It starts with hiss, a thick electronic hiss, of an old audio tape. Hiss (the same word as "breath" in French) is, literally, life. It is also the sonic backdrop of the world: silence does not exist. Hiss is a sound space in which the other sounds unfold. It delimits, it welcomes.

Then come the church bells, in the distance. The call to mass on Sunday morning.

Then we hear the characteristic hum of a floppy disk drive. Sunday is not only the day of the Mass; it is also the day of rest, and of the exploration of imaginary worlds, through books but also through a screen.

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I am aware that, for the first time I believe, with "Un dimanche d'exécution", I have composed something that was deliberately cryptic, incomprehensible and difficult to appreciate for an audience other than myself. My past projects sought to please, or at least to communicate to the public something that they could appreciate; this work is truly autistic, it was composed by me and for me, for my tastes, to move me, to bring back very personal and precise memories.

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"Un dimanche d'exécution" contains, interspersed with field recordings and various ambient sounds, three melodies; they are primitive and wobbly, played entirely from the same synthetic guitar sample. The sound of poor quality, with crackles and hiss. To me, this is the very sound of the past.

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Hauntology: the sound of vinyl, of course, but also the hiss of the tapes – and the cheap sounds of the old Soundblasters, the lo-fi samples...