Celeste’s latest offering is both celestial and terrestrial—a spectral torch song that gleams with starlight drawn from the shadowy world of espionage. Written as the theme for Sky TV’s new adaptation of Frederick Forsyth’s The Day of the Jackal, “This Is Who I Am” is a haunting, quietly majestic piece that speaks directly to the identity crises at the heart of spy fiction.
Espionage, in both cinema and literature, has long toyed with the fluidity of self. These narratives revel in blurred lines, where characters slip through identities like smoke through fingers. From the shadowy charisma of James Bond—enshrined in John Barry and Monty Norman’s immortal theme and later elevated by icons like Shirley Bassey and Carly Simon—to the more cerebral ambiguity of Forsyth’s Jackal, the spy genre thrives on the unknowable.
Yet while Bond’s musical legacy is carved into pop culture’s granite, The Day of the Jackal has remained a more elusive classic. Despite its sharp 1973 film adaptation and a lukewarm 1997 reboot, Forsyth’s original tale of a master assassin remains underexplored—until now. The new Sky adaptation, starring Eddie Redmayne and Lashana Lynch, signals a return to form. But it’s Celeste’s theme song, not the show itself, that’s the focus here—a song that glides like a ghost across the tightrope of identity.
Singing from the perspective of an outsider, Celeste crafts a character who exists in the margins—observant, melancholic, evasive. “Some flowers never get to bloom and see the day,” she mourns, her voice delicately brushed with sorrow. The track is anchored by swelling strings that shimmer and slice in equal measure, evoking a soundscape of both beauty and danger. As the lyrics turn inward—“Some may rise, some may fall”—Celeste stretches her voice with gentle, aching restraint, allowing each phrase to hover and haunt.
Produced by the masterful BEACH NOISE, the arrangement carries the spectral elegance of classic Bond themes but never seeks to mimic. Instead, it distills the spirit of espionage into something more introspective and elegiac. The percussion builds like distant thunder, only to pull back before reaching a full storm. Celeste resists the expected climax; instead, she delivers a final statement of identity with composed urgency—a restrained roar rather than a scream.
