The production glitters where you'd expect it to bruise. Electro-pop synths arrive bright and confident, laced with an R&B undertow that keeps the track's hips moving even as its lyrics settle old scores. This is the trick of the record, and it's a considerable one: Gabarit understands that the most devastating goodbyes are rarely whispered. Sometimes they're danced.

Vocally, he's a peculiar and welcome hybrid — part crooner, part rapper, part soul shouter who's wandered in from a different decade entirely and made himself at home. His delivery on "Adieu Morris" carries the loose, conversational swagger of hip-hop phrasing but keeps landing on melodies that wouldn't embarrass a classic pop chorus. It's the sound of someone refusing to pick a lane because he's busy building his own motorway. Call it French Pop if you like, though the term feels almost too polite for what's happening underneath: rock's grit, soul's ache, rap's cadence, all folded into something that never once sounds like a compromise.

The video matches the song's nerve. Rather than illustrating heartbreak with the usual rain-streaked windows and mascara-tracked cheeks, it leans into colour and motion, treating departure as liberation rather than defeat. Gabarit moves through his own farewell like a man walking out of a burning building and deciding, halfway down the street, that he rather likes the view. There's a boldness to that choice that plenty of far bigger budgets fail to muster: the confidence to let grief look good.

Working alongside a producer whose credits include a full De La Soul record lends the track a transatlantic backbone without sanding off its distinctly Parisian character. You can hear the hip-hop lineage in the low end, the pocket, the way the beat breathes — but the melodic instincts, the sense of drama, the willingness to be a little theatrical, feel unmistakably his own. Few young songwriters manage to sound simultaneously indebted and entirely themselves. Gabarit pulls it off with room to spare.

What lingers after the track ends isn't sadness but appetite — the sense of an artist who has found his frequency and intends to broadcast on it loudly. "Adieu Morris" plays like the opening statement of someone unwilling to be filed under any single genre heading, someone building, song by song, toward a sound nobody else currently owns. It's a farewell that doesn't ask for sympathy. It asks you to dance while the door swings shut, and then, cheekily, to wonder who Morris even was.

Consider this an release worth paying attention to. Whatever Gabarit calls his next chapter, this one's already got its own accent.