My Journey
For more than thirty-five years, I've been telling other people's stories.
Today, it's high time I've told you my own.
I like to think that my musical journey began even before I was born. My mother was six months pregnant with me when she danced the Tamure in Tahiti. Does that explain my instinctive connection to rhythm? Who knows.
One thing is certain: rhythm has always been my first language.
Before the turntables, I was a drummer playing in a metal band. It taught me that rhythm is far more than keeping time. It can be a pulse, a tension, a breath. It sets music in motion, but above all, it carries emotion.
When I discovered electronic music in Singapore in the early 1990s, immersed in the long evolving structures of Balearic productions and British progressive music, I didn't hear machines.
I heard a new way of telling stories.
A dancefloor isn't filled.
It is grown.
Back in France, the techno scene was exploding. In Auvergne, however, it still had to be built. With the Mykonos and E2N Concept collectives, we organized some of the region's very first techno parties and raves.
Between those events, I found myself playing an unofficial residency in Clermont-Ferrand's main nightclub. Every weekend, after the final chords of Sunday Bloody Sunday, the first kicks took over. For more than an hour, trance replaced rock. Little by little, club regulars began discovering our rave scene.
Without realizing it, I had already discovered what would become the driving force behind everything I do: opening musical doors, expanding horizons, and taking people somewhere they never expected to go.
My stay in the South of France naturally extended that adventure. Clubs. Raves. My weekly radio show Cyberline on Top FM, where I introduced the latest vinyl releases before mixing live on air.
During this period, I had the privilege of sharing meaningful moments with artists I deeply respect. Each one sharpened my own artistic vision.
Jack de Marseille, following my set on the techno stage at Marseille's very first Gay Pride at La Friche Belle de Mai.
Jeff Mills, recording his Planet Groov mix for CODA magazine at Radikal Groov's studio in Paris, just a couple of metres away from me. That intimate moment taught me that extraordinary technique only matters when it disappears behind the story being told.
And then Laurent Garnier. We never actually met. Yet, in 1995, while we were organising a techno event in Clermont-Ferrand that was facing cancellation, he took the time to reply to a fax in which I had asked for advice. Just a few encouraging words. Later, through his interviews, I recognised in his vision of DJing something that deeply resonated with my own: a set is never prepared in advance; it grows by listening to the dancefloor.
In 1996, New York completely transformed my vision of club culture. Used to abandoned warehouses and underground raves, I discovered at The Tunnel that a club could generate exactly the same raw energy. A former dockside warehouse turned into an underground cathedral: 4,000 square meters of dancefloor, a skate ramp, an unreal chill-out room... and DJs capable of leading thousands of people exactly where they wanted them to go, without ever breaking the flow.
I got back home with nearly 150 vinyl records, many of which became international House and Tech House classics only a few months later.
But the real treasure was something else. That journey left me with an epiphany: music reaches its full potential when it becomes a shared journey.
To this day, I still perform on two Technics SL-1200 MKII turntables and an analog mixer. Whenever vinyl doesn't exist, I use a Digital Vinyl System to preserve the same gesture, the same listening process and the same physical relationship with music.
For more than thirty-five years, I've only stepped behind the decks when I truly had something to share.
I never prepare my sets. I arrive with hundreds of vinyl records. Every record is a possibility.
Because every dancefloor has a life of its own and comes alive through the fragile alchemy between the music, the DJ and the people living it.
For me, growing a dancefloor means setting emotions in motion.
I plant seeds. Some dry up. Others take root. When they do, I nurture them to have them bloom.
That's the moment when music is no longer simply heard.
It is lived.
Those moments out of time are the reason why I keep getting up there behind my turntables.
I am an Organic DJ.
For years, one question kept coming into my mind.
How could I set my own emotions in motion?
The answer had been waiting for me all along.
Film music has always held a special place in my life. It has the unique ability to keep resonating long after the credits roll.
Walking out of Amélie, one thought crossed my mind: Comptine d'un autre été deserved a Trance version.
Then I let that idea rest for more than ten years.
Meanwhile, other scores kept following me. The string progression from Chevaliers de Sangreal was one of them. Looking back, I believe Motion Mixture had already begun long before I realized it.
I don't want to transform these masterpieces.
I want to extend the emotions they give me when I listen to them.
By rebuilding every piece entirely, note after note, without using a single sample, I discovered that I listen to a symphony exactly the same way I listen to an electronic track. My ear naturally travels through layers. Strings, brass, pads, basslines, textures... only the language changes.
Then another question emerged.
If orchestral music can move the mind...
...and electronic music moves the body, how can I channel these two complementary energies to bring them to the dancefloor?
Motion Mixture was born from that thinking. A one-hour journey designed for the dancefloor, where ten iconic scores are entirely deconstructed and rewritten to preserve their emotional essence while giving them a new rhythmic energy.
This project also became the expression of another belief.
Every track was produced using LMMS, Audacity and free or open-source software.
I chose this approach because I believe creativity has nothing to do with the price of the tools.
It comes from ideas, from the time we dedicate to them, and from the sensitivity of the person bringing them to life.
In March 2026, I returned to the dancefloor in a small club in a valley nestled in the French Alps. For six hours, I covered thirty-five years of electronic music. Several generations shared the same dancefloor: young DJs recognized iconic tracks from the '90s and 2000s, including Laurent Garnier, while parents rediscovered the emotions of their first raves with their own children.
I also tested several Motion Mixture tracks.
The dancefloor showed me what worked... and what still needed to evolve.
A few weeks later, the entire album was remastered.
That's when I realized Motion Mixture wasn't the destination.
It was only the first chapter of a much more personal story.
Today, my original productions continue that same journey.
After thirty-five years spent listening, observing, experimenting, doubting and learning, I finally feel ready to share the outcome of that journey.
Rhythm Motion Emotion
The foundations upon which I continue to build everything I create.