Planeta Gayfolk

Holy Stillness: a lullaby for the child we still carry

Official single cover of «Holy Stillness» by Mike Sain't Louis, night scene with neon lettering

Cover: Mike Sain't Louis

There's a kind of care almost nobody receives as an adult: someone telling you it's fine to sleep now. That's what «Holy Stillness» is. A lullaby. Short, slow, no catchy chorus, no beat to dance to. Probably the stillest song I've ever made.

I'm Mike Sain't Louis, I write songs in Madrid, and this one closes in on the end of El día de la liberación, the third album of my GAYFOLK trilogy (track 93). Most of my catalogue is loud, camp and full of exes. This is the opposite.

The sacred without a church

The title speaks of holy stillness, and the lyric sounds a bit like a Christmas carol, with its soft night and its stars leaning down. I understand if someone hears it in a religious key, and that's fine with me. But for me the sacred here has nothing to do with any particular faith. The sacred is the moment the world breathes out. That instant when, after a lot of noise, everything finally stops.

You don't need to believe in anything to recognise it. You only need to have lived through a long stretch of anxiety and remember the first night you slept straight through. That has something miraculous about it, even if it isn't on any calendar.

I was also interested in darkness turning gentle. In many of my songs night is a threat, the place where your own head turns against you. Here it tucks you in. I like having both versions on the same planet, because both are true depending on the day.

Talking to the little one

The central line repeats: «Rest now, little one». When I wrote it I had in mind something people mention a lot in therapy, the inner child. I know the phrase can sound twee, but it describes something real: the part of us that learned to be on alert too early. That got used to reading the adults' mood, anticipating conflict, not making noise. That part doesn't retire on its own when you have birthdays. It stays on guard.

The lullaby is for that part. It says it can rest without fear. That what was broken fades slowly. That there's no need to cry or fight any more. They're very simple, almost childish things, and that's exactly why they work. You don't explain theory to a frightened child. You tell them it's over, that you're here.

Writing it made me realise how rarely we say these things to ourselves. We demand, we correct, we scold. When was the last time you spoke to yourself as softly as you'd speak to a baby?

Nothing is in a hurry

Near the end there's a line saying nothing is in a hurry and everything is fine. For me that's close to the whole point. So much of what wears us down is urgency, the feeling that everything has to be solved tonight. A lullaby doesn't solve anything. It slows things down until sleep is possible.

I write all my lyrics myself, without AI, and I direct my own music videos. If you listen to this one, do it with the lights low.