“In the thick of it, the year that was 2020 brought the whole world to a standstill.”

Like many of my fellow creatives, I stepped away from being musically engaged. Spending time relaxing with my wife and kids became a daily thing. I recognize that for a great number of people, isolation was difficult. Somehow, for us, it was the complete opposite.

We were truly blessed with a gentle space, away from the noise.

We had everything we needed, and we truly enjoyed not having to go anywhere. For the first time in a long time, life slowed down enough to let us really see each other. It was a gift — a rare chance to understand each other's rhythms, the small daily rituals, the quiet joys, and the tensions too. We’d probably have missed it all, had life not paused so completely. It was amazing. Not always easy, but amazing.

In that stillness, music became more than just a background presence — it was a thread, something grounding. And towards the end of that long stretch of isolation, I found myself on a Zoom call with my friend Chin Injeti. We were catching up, talking music as we always do, and he mentioned how much he loved Sade. There was something in the way he said it — reverent, almost meditative — that struck a chord.

“Why don’t you sing some Sade songs?” he suggested, as casually as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Something about that idea stayed with me. Sade’s music has this timeless calm, a sensual restraint that never needs to shout. Her voice — steady, sultry, and wise — felt like the perfect emotional companion for the season we were in. It made sense to reach toward something so graceful, so steadying, when everything else had been so uncertain.

What started as a simple tribute turned into something more personal. Covering those songs gave me a new way to inhabit the emotions — to reinterpret them not just vocally, but through my own lived experiences. I wasn’t trying to imitate her, only to honour the space she creates — a space where love is steady, sovereign, and deeply felt.