What appears at first is a tall imposing mineral pile of dust, a column of dry lava that pierces the surface of the world from the inside. Little by little, it becomes evident that one of the column ends is neither petrified nor mute. Hear how it murmurs, hear how it breathes! There is a man at the top of the pillar, many feet above ground, sunk ankle-deep into the stone. But he is not a prisoner; he is connected to the stone by a axis that goes from his occipital fontanel and down his vertebrae, plunging deep into the column. He is the pillar's marrow, in as much as the stone is the spear that pierces him. 
This man is Breton musician and ethnomusicologist Yann-Fañch Kemener. In his “golden voice”, he will say and sing words written for him by Jean Lambert-wild, words that will be the culmination of an alchemical adventure, of the alloy of gold and flesh, marrow and magma. At the core of this song, we will hear the steps of men, of women, who have walked, who have danced. The man will want to dance too, but his feet are set in stone. So, instead, the anchored anchorite will let the undulation that inhabits him spread to those of his limbs that are free. 

And he will oscillate, between song and speech, between caress and punch, he will oscillate so much that soon he will be spinning, fast, faster and faster. He will become a dervish absorbed in the contemplation of his own words. 

Building this column of words, and giving it a tender, breathing end, Jean Lambert-wild, Yann-Fañch Kemener and their collaborators will attempt to coin a language on the living edge between speech and song, to open, in the heart of those who listen, doors that lead to mysterious corners. Doors to a shared and ancestral intimacy that existed before everything else.