In the background, a large and round drum like a full moon in the night.
In the foreground, Jann Gallois, seated on a circle, mirroring the instrument.
She stands up and walks towards him, greets him, grabs some chopsticks.
She looks back for a moment, a small but squat figure, in saffron pants and a white shirt with pleats and a funnel neck.
Then she raises her wands and the thunder rises.
His typing is elegant and precise.
She borrows from the art of Japanese taikos.
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Sitting cross-legged, Jann Gallois then blows a long Tibetan trumpet and with a little less success in a horn.
She stands up.
Standing on the other side of the drum, she composes on the synthesizer from everything she has just played.
Dance floor percussions saturate the room.
The musician who moved in front of her turntables throws herself into the dance.
It's an explosion.
It takes up all the space.
A powerful dance, crossed by music.
The body breaks up, rises, breaks, bends,
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