Mythodea Movement No. 9: A Studio Memory From the Height of COVID

There are certain recordings that mark time in a way nothing else can. You remember where you were, what the world felt like, and who you were becoming while the music was taking shape.

For me, Mythodea: Movement No. 9 was one of those moments.

The piece was written by Vangelis, a composer whose work has always lived somewhere between the celestial and the cinematic. Mythodea itself exists in a world that feels suspended, almost timeless. It is expansive, emotional, and strangely intimate at the same time.

When I released my recording, it became my third studio single, and it arrived during the height of COVID. The world was quiet, uncertain, and disconnected, which somehow made the piece feel even more necessary. Recording it during that period felt less like producing a track and more like entering a space that already existed, waiting to be inhabited.

Originally, Mythodea: Movement No. 9 was performed by two extraordinary voices, Jessye Norman and Kathleen Battle. To follow in the footsteps of artists of that caliber was both humbling and deeply gratifying. These are voices that shaped generations. Being able to contribute my own interpretation to that lineage was not something I took lightly.

To this day, my recording remains the only other version available on Spotify.

What made this piece especially unique for me was the text, or rather, the absence of traditional text. The vocal line is not built on conventional lyrics. Instead, it relies on Greek phonetics, sounds designed more for resonance and emotion than for literal meaning.

There was no score I could reference for the words. No lyric sheet. Nothing to read and interpret in the usual way.

So I did the only thing I could do. I listened.

Over and over again.

I broke the piece down phonetically, carefully isolating each sound, each vowel shape, each subtle consonant. I reverse engineered the vocal line until the phonology began to reveal itself. From there, I created my own phonological rendition, one that honored the original structure while allowing space for my own voice to live inside it.

It was meticulous work, but it was also deeply immersive. Without literal language to anchor the meaning, everything depended on tone, breath, placement, and emotional intention. The result felt ethereal, almost otherworldly, as if the voice itself became another instrument moving through the music.

Creating my own harmonies within the piece was one of the most rewarding parts of the process. It allowed me to explore the architecture of the music from the inside, layering sound in a way that felt both reverent and personal. Even though the phonetics were Greek, the experience felt like a coming together of worlds. Classical voice, modern recording, ancient sound, and contemporary interpretation all existing in the same space.

In a time when the world felt fragmented, Mythodea gave me a sense of unity. It reminded me why I sing in the first place. Not just to perform, but to translate emotion into sound, even when words are no longer sufficient.

Looking back, that recording holds a special place in my body of work. It represents trust in intuition, patience with process, and the willingness to sit with something until it reveals itself fully.

Some pieces change you quietly. This was one of them.