It took Camille 15 years to make her new album. The Sound of Milk is a triple record, each part documenting a distinct stage of the French musician’s experience raising two kids with composer Clément Ducol: Naissance is from 2015, Enfance 2020 and Adolescence 2025. She could have put each one out when it was complete, she says, but realised she wasn’t ready. Her son and daughter, now teenagers, “were too little, and I would have felt too exposed to talk about it because it’s about beauty, joy, it’s very deep,” says Camille, calling from her home in the French countryside. “I needed to be able to step back and look at the journey. I needed to feel grounded enough to release it in a world that does not respect children and mothers.”
On the surface, much of Camille’s sixth album may sound very sweet. Naissance features no real instruments – it’s essentially a field recording of raising babies, all gurgles and found sound. Known for her vocal experimentation – beatboxing, raspberries – Camille saw it as a manifesto freeing singing from how disembodied it can be in pop. “As a woman, music is about a way of living,” she says. “It’s about breathing, being with my kids, singing along with what’s going on around me in an open world.” She calls Enfance a “pocket musical”: similarly atmospheric, it’s full of the kinds of ditties parents make up when they’re teaching kids about stairs and the washing machine – raising everyday maternal expressions up as art, I suggest. “I like what you’re saying,” she says. “All families are pieces of art. We create our values, our worlds, a way of talking to each other.”
