A light interlude

In the silent rooms of a museum, while the world outside rushes by unaware, there are corners that seem to hold their breath.

Like this one: a tall window, its glass divided into regular squares, overlooking a fragment of the city. Light filters through the panes, drawing ephemeral geometries on the floor, shifting slightly at the touch of the breeze.

[photo dated 2025-04-25]

The solitary chair, placed against the wall, awaits no one. It stands as a quiet reminder that it is still possible to pause.

To sit, to observe, to listen to the sound of silence reverberating against ancient walls.

In that suspended moment, even the city beyond the glass seems to slow down, becoming at once more blurred and more present.

Almost by chance, just as it happened to Ben Watt one night in 1987, while lost in the English countryside.

Through an old radio, he happened to catch a recording of Enrico Caruso — a voice from another time, fragile and distant, that transformed everything around him: the darkness, the silence, even the perception of time itself.

From that unexpected encounter was born one of Everything But The Girl’s most intimate and precious songs: “The Night I Heard Caruso Sing”, released the following year on their album Idlewild.

Built on a minimal weave of light acoustic guitars and discreet bass, without digital effects, the song embraces a natural reverb that heightens its delicate atmosphere. Ben Watt’s voice moves forward gently, almost hesitantly, until Tracey Thorn’s soft echo enters near the end, adding even more tenderness.

“Idlewild” — named after the old name of New York’s JFK Airport — is an album woven from stories of departures and returns, of quiet and deep nostalgia. 

And in this song, perhaps more than any other, Everything But The Girl captures the enchantment of small everyday miracles: a voice crossing the darkness, a beam of light resting upon the dust of time.

That morning, while silence and light chased each other across the ancient floors, it was this very song that kept me company.

“The Night I Heard Caruso Sing”, as light as a breath, capable of making even the briefest moment feel eternal.

(National Archaeological Museum of Parma, April 2025)