Ven'nus: "I'll be the one who laughs really loudly, and maybe it'll even annoy you."

BarcelonaSinger-songwriter and producer Valèria Núñez Saurí (Sabadell, 2000), known artistically as Ven'nus, releases Never seen sad (Halley Records, 2026), fourteen songs that move between singer-songwriter pop, experimental indie, electronica, and hyper-folk. The album is also the project in which she has taken the most prominent role in the composition and production of the tracks, and in which, instead of constructing a persona, she questions it. Her songs speak of growing up, of leaving, of lives that can never be, and of breaking with the imposed narrative. A lucid look at the tension between how one is seen from the outside and how one lives from within. An album that has allowed her to reclaim her voice and control over a life that moves quickly. Ven'nus presents the album in concert on Friday, March 6th at La [2] del Apolo (8:30 pm).

A Go up, go up, The town appears as a safe, almost maternal place, a space to take refuge in. Did you need to start the album from that place of protection?

— I think so, because in some ways it's a rather luminous album, I'd even say hopeful, although, like life itself, some darker moments appear. It seemed like a beautiful way to start the album. To talk about a place where I've always heard this light, despite being far from home, a space where you can rediscover yourself and reconnect with your roots, or at least a part of them.

In I cease to exist without dying It feels like you're singing to yourself to remind yourself that sometimes you need to breathe. Is that right?

— It's good that you say that, because it really could have been interpreted as a romantic love song. But it's actually dedicated to all those people who bring you peace. It speaks of that moment when you cease to exist without dying; when the filter through which you feel you're being looked at disappears, and you're simply yourself, comfortable in that space. It's a song I dedicate to my friends and family, to the people I love most. Although I speak in the second person, "with you I cease to exist without dying," deep down I'm not addressing a specific person, but rather a moment when you feel that way, with that sense of calm and truth.

This album contains raw songs.

— Yes. I define them as darks.

In Down the hallwayFor example, you narrate how you live and manage a panic episode.

— I think I make music from a very honest and real place. People who know me know that panic attacks were a part of me. Deep down, I don't think it's that unusual, although when you experience it, it feels overwhelming. Now that I've learned to live with it, I put it into perspective more, but at the time I felt lost, as if I were the only one going through it. And faced with this new experience, writing was a refuge. I knew it was temporary, and I wrote the song right when I was coming out of it. aisleThat's why it makes me especially happy when someone tells me it's one of their favorite songs, even though it might be the darkest one on the album.

It is also an exercise that helps to verbalize an experience that many other people go through.

— Absolutely. For example, in the documentary Metamorphosis I saw an episode of Aitana's show where she talked about her panic attacks. And I thought it was very brave of her to share it. Although I get the feeling that this isn't always reflected in her songs; perhaps she leans more towards a lighter, more superficial pop sound and doesn't want to address such intimate topics. For me, it was wonderful to be able to take the step of sharing it through music and songs, with the same naturalness with which I talk about other things. To integrate it into my artistic narrative, not just leave it in an interview or a documentary I might be in.

You collaborate with Mar Pujol on I do nothing with the sea, A song that repeats the idea of ​​feeling like an imposter in life and the desire to go unnoticed. As an artist, do you feel constantly pressured to be interesting?

— Generally, as women, we face high expectations. As artists, there's an added layer of responsibility and pressure, which intensifies as the audience grows. It seems you're expected to teach a specific way to survive in this world. One day I decided to renounce that role and thought, "I'll never be a mysterious aunt, nor will I ever be a..." clean girl"I like to talk, to do oversharing and share every detail of my life. If on the first day I meet someone I have to be the girl who stays behind, making suggestive glances, we're in trouble. I'll be the one who laughs really loudly, and maybe it'll even annoy you. The song is about that renunciation: about giving up trying to fit into a femininity imposed for decades. About not wanting to symbolize that specific idea of ​​an "interesting woman" that we seem to be expected to represent. I think it's one of the songs that best reflects the concept of Never seen sadThe external gaze, how others see you, versus how you experience yourself internally. That parallel between the two perspectives.

Do you feel that you, Mushkaa, or Maria Hein are blazing a new trail within the Catalan music industry? Do you feel part of a generation of female artists who are redefining the current scene?

— I suppose so, but I think these figures already existed in other musical genres. We're simply a product of the cultural and social moment, of the influences we receive. It might seem like we do something very different, but in reality, we're part of a context of women who sing and carve out a place for themselves within the industry. New proposals will continue to emerge that will surprise us. I think there's still a long way to go and many people to discover. Stylistically, we're not all that similar either. We're different artists, and that's precisely what makes it interesting.

Why did you decide to end the album with a lullaby?

— I can't tell you. In fact, in the initial project it was called OutroI intended to create a simple album closer, almost like a waltz. To remove the autotune, try myself from a different perspective, and do a cappella. With My footprint I have been able to make a lullaby adapted to the 21st century, and I must confess that it is one of my favorite songs on the album.

As if it were a force that calls you to go home to sleep and that, on the other hand, closes with the idea that you propose to Go up, go up, TRUE?

— I think it's related to what you said: it's like coming home. It's a sense of closure. If I introduce myself at the beginning of the album, at the end it's as if I lower the volume and speak very closely, right into your ear. The first song already had that idea of ​​legacy: the thought that one day I might have a son or a daughter, or a nephew, or simply young people I love and who are there for me. I like to pass on these roots, so they know where I come from. And this lullaby represents that: something intimate, designed so that one day someone can understand where it all comes from.