Before the Doom by Pablo Serrano isn’t just an album you listen to—it's one you feel. Deep in your chest, behind your ribs, in the parts of you that have ever felt disoriented, displaced, or determined to begin again. It’s an album made by a painter-turned-songwriter, a Mexico City native now living in Germany, who somehow manages to channel an entire migration of spirit into just a few, gorgeously crafted songs.
You can hear the roots of this journey in every moment. The title Before the Doom might suggest something heavy or apocalyptic, but the truth is, this album isn’t about destruction—it’s about what comes right before that. The clarity. The decision. The hope. This is music written at the edge of transformation. Think of it like the moment before the leap, the final breath before the tide turns.
The sound is intimate and poetic. Pablo isn’t here to blow your speakers out—he’s here to hold your attention quietly and completely. These songs feel like postcards from a soul in motion, with arrangements that stay minimal but textured: soft guitars, hushed percussion, ambient synths that hang in the air like mist, and vocals delivered like confessions. It’s part folk, part indie singer-songwriter, part Latin ballad, part European art-pop.
There’s something beautifully paradoxical about the way this album carries both weight and air. It’s heavy with meaning—there’s loss, there’s migration, there’s the ache of missing home and the joy of discovering new love—but it never feels burdened. It floats. It lets you in gently. Pablo’s voice isn’t overly polished or flashy, but it doesn’t need to be. It’s honest. And in this kind of music, honesty is everything.
The emotional centerpiece of the album is clearly the love that helped bring this transformation to life. Serrano doesn’t write love songs in the cheesy, over-the-top way we’ve all heard a thousand times. He writes about love as a catalyst. A mirror. A shelter and a spark. His lyrics have the gravity of poetry—no surprise, considering his father is a poet—and you feel that inherited reverence for language in every line. These aren’t lyrics designed to rhyme or fill space. They’re written like they matter.
This album is meant to be experienced as a whole. But there are moments that linger: a line here, a melody there, the way a chord progression folds into silence just when you’re least expecting it. If you’ve ever felt suspended between who you were and who you’re trying to become, this album will speak to you.
“Melody For A Woman” is a standout—a powerhouse of a track with celestial harmonies and deep introspection, reminiscent of early Nick Cave and Leonard Cohen.
You can also feel Serrano’s background as a painter throughout the project. The songs have a visual sensibility to them—you can see the rooms, the cities, the sun-bleached streets of Mexico and the overcast skies of Europe. He’s painting scenes with sound, but this time the canvas is air and the gallery is your headphones.
And perhaps the most profound thing about Before the Doom is that it doesn’t present migration, change, or reinvention as easy. It acknowledges the loss, the confusion, the cost—but it doesn’t stop there. This is an album about moving forward anyway. About saying yes to the unknown. About choosing love and creation over fear and silence.
So if you’re looking for something to ground you, something that feels handmade, something full of depth and softness and soul—Before the Doom is your next essential listen. It’s Pablo Serrano’s intimate portrait of transformation—and it just might help you start your own.
We spoke to Pablo Serrano about his journey so far.
