A powerful single arrives 10 October
A few piano notes, a rasp of breath, and suddenly a phrase that grips the chest: that is how Absence Maman opens, instantly setting the tone of a heartfelt single that singer-songwriter Varan de Komodo will unveil to the public on 10 October.
Published simultaneously on YouTube, Boomplay, Deezer and every major legal download outlet, the track positions the 23-year-old artist within a global audience while remaining rooted in Congo-Brazzaville’s urban soundscape, an equation he calls “local soul, worldwide ears” in his latest studio note.
From Moungali to the mic
Born in the Moungali arrondissement of Brazzaville, Varan—real name Delvin Samba—grew up between long silences at home and the effervescence of street football outside; the contrast, he says, forged a taste for melodies that speak softly yet carry far.
Unable to afford formal music school, he filled battered notebooks with verses, recorded demos on borrowed phones and posted raw snippets to Facebook groups; the algorithm eventually rewarded persistence, helping one freestyle reach fifty thousand plays last year and catching the eye of indie label 242Music.
Stripped-down visuals amplify emotion
For Absence Maman, the cover art drops every colour except a flash of orange on the title; the monochrome portrait shows the singer seated, eyes closed, palms linked as if holding an invisible memory, a visual whisper that mirrors the song’s confessional mood.
Graphic designer Yann Tchicaya explains that the stark palette reflects the dialectic between emptiness and hope, a decision reached after late-night conversations where Varan revisited childhood moments “when the house felt large but her chair felt larger,” an image distilled directly into the artwork’s negative space.
Digital-first launch strategy
Musically, producer Prince Alino lays a sparse carpet of minor-key guitar, a distant Mbongui drum loop and discreet synth pads, leaving room for the vocal to breathe; the arrangement, mastered in Pointe-Noire, clocks in at three minutes twenty-seven seconds, a radio-friendly format by design.
Behind the scenes, the team has scheduled short vertical videos on TikTok and Instagram Reels, each teasing a single lyric line; influencers such as Koba Son of the City have already pledged duets, while a lyric-writing challenge invites followers to post their own verse on abandonment.
Turning pain into song
At the heart of the composition lies a simple question—how does a child learn to grow without a mother’s daily gaze?—voiced through layering harmonies that rise like unanswered prayers, turning personal wound into collective anthem without resorting to anger or reproach.
Sociologist Danielle Mabiala, who studies family structures in Central Africa, notes that songs on parental absence often resonate because many urban youths are raised by relatives while parents migrate for work; she salutes Varan’s refusal to “name the culprit,” choosing instead to underline resilience.
Buzz inside the local scene
Inside Brazzaville’s buzzing studios, fellow artists already credit the single with raising the bar; rapper Mika M invites his followers to “bring tissues the first time you press play,” while veteran crooner Rufin Tchissola praises the production’s uncluttered elegance after attending a closed pre-listening session.
The enthusiasm comes at a lively moment for Congolese pop, with talents like Innoss’B across the river and local star Pamelo Moko’s recent EP fueling a sense that regional stories can meet international charts, provided they keep authenticity front and centre, critics argue.
Next steps for the young artist
Asked about next steps, Varan mentions an acoustic session for national television Télé Congo and a possible mini-tour of schools, hoping the song sparks open dialogues in classrooms; he is also finishing an EP, tentatively entitled Sons of Silence, slated for early 2024.
He remains unsigned to a major company, yet views the streaming era as a chance rather than a hurdle, pointing to Nigerian and Ghanaian success stories that began in small bedrooms; “the microphone is cheaper than chains of regrets,” he quips during a phone interview.
How to listen and support
Fans eager to join the conversation can pre-save the track on Spotify, subscribe to the artist’s YouTube channel for the premiere reminder, or visit local record stores like King Music in Poto-Poto, where limited edition lyric postcards will be distributed the release day.
Whether you discover Absence Maman strolling through TikTok feeds or through midnight headphones, the song arrives as an intimate letter sealed with vulnerability; in giving shape to the unsaid, Varan de Komodo adds a soulful page to Congo-Brazzaville’s rich musical notebook.
Music with social impact
In partnership with the NGO Éclats d’Enfance, the launch day will also feature a small charity sale of branded T-shirts, the profits directed toward counselling workshops for orphans in Brazzaville’s Talangaï district, aligning promotion with tangible social impact rather than pure visibility.
Local psychologist Aimé Zanza applauds the initiative, observing that art often opens doors where formal discourse fails; he believes songs like Absence Maman can act as “emotional translators,” allowing young listeners to name grief and, in doing so, begin constructive dialogues at home.
