Somewhere at the edge of Waziers, Bruno Duplant listens deeply. His recordings collect the soft turbulence of vacant parcels of land, the drift of wires that hum, the weathering of surfaces that remember more than they reveal. In these materials he finds the beginnings of new fictions. Not narrative fictions, but the kind that arise when memory, chance, and close attention begin to overlap.

Duplant describes himself as a discreet witness. The act of recording is not extraction but a form of being present, allowing sounds to settle in their own time. Later, in composition, he reorganises these gathered traces into works that feel familiar yet unplaceable. What is natural, what is cultural, and where does the boundary falter once a listener enters the frame. His work unfolds inside these questions with a gentle but persistent curiosity.

The pieces that form En d’autres lieux carry this sensibility forward. Birds probing the first light. Dust shifting over a forgotten foundation. A distant engine hesitating between arrival and departure. Each sound becomes part of a slow negotiation between what a space offers and what the composer imagines it might still hold. Duplant’s long standing engagement with writers like Francis Ponge, Georges Perec, and Gaston Bachelard is present here, not as reference, but as a way of thinking about how places record themselves long after human presence recedes. His attention to Cage, Ferrari, Radigue, and Rolf Julius shapes the work at a deeper level, where listening becomes a tool for reassembling the visible and the invisible into a single, porous field.

En d’autres lieux is not a document of Waziers as it is. It is a proposal for how a place might be heard when its borders soften and its histories mix freely. Duplant names this approach autofiction, a practice in which gathered sounds are reorganised into something that does not claim to be quite true. The result is an unsettled but welcoming terrain. Nothing seems quite in its place, yet everything fits.

Recorded in 2025 using field recordings and electroacoustic devices, the album sits within Duplant’s ongoing exploration of memory, perception, and drift between inside and outside. It invites the listener to inhabit a space that is continually forming, to hear how chance becomes structure, and how the smallest vibration can carry the weight of an entire landscape.

Elsewhere becomes here, briefly. Then it moves on, leaving its outline in the air.