Who has the right to closure?
Closure promises finality, yet what it delivers is only the semblance of an ending, a mirage that dissolves into the irreducible openness of life and art. Skander Jaïbi’s debut, “Who has the right to closure?”, inhabits that frontier, refusing neat resolutions and instead inviting listeners to linger in uncertainty. “Closure is hard to define,” Jaïbi notes, “both intensely personal and broadly universal. With this album, I deliberately didn’t want to close anything off. It remains open, perhaps even looping back on itself.” The music enacts this refusal: soundscapes that are at once desolate and drifting, harmonies of cathedral gravity, passages that open up intimate yet monumental spaces, meditative yet vertiginous. Meaning is never imposed but suggested, taking shape only through the listener’s engagement, unfolding as a kind of sonic fiction — narrative without plot, significance accrued by reflection rather than statement. This openness reflects Jaïbi’s broader philosophy as curator of Uncloud Editions, the label born from the Uncloud Festival, where patience and risk-taking are treated as necessities, not luxuries. “Who has the right to closure?” is one fruit of that ethos, but not the last: forthcoming works by Oliv Oliv and Near Stoic will extend the constellation. Later this year, Jaïbi will bring the album to Le Guess Who? festival, testing its openness in the charged encounter of the stage, where sound, space, and body converge in a living process of resonance without resolution.
The album title “Who has the right to closure?” is striking. Do you see closure — in music or in life — as something to resist, or something that should remain open?
Skander: That’s an interesting question. Closure is hard to define — it feels both intensely personal and broadly universal. I’m not even sure it’s fully attainable. With this album, I deliberately didn’t want to close anything off. It remains open, perhaps even looping back on itself. Some listeners have told me it keeps unfolding again, which I like — that sense of perpetual motion or incompleteness.
The music blends what I’d call isolationist soundscaping with cathedral-like, almost choral harmonies. Do you think of these elements as existing in a kind of “superposition”? And given your background as a quantum physics lecturer, is your vision of music and art multi-modal — perhaps extending into literature or philosophy?
Skander: With our label, Uncloud Edition, we definitely aim to stretch music beyond its immediate form. For my album, though, it happened more intuitively. Composing for dance — which is where these pieces began — is inherently collaborative. Your choices serve another medium. When I adapted the work for the studio, that openness remained. My collaboration with painter Hans Schultenbeld was similar. I simply sent him the music, and he responded with his paintings — no instructions. That felt natural. Physics and philosophy shape my interests, but I don’t consciously try to “translate” physics into sound. Different threads of life leave their mark without me forcing them.
Some listeners might wonder if you want them to hear concepts like superposition or entanglement in your music.
Skander: Not intentionally. This album is more emotional and aesthetic than conceptual in that sense. That said, some sounds may feel familiar yet strange, “homey” but uncanny — you could call that a kind of superposition. I prefer leaving those associations open to the listener rather than imposing them.
You began with a festival and later expanded into a label. Could you share a bit more about that evolution?
Skander: We still run the festival; the label came alongside it. The festival introduces audiences to new ideas, but the label allows us to nurture projects after the festival ends. It gives artists room to develop works that might otherwise fade too quickly. It also encourages risk-taking — people feel they can experiment without the immediate pressures of live performance.
On a more philosophical note, do you see your listeners as active participants in the music, or should they appreciate it as a finished object?
Skander: I don’t believe in “passive” listening. Everyone engages differently: some enjoy, some resist, some connect it to personal memories. For this album, I left deliberate space — bare passages, no track titles beyond “I–VIII” — so listeners can project their own associations. Some hear religion, others illness or loss. Those interpretations can’t be predetermined. It’s similar to quantum mechanics: multiple interpretations can coexist. Sometimes it’s best not to choose, but to let possibilities remain open.
That touches on something I call “sonic fiction” — sound as storytelling, creating chapters or entire narratives. Your album, paired with Hans’s paintings, seems to do exactly that. Would you say that narrative structure was deliberate, or did it emerge naturally?
Skander: It emerged naturally. I never set out to “tell a story” in the conventional sense. The album’s unfolding feels episodic rather than linear. Collaborating with visual artists reinforces that, because each painting responds to a moment in the music and adds its own narrative possibilities. You could say the listener becomes part of that story — moving through sound and image in their own way.
Some of the textures feel almost cinematic. Were you thinking in visual terms while composing?
Skander: Partially, yes. Music for dance always has a spatial dimension, so I’m attuned to movement and projection. But I also aim for ambiguity — I want sounds to evoke rather than dictate. Even cinematic qualities are more about emotion and atmosphere than literal imagery.
Your label supports other artists as well. Do you see Uncloud Edition as a collective philosophy or more as a practical platform?
Skander: Both. Philosophically, we share a belief in patience, openness, and the value of ambiguity. Practically, it’s a platform to sustain projects that need time and care. Many experimental works fade because they lack a supportive context. The label offers that — a slow, attentive cultivation rather than instant consumption.
For aspiring sound artists, what would you say is the most important lesson in navigating emotion, philosophy, and experimentation?
Skander: Stay open to collaboration, chance, and intuition. Study the work of others, but leave room for your instincts. Some artists I admire, like Carmen Villain, also compose for dance, blending disciplines fluidly. Every artist finds their own path, and that’s where discovery happens. Risk, patience, and attentiveness are essential.
Looking forward, do you see your music expanding into other forms — perhaps installations, immersive experiences, or cross-disciplinary projects?
Skander: Absolutely. I’m interested in environments where music interacts with space, light, and movement. Installations or immersive work naturally extend the logic of the album; openness, collaboration, and participatory engagement. The studio album remains central, but I see it as part of a larger ecosystem of experience.