Interview

A few words about yourself and your background ?

I am first and foremost a musician, a classically trained pianist – although very drawn to improvisation and less academic forms of music – and a student of Éric Heidsieck at the Conservatoire National Supérieur de Musique et de Danse de Lyon. I have been teaching piano at the Conservatoire à Rayonnement Régional de Lyon since 2008. Before that, I taught at the Chambéry Conservatory for 21 years. I have always been tempted by writing, without ever really taking the plunge, apart from a few poems, song lyrics, editorials or short articles, but nothing particularly substantial. I took advantage of the 2020 lockdown to carry out a project I had had in mind for a long time: a treatise on piano performance and technique, compiling the knowledge I had acquired throughout my life as a pianist and teacher, over more than forty years. Once this project was completed, on the advice of a friend, I continued writing by recounting some of my concert tours abroad, starting with the most unusual ones. And, little by little, I ended up describing around twenty journeys.

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Tell us about your book Déconcertants concerts ?

Having heard me recount some of my travels during rather well-watered evenings, a friend encouraged me to put them down on paper, probably attracted by the somewhat picturesque nature of my adventures. I started with my trip to the Congo, which does indeed contain some almost picaresque elements. But as I wrote, I felt the need to talk about the people I had met, with some of whom I had developed very deep relationships. And, of course, to describe the countries I had visited, as I certainly did not want the reader to think that I simply turned up, did the job and left without taking an interest in the cultures I encountered on each journey. My book therefore became – without my having planned it – a mixture of accounts of professional and artistic experiences, a travel journal, and a collection of personal, even intimate, reflections. One of my friends was surprised that I should reveal such private thoughts, the kind one might share with one's psychoanalyst. I must admit that I was not really aware of it while writing; perhaps I was naively unconscious of the impact of what I was saying. Nevertheless, I was determined to remain sincere, stating from the outset that all my stories are authentic. I tried to introduce a little humour; readers may or may not appreciate it. I also tried to give my text, and my sentences, a sense of rhythm and musicality, greatly influenced by my work as a musician. Once again, it is for the reader to judge. Without having planned it initially either, I gradually added photographs from my travels, not to prove the truth of what I was saying, but because it seemed to me that the images complemented the text advantageously, and that readers might find some pleasure in looking at them.

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What are your favourite books and influences?

My main influence is unquestionably Romain Gary, to the point that some readers could legitimately accuse me of plagiarism. In my youth, I read almost all of his work, with a particular affection for the books he published under the name Émile Ajar. I am especially sensitive to his relationship with humanity, his humour tinged with despair, and the unusual, double-edged turns of phrase he so fondly employed, which touch me very deeply.

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What new projects are you currently working on?

I have started thinking about a novel set in the world of music, an environment I know well. But I am only at the very beginning. I have concert projects in the works, and I am imagining a series of readings-with-music based on Déconcertants concerts.

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Writing: why?

Writing is much more relaxing, and less stressful, than playing the piano. If I am not happy with what I have produced, I can always go back over what I have already written, improve it, polish it, until I am completely satisfied with it. Whereas when I give a concert, there is no question of starting a failed passage over again. Besides, the musical world is fiercely competitive; one constantly has to prove one's supposed worth. The literary world certainly is too, but that does not affect me. I write alone at home, peacefully, without considering competing with anyone else. One inevitably writes in order to be read. It is probably an opportunity to share personal thoughts or reflections that I would not dare express aloud, protected by the distance created by a book between the author and the reader. Writing is the moment when I can express myself without any contradiction, and it pushes me to develop my thoughts all the way to the end without fear of being interrupted or challenged. That is also why I allow myself frequent digressions, at the risk of going off topic, considering that I am solely responsible for the direction I choose to give my argument.

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I am 18 years old. What advice would you give me for life ?

My job as a piano teacher mainly consists of giving advice to young people aged 18. Being a father has certainly led me to advise three of my children who have passed that milestone – some of them quite a long time ago – while two others are still wondering anxiously what advice I might give them in a few years' time. I am almost a professional adviser to young people reaching adulthood. My first piece of advice would be to register to vote, in order to give substance to that overused but nevertheless truer-than-ever slogan: Freedom only wears out if you don't use it! My second and final piece of advice would be to choose the direction of your life according to your deepest desires rather than considerations of reason. It is quite possible, however, that this may be bad advice, leading you into poverty and hardship. But perhaps it will successfully set you on a path you would never have dared to take.

An important historical event, or one that has left its mark on you?

I was born 14 years after the Second World War. As a child, that seemed like ancient history to me. But because my parents and grandparents constantly talked about it, almost obsessively, I think it is the historical event that left the greatest mark on me, albeit indirectly. I was in Paris, at the Place de la Bastille, on the evening of May 10, 1981, radiant with joy. It was raining; that should have given me a clue. I followed the Romanian Revolution and the fall of communism in 1989 with great passion. And Putin's trial at Nuremberg in 2032.

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A country, a people ?

My children are Franco-Portuguese or Franco-Kyrgyz. I am Franco-world.

Would you have liked to live in another era? If so, which one?

I would have liked to live in an era when there were fewer people on the beaches, when city apartments cost next to nothing, and when you could camp beneath the Pont du Gard without having to pay for a parking ticket. But I fear that, in those days, homes were poorly heated, and since I am afraid of winter, I think I will stay in 2024.

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A passion ?

I turned my passion into my profession: being a musician. As a child, I was crazy about music. Not the music I was learning at the Conservatory. Blues, jazz, rock, popular songs. Gradually, classical music caught up with me. But I have been marked for life by other forms of music. Classical music is still the music I know best.

I love flying. I would have liked to become a pilot, but I was told that the studies were too difficult, and I thought I would not make it. Looking back, flying a plane cannot be any more difficult than playing the piano. I went paragliding 18 times, and I still wonder why I didn't continue. It was so wonderful! I am also passionately fond of travelling, but that's in my book.

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One book to take to a desert island—which one ?

A classic question, a classic answer. What is the purpose of the book you take to a desert island? To help Robinson survive, to pass the time, or to proclaim to all humanity which is the greatest book of all time? In the first case, Building a Treehouse, by Philip Schmidt and Joel Schnell, seems particularly appropriate to me.

In the second, Gros-Câlin by Émile Ajar or Clair de femme by Romain Gary could be good choices, provided the stay does not last too long.

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A “bone to pick” ?

Since I have been given the floor, I am going to try to develop a theory that has been emerging, increasingly and somewhat confusedly, in my sick brain.

The press, radio, the media and café conversations regularly express outrage at the many dysfunctions in our society. Here, a woman has died in hospital because she was not treated quickly enough; elsewhere, police numbers are notoriously too low. Somewhere else, classrooms are overcrowded, equipment is inadequate, subsidies are pitiful, queues at the prefecture or the employment office are unbearable, roads are in poor condition, lifts are out of order, pianos are out of tune. Some people have to rely on food banks to obtain food.

We live in a society in which it is considered – quite rightly – that the State should guarantee our health, our security, our education and our comfort. Valéry Giscard d'Estaing even created a Ministry of Quality of Life.

In poor countries, in Africa for example, people have long since stopped expecting firefighters or emergency medical services to turn up within fifteen minutes of the slightest call, classrooms to be capped at 25 pupils, or childbirth to be painless.

There is no money! Decision-makers have to make painful financial choices. If you clothe Peter, you have to strip Paul. Public finances are objectively insufficient to provide all the guarantees citizens are entitled to expect, most of which are, for the most part, enshrined in law.

And this is where I wanted to get. It is not true that there is no money. The world is full of money. It is simply distributed badly. Some people have infinitely more than they need, while most of the others do not have enough. If we imagined a different distribution of wealth, it would certainly be possible to meet the needs of the entire population.

I realise that what I am saying sounds like pure Marxism-Leninism, which failed to prove its merits over nearly a century of socialism. But I am convinced that society needs to be reorganised, and that the distribution of wealth across the planet is a crucial issue.