Part 2

Can you talk about a work, event or performance in your career that's particularly dear to you? Why does it feel special to you? When, why and how did you start working on it, what were some of the motivations and ideas behind it?

I lost my father in 2020, and the context and circumstances saddened and upset me. I didn't touch my instrument for the next month and felt very "down", close to the bottom, close to nothing.

We had a concert of improvised music planned with some friends that was cancelled (COVID) and we eventually turned into a simple playing session instead. I wasn’t sure about taking part and finally, having nothing else to prepare and knowing the benevolent climate that would surround this moment, I allowed myself to go as I was. My friend Peter set up microphones and we improvised 6 tracks of music without talking to each other.

I had no energy, no enthusiasm, no ambition. In other words I was completely relaxed. And I was very surprised by the music that came out at that moment: I had never felt so much availability and such a great ability to listen and share the moment. I had the sensation that my ego had been erased in favor of circulation, I had the sensation of being able to receive as much as I was able to give. Whereas sometimes the will to say and to exist takes up too much space, cuts us off and distances us from others.

We were delighted with the recording and after many attempts at rebuilding it, we finally released a recording of this session with very few alterations and with the exact original track order in place.

I tucked away that moment of magic inside me like a treasure to remind me that even when you feel empty, there's still some music growing in the background. Even when disaster strikes, that part can remain intact. Since that moment, I have lived music as a strength and an essential anchor.



How do you feel your sense of identity influences your collaborations? Do you feel as though you are able to express yourself more fully in solo mode or, conversely, through the interaction with other musicians? Are you “gaining” or “sacrificing” something in a collaboration?

With music, everyone is free to propose their own model of society. It can go from fascism to anarchy, and I put improvised music rather on the side of anarchy.

For me, artistic work holds this great magic to make any model acceptable. I like to put myself at the service of others much more than in real life. What I gain or sacrifice in this context always seems to be my responsibility and my choice. But working solo has the advantage of learning to come across yourself in places that you didn’t know about. And getting to know yourself well is a richness and a strength to act, interact and reveal yourself with others.

As for the idea of "enduring" others as a constraint, in practice I see what it means but it seems to me to be a theoretical concept. Whether alone or with others, the field of musical creativity is infinite. And you can't say that one infinity is greater than another.

Which is not to say that I have never felt a sense of constraint in a group of  people, because I have at times. But perhaps it is underpinned by the cult of control. Control as a value: the sacralized image of the "master" composer as a genius and the negative one of "indeterminacy" in music, as too easy, not knowing how to do something, almost a scam. And control as a mirage: When you improvise, you don't always (in theory never!) play what you have planned or what you expect ... but often the result is better.

Feeling stuck can mean getting yourself stuck in a musical perimeter outside which you cannot conceive yourself and which can conflict with a reality you are trying to force your hand on. I prefer to speak of the unexpected rather than chance in improvisation. The artistic field has by definition no limits. To feel constrained in it is not to be able to enlarge the framework of your own thought alone or with others.

Finding solutions to artistic problems is not always easy, but it might mean opening up to something bigger than your own limiting projection and this effort brings dynamism and artistic wealth. And this part of randomness, or rather what escapes us, remains an expression of our identity, however not polished by a "super-ego". It can come from others as well as from yourself.

So I see the two approaches as something complementary, rather than conflicts of ego, freedom and identity. In improvised music at least, an identity, as long as it is totally assumed, does not have to defend itself from anything for it to exist normally.

Derek Bailey defined improvising as the search for material which is endlessly transformable. Regardless of whether or not you agree with his perspective, what kind of materials have turned to be particularly transformable and stimulating for you?

I like the idea of the process of digestion, of working on your own memory as a material. In addition to being ecological, it enables us to consider making something new out of something old, the same thing but never the same, to forge our own history in the short, medium and long term.

Personally I like the resurgence of languages, not being afraid of your routine but using it as a material and setting it into motion. On the instrument I like all the work around timbre, spectrum, rhythmic cutting, open harmony …

The work with timbre is something that continues to fascinate me. Maybe because it is technically invisible and one can easily get lost in a sensitive approach and hear the result as a new magical and untameable object. It is a window that often makes me fall into a state of improvisation: being held by the thread of what comes out of my instrument.



When you're improvising, does it actually feel like you're inventing something on the spot – or are you inventively re-arranging patterns from preparations, practise or previous performances?

Since you never bathe twice in the same river, I try not to be afraid to repeat myself. I like the idea of combining things endlessly and always expecting something, not necessarily modern, but at least new and personal. I feel that the more acceptance there is of what you allow yourself to be and do, the more you are able to hear new things, new aspects, new windows and new possible turns.

The imperative to "invent" isn't just presumptuous and part of an elitist cliché view of the musician, but it also seems to me sometimes to create many taboos and avoidance strategies that do not make it possible for us to listen humbly and fully to the music that comes out - since the ego pre-selects and refuses many of them already a priori.

I don't like "modernity" either, as an imperative, it's a snobbish avant-garde requirement. I don't think much of the mass consumerism of today's entertainment culture, which consists of perpetuating recipes based on the fact that people only want to hear what they already know. But on the other hand, forcing your way into a new systematism and a machine for "inventing" modernity is also a step towards a form of programmed obsolescence of artistic languages in a certain way.

To demand something be "modern" and to turn down "the old" by principle does not interest me necessarily. The word "new" is often hidden behind the word "interesting" whereas sometimes it is not so interesting, it can even be rather boring.

For me, something is positioned as modern precisely because of the relation it has with history. Everything is already there and everything has already been done ... There aren’t many new things in music, it seems to me. The only thing that is reinvented is the look. And the desire to capture things.

I actually see invention as a regeneration of the point of view, with what we can see from the window of the present moment. It is the distance between one's heritage and one's perception seen from the present that allows one to grab history again and to create something new with it, meaning literally without precedent.

To you, are there rules in improvisation? If so, what kind of rules are these?

The rules that are the most powerful are actually impossible for us to see ... we don't experience them at first sight as artistic agents. Nevertheless all the rules and social conventions seem to me to be without a doubt the ones that frame the most improvised music and art in general in our society.

Obedience, consumerism, productivity, profitability, excellence, performance, conformity in all its forms, the entertainment industry, etc ... These are the toughest rules I'm afraid. Whether it's playing music at home with friends, playing in institutional circuits or in squats, even improvising for yourself, the first framework seems to me to be the social practice of reference with its codes, its access, etc. Wherever you are, wherever you express yourself, it is because you have accepted the rules and constraints. This determinesthe form of the music a lot in the end, its format, its recipient, its meaning and its scope.

There are not many people who really dare to "improvise" in life outside these frameworks. It would mean to un-discipline the social practice of music and to take the risk of committing yourself beyond them. I don't know Massou's work very well but you should ask him, he seems to have liberated himself from all these rules with a lot of freedom!



In theory, I don't see any rules to the improvised gesture. I have a hard time conceiving of improvisation as a "discipline". Even if it can be worked on as an exercise, for me it is more about the character and form of a subject and its expression. The only rules are those that you sow in yourself to cultivate playing.

And if we tackle the definition itself, we can discuss it for a long time. I think I remember that a former teacher of mine, Vincent Lê Quang, compared improvisation to a “prime gesture”, that is to say a natural gesture that can only be divided by one and by itself. I quite agree with this idea. To me, it seems to be an act not necessarily easy but "simple", indeed. To play with a full intention and action at the moment T. So without decomposition of the mind, without duplication of consciousness. To be ready and remain present.

This does not form practical rules but rather a state of action.

In a live situation, decisions between creatives often work without words. How does this process work – and how does it change your performance compared to a solo performance?

We can easily be surprised by other people, and at first sight it might sound more difficult to surprise yourself, but thinking about it, I believe that both are achievable.

There’s indeed the question of sharing a space and freedom. The present belongs to everyone and doesn’t divide. Freedom means your relationship to what is possible and what constitutes a constraint. The other one is a constraint, however it is also a way to leverage the field of possibilities. You can equally do more and less when there are several people involved. When more than one person is involved, the field of possibilities is wider, but on the other hand you may need to turn down more of these options to arrive at a decision.

Control and power, to me, are non-music specific issues, they’re not related to the improvised gesture per se, because the moment belongs to everyone, and doesn’t discriminate against your gender, class, or nationality. It’s something you can’t lose, and you can’t have more or less of it either. You can embody it fully, to make it yours. It’s that magical thing of feeling at home everywhere, and to have the privilege of being able to welcome everyone in.

However, to be able to be yourself without compromise also means accepting others indefinitely.

There are many descriptions of the ideal state of mind for being creative. What is it like for you? In which way is it different between your solo work and collaborations?

I don't feel that there is any fundamental difference, except that the context and the people involved must be able to create the right environment for a simple and authentic improvised situation.

This sometimes requires a form of ease, acceptance and confidence in yourself and in others that is solid enough to root yourself in the here and now, alone or with others, wherever you decide.

How do you see the relationship between sound, space and performance and what are some of your strategies and approaches of working with them?

Personally, I like to have the audience within the acoustic "reach of sounds".

For me, if there is a physical, acoustic and socially loaded presence, there is performance. What I mean is what is played is not just music but a living space, a situation. It is the resonance and the scope that I seek in improvisation and music in general. These situations allow us to feel the infinite fields of possibilities and to give gravitas to the choice, to the context, to what can happen only once, to an exceptional event that we have the chance to live and share with others. It gives the moment all its worth.

When I play in amplified contexts, I keep this intention but it is divided in two, with on the one hand this same research on stage, and on the other hand a research but this time imagined between the public, the stage and the junction of the pit. It is more direct and easier for me when I play acoustic, I have to say.

In a way, improvisations remind us of the transitory nature of life. What, do you feel, can music and improvisation express and reveal about life and death?

I remember vividly when I first wanted to play the saxophone. My father had this audiophile soundsystem in a dedicated room that was like his den. The sound filled the room with warmth. It felt good, like a bath. I remember standing in front of the huge speaker at age 5 and getting the sound of a saxophone in my face. More than a sound, it was a word and it was directly addressed to me.

A few months ago, I was mixing my first saxophone solo and put it through a first listen on the same soundsystem I inherited from my father. I remembered myself a few decades earlier in front of this same unit, except that this time it was me playing inside ... As for who it is addressed to, I felt that it would be later, for other people, perhaps another child who will feel struck and involved and who will in turn have the task of tidying up, working or reformulating the word received, coming from who knows where.

I then realized that these speakers were like a coffin. At first it seemed to me rather sordid and macabre … then, thinking about it, I said to myself that I could not imagine a more beautiful one. Rather than in ashes, I can't dream of anything better than incinerating myself in sound and spreading myself endlessly in ears and hearts.

I have filed all these impressions in sub-text in the multiple readings of the title of my record.