The Art of Interludes

Written by Anh Nguyen | Designed by Sofia Marin | Photographed by Samantha Grobman

How artists use musical “breaks” for conversations with listeners

Interludes originated as a transitional moment for audiences to take a break in between acts of a play. Today, they are used in music as an opportunity to guide listeners to recalibrate and refocus their ears. It asks listeners to reflect on what they’ve heard so far, and creates momentum for what is ahead.

These “in-between” moments complete albums as musical projects by creating a narrative where we wouldn’t expect one.

Yet, accessibility in the digital age has changed the way we experience music. Evidently, interludes are hardly ever the most streamed tracks in an album. Because of that, we sometimes overlook a major component of the music listening experience—an artist’s intentions.

In 2017, Frank Ocean released arguably his most important work to date—Blonde. As it is his first independently released album, Blonde is a project full of intention.

The concept for it was inspired by an image Frank Ocean saw of a girl sitting in the front seat of a car, according to a text he rewrote in the opening spread of his Boys Don’t Cry magazine. He imagined himself as the girl, with the album playing out like a trip in this car. Adjusting to the seatbelt, he feels a sense of freedom within containment. Settling into comfort while moving at high speeds, he confronts his most vulnerable and even childlike moods.

Blonde experiments with silences through less-streamed interludes that serve as quieter moments, but also through more well-known tracks like “Nights,” where climax builds and perfectly splits the album down the middle.

The nonlinear narrative told throughout the album is reflective of the nature of memories—how they dissolve and reassemble, but ultimately remain a large part of what inwardly defines us. It also leaves room for interpretation on the meanings of love, longing, and loss.

It is precisely the choices made through Blonde’s interludes that reveal Frank

Ocean’s thoughtfulness. He includes familiar voices like André 3000 on “Solo (Reprise)” and unfamiliar, but somehow personal, voices like his friend’s mom on “Be Yourself.” The voices he chose to include informs his own voice, because listeners are left to question what ways these figures have influenced him.

The final interlude, “Futura Free,” is the most important. The track builds around a skit that captures the playfulness of youth and nostalgic memories. It features the voice of his brother, Ryan Breaux, who passed away in a tragic car crash in 2020. Being the last track, it bridges the gap between more romantic musings in the first half of the album and the more introspective feelings in the latter half. Perhaps it could more fittingly be considered an outro—however, it is a flawless interlude in the sense that it doesn’t bring the album to a halt. Instead we can feel the artist depart but we are left to continue on the ride.

“How far is a light year?” the ending asks, leaving us to ponder: how far have we come, how far will we go?