’m definitely apprehensive about that aspect of things, particularly because I’m going to be playing in the UK for the first time, and so will be playing for an audience that completely understands my lyrics.
That is very scary to me.
It feels very, very vulnerable.
Let’s touch base after the tour to see how my relationship with my songs has evolved. 🙂
MUNDANE: If “Such Reverence” is the listener’s first introduction to your upcoming debut, what do you hope they take away about your perspective on personal accountability?
BLUMI: That’s a big one. 🙂
What I can say is that I try to be as precise, concise, and “fair” in my writing as possible.
I try to convey my thoughts and emotions as directly as I can.
Maybe that is being accountable, to myself and to the people who listen.
And maybe it helps them do the same with their own internal conversations.
And maybe that feels nice to them.
Hopefully!
The Freedom of Not Getting Everything Right
There’s something particularly moving about the fact that “Such Reverence” took years to understand but only moments to capture.
The song emerged from a long process of emotional reflection.
Yet its definitive performance arrived before anyone in the studio realized they were recording it.
That contradiction seems to summarize much of what BLUMI is learning about herself.
She’s an artist who values precision, but she’s discovering the importance of unpredictability.
A songwriter who seeks understanding, but recognizes that not every experience can be explained completely.
A musician whose voice carries physical fragility, but who has learned to transform that vulnerability into a distinctive expressive language.
And perhaps most importantly, a person learning that personal accountability doesn’t necessarily require finding someone to blame.
Sometimes it simply means being willing to reconsider the story you’ve been telling yourself.
“We don’t always love how we’re meant to.”
It’s a deceptively modest statement.
But within it lies an understanding that love and good intentions aren’t always enough.
We can care deeply for someone and still hurt them.
We can believe we’re doing the right thing and still misunderstand what another person needs.
And we can spend years searching for explanations before realizing that the most important question isn’t necessarily what someone else did to us.
It’s what we’re finally ready to understand about ourselves.
For BLUMI, that realization didn’t produce a perfectly polished recording.
It produced something more revealing.
A voice that wasn’t fully warmed up.
A band playing together in a room.
The sounds of birds outside.
And a moment of emotional clarity that no amount of technical refinement could necessarily improve.
Perhaps that’s the most important lesson behind “Such Reverence.”
Sometimes the closest we come to understanding ourselves is when we finally stop trying to make everything perfect.
“Such Reverence” — Release Details
Artist: BLUMI (Emma Broughton)
Single: “Such Reverence”
Release date: October 6, 2026
Label: Capitane Records
Debut album: Expected early 2027
Upcoming UK and European Shows
BLUMI continues her autumn tour with a series of performances alongside Syd Matters:
- November 14 — London, UK — The Garage
- November 17 — Paris, France — L’Olympia
- November 19 — Geneva, Switzerland — Le Rez-Usine
- December 3 — Esch-sur-Alzette, Luxembourg — Kulturfabrik
- December 4 — Brussels, Belgium — Botanique
- December 5 — Liège, Belgium — Reflektor
Listen: “Such Reverence” on Spotify
Watch: Official video
Follow: BLUMI on Instagram
