"There is a landscape of sonic ideas, of banging, of entity, of new forms of stimulating the body and of prehension moved by our human, urban, maybe even cubist surroundings, or by the big wild country where, we say, music does what it wants. Unless, we misread and “music knows what it wants.” Both! With one stroke, knowing and doing unanimously converge into one. A point of intersection - there are so many - between the desiredl iberties and sublime agitation provoked by the embrasure of paths Off Course! 

There is a pathway perforating the shield of time, in a celebration of happy hands that know how to catch, melt and assemble everything from clouds of crystal rays to interrogations and, along the way, running into she who has sung so much and he who has everything to build. The two, an opening, making way for wind that caresses by way of shivering veins to join the dance of sneaky detours who, in the sense of gazes and of hearts, leads to haunting ardor. Where else? 

There is a face that, from memory, remembers its temerity against the wall created by a naked sky, reduplicating the glances of histories chapters, ear blows from microphones rightfully criss-crossing (a bit fou), kneaded with inventions that consider the thickness of the earth and the resonant deliverance of hidden corners.Together. A head-on journey that never shies away from lifts back to the surface, but rather embraces them, at the attention of large lines and secret compartments scattered amongst a thousand little walksof emerging rendez-vous. So much lived. 

There, jazz again! Marvelous rudiments. So many also there which oscillate, by flagrant detours or light unalterable escapes, only towards the essential." - Jean Rochard