"To whom does a record belong, once it’s been released, once it's released and lives its own life, outside the thoughts of those who composed it? Does it not also belong to those who listen to it and find in it realities, unsuspected joys and desires at the time of its creation? For as long as I've known him, Michel Wisniewski has been exploring, under the pseudonym Supermalprodelica, the effects that the music of others, which he listens to with a sensitive ear, produces on him. And he has the unrivaled ability to draw substance from what he has heard in order to invent something else, a dialogue between his ears and the material on the records. His first album was made of reconfigured samples, and many of his records are made of covers, rereadings and reconstructions of tracks that seem to haunt him in one way or another.

And here, on this new album, he tackles one of his heroes, Scritti Politti, from whom he takes over an entire record, but in his own way: Michel no longer samples, he replays, with what is very much his own, a synthesizer called Persephone, and a desire to paint the room with tones both joyful and melancholy, natural and artificial. The beauty of this record lies in its impossibilities: to cover a work that lies on the edge of genres, between post-punk and pop, chanson and variété, is a challenge in itself. But tackling a late work by an artist you love is more than a challenge in itself, it's a labyrinth, almost a dead end. And Michel, pretending to get lost in the meanders, builds his own path, abandoning the voice to concentrate on the instrumentation. He plays as if in a dream, as if the original pieces belonged to him. They seem to haunt him so much that he plays them again as if he were listening to them from a dream. Is this a fan gesture? No, I think it's more like an author's attempt, a dolly shot through what he's heard, producing a musical image whose harmonies produce something else. And then there's the beauty of the possibilities: listen to the record at low volume and it's a perfect ambient companion. Listen to it loud and you'll find a partner of unfeigned joy.

So to whom does a record belong? Surely not Michel, who knows this so well that he has passed on what he has done to a duo, Blason, who have in turn taken up the covers to record a twin album (it suits them, really...) to that of Supermalprodelica. An album that's even less subject to gravity, as if intoxicated by the ever-increasing distance from the original. Where exactly are we? In a universe that has disassociated itself from its roots to invent something completely different. The two Blason have taken the Supermalprodelica arrangements and replayed them on their ARP, giving them a different patina and velocity. Something slower can be heard here, even more damaged electronics, very gently flayed, resonating with the ghosts that have built up around the Supermalprodelica covers. Some play with the ectoplasms of others, and I must confess that this game whirls around in my mind like a strangely melancholic threnody, and a very fertile one too. A record doesn't belong to anyone, especially not to those who make it. A record is what you make of it, when you listen to it, and afterwards." - Joseph Ghosn