There’s something quietly disarming about the way Lulu Leloup speaks about March. What initially presents as a collection of elegant, jazz-leaning compositions gradually reveals itself to be something far more intimate: a document of emotional survival. Rooted in love, heartbreak, and the fragile process of self-recovery, the EP unfolds like a diary set to music—each track capturing a moment where vulnerability outweighs restraint.
In this conversation, Leloup reflects on how deeply personal experiences shaped every lyric, why nostalgia naturally threads through her sound, and how performing live continues to reshape her relationship with these songs. She opens up about the unexpected humor that emerged from heartbreak, the collaborative spirit behind the record, and the delicate balance between simplicity and emotional depth in her vocal delivery.
At its core, March isn’t just about loss—it’s about returning to yourself after it.
- How would you describe the overarching theme or story of March in your own words?
I describe March as a collection of stories about love, heartbreak, and the things we almost leave behind. Every song comes from an experience that made me ache and, at times, lose sight of who I was. In many ways, these songs describe my journey of finding my way back to myself.
- Several tracks seem autobiographical. How much of the EP is drawn directly from personal experience versus creative interpretation?
All of it is drawn from personal experience—every song, every lyric. You’re essentially getting a glimpse into my diary.
- What role does nostalgia play in your music, and how do you balance it with contemporary emotions?
I suppose when you’re a jazz musician, nostalgia inevitably becomes part of the fabric of what you create. In my case, because I’m drawn to more traditional forms of jazz, that sense of nostalgia is especially present.
But lyrically, I’m telling stories from my own lived experiences, so while the music might transport you elsewhere, I guess the lyrics keep you grounded in the present. I think that’s where that balance primarily comes from.
- How has performing live influenced the way you approach recording and arranging tracks for March?
All of the music was recorded with the band playing together—almost like a live show, just with the luxury of a few takes. There’s a certain magic in a shared space like that; you get a give and take between musicians that you can’t really replicate otherwise.
Performing live also allows the songs to keep evolving. You start to reimagine arrangements, try new things, discover different emotions within the same piece. I’ve released live versions of some of the EP tracks that feel quite different from the originals. That’s one of the best things about music—there are endless ways to approach a song.
- Can you discuss the lyrical choices in tracks like (If you’re gonna break my heart, would you do it after) March? What inspired that wry perspective?
Funny enough, with March, the ‘wry’ came with time – case in point on what I was just mentioning. I wrote it in tears, initially thinking I was writing a desperate heartbreak song.
It was actually my director, Kristian Abouanni, who first pointed out the sarcasm in the lyrics, which I found quite amusing because that wasn’t intended. But once I saw it, I realized I’d subconsciously sprinkled that tone across a lot of my writing. As for what inspired it though… that might be a question for a therapist.
- In terms of production, how collaborative was the process? Did you work closely with producers or handle much of it yourself?
I worked with a producer who did the recording, mixing and mastering. I was there throughout, sharing input and preferences, but he really deserves most of the credit on that front. Of course, having exceptional musicians to work with made a huge difference as well.
On the visual production side, I have an amazing team, including Kristian, who develops concepts for my videos and is someone I’ve come to bounce a lot of ideas off. I didn’t always have collaborators like that, but I’m very grateful that I do now. It makes such a difference—not just to the final work, but to the whole creative process.
- What were some of the most challenging tracks to write or record on this EP, and why?
Funny enough, I think the most challenging songs were also the easiest.
When I wrote March, for example, I was still very overwhelmed with emotion. Writing was therapeutic, but the hurt was very raw. At the same time, I think that allowed me to be completely transparent and honest—‘cause at that point, pride is lost, you feel like it can’t get worse, so there’s really nothing to hold back. In that context, the song spilled out quite quickly and naturally.
- Your voice has been praised for its warmth and nuance. How do you approach vocal delivery to convey complex emotion?
I think my approach to singing is relatively simple. I tend to gravitate toward a more stripped-back sound, less over more. I’m mostly focused on telling the story above anything else, and of course they’re my stories, so they’re told very genuinely. I think that’s probably where that warmth and nuance comes from—a blend of simplicity and authenticity.
- Are there recurring motifs or themes in March that connect the songs together subtly for listeners?
There’s definitely a thread running through the EP—four of the five songs are about the same relationship, just different phases of it. So there’s this quiet progression: the beginning, the unraveling, and eventually, a kind of release.
Greener is the only song that sits outside of that relationship, but it still belongs. It’s also about love and heartbreak—just directed at music instead. It was actually the first song I wrote for the EP after taking some time away from music. In many ways, it marks my return to something I’d almost lost.
- Looking back on the creation of March, what do you feel you’ve learned about yourself as an artist during this process?
I’ve learned that being my authentic self is more important than any skill or ability I once thought I needed to perfect before sharing my music.
I’ve learned to trust myself—and listeners—enough to allow myself to evolve, learn, and hopefully improve as I go. Don’t get me wrong, I’m like most artists; I’m my own worst critic. But through creating March, I’ve learned not to let that hold me back. And now that the EP is out, I’m grateful I didn’t.
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