Back in Paris, music clearly took precedence over my studies. The baccalaureate and then preparation for the Grandes Écoles didn’t interest me much. When, one fine day in May 1968, I arrived at the Lycée Buffon to take a “colle^[1] “in maths, several students from my class were gathered in front of the entrance hall, chatting animatedly about the demonstrations in the Latin Quarter. In fact, I don’t really understand what’s going on. I vaguely understood that some students were dissatisfied – but with what? – that they occupied the Nanterre university, then that the movement spread and the demonstrators became more numerous every day.

I decide to go and see what’s going on. The barricades, the tear gas, the C.R.S. charges, all this agitation excites me. My sense of revolt is strongly echoed. It seems to me that all these young people ranting and raving are a concrete expression of the deep resentment I feel against I don’t know what. There must be something wrong in our world for all these young people to have taken to the streets. Maybe the model my parents have been trying to impose on me since childhood isn’t the right one. Is there anything in life other than schoolwork, with the sole aim of finding a place, as high as possible, in society? My parents have always told me that they only want me to be happy: is this what I should be looking for, and does their vision of life lead to it? I’m not really convinced. But which way to go? Thoughts are racing through my head.

Shortly afterwards, my parents received a letter from the Principal informing them that it was pointless for me to reapply to the school, given my repeated absences. Their dreams were shattered! As for me, I’m still not fully aware of what I’ve escaped. In the meantime, I have to admit there’s plenty to worry about. With a bunch of friends, I drink, smoke and experiment with just about every substance I can get my hands on.

In the course of the summer, I hitchhiked to England, where I discovered a fabulous music scene that left me breathless. The creativity of the new British bands being born every day and playing every night in local pubs or the shabby-looking clubs of London’s Soho district is probably unique in history. The beauty of the music meets the ugliness of the surroundings, the life that emanates from it contrasts with the bourgeois rigidity of British society. My only desire is to go and listen to more and more concerts. I love the incredible festivals in Plumpton and on the Isle of Wight, where hundreds of thousands of young people gather to listen to music for days and nights on end. Wonderful experiences!

It’s against this backdrop that I decide to try LSD, the trendy “acid”. Getting hold of it is child’s play: in Piccadilly Circus, half the young hairdressers wallowing on the steps sell a variety of drugs, the other half buy them. The adventure would be brutal, infinitely stronger than I could have imagined, and would touch the very roots of my being. After laughter and visions of brilliant colors that never cease to melt into each other, I penetrate at will everything my gaze touches, sinking at dizzying speed into the bosom of molecules and atoms, which reveal themselves to be myriads of endless galaxies; I travel in all directions through interstellar space and speak the language of the stars. But suddenly, looking at myself in the mirror, my body decomposes, my person deconstructed like blocks that an invisible hand would detach, revealing nothingness. And the terrible reality dawns on me: I’m nothing but the result of my upbringing, the reflection of my environment, a hodgepodge of beliefs and conventions that have been thrust upon me since birth. I don’t exist!

This experience had a profound effect on me. For a long time I felt totally lost, inadequate. I no longer knew where I stood. What could I do to find myself? To begin with, I enroll at the Schola Cantorum, a classical music school where I study solfeggio, flute, guitar and piano. I give private guitar lessons and earn a bit of money in the process. I play in a rock band as lead guitarist. We perform at clubs, youth clubs and parties. Once I’ve got over the stage fright, I’m thrilled to be performing in public. But my greatest pleasure is composing pieces of music, which I write down on sheet music before recording them on magnetic tape. Composing is a real pleasure for me. Often, when I’m writing and then playing, I experience a real ecstasy. I feel that I exist through my creations, and I give myself furiously to my passion.

But sixteen hours of music a day, too little sleep and an unhealthy diet proved fatal: I ended up falling into a serious depression. Nothing mattered anymore. A doctor puts me on sleeping pills. Wonderful: I can finally sleep and melt into oblivion… But when I wake up, it’s worse, and the days are endless. The situation is critical! I was lucky enough to meet a psychologist who, rather than force-feed me drugs, introduced me to relaxation. After a few sessions with him, I was able to practice techniques on a daily basis that calmed my mind and put me back in touch with reality. Gradually, I began to feel the urge to leave Paris and my environment and go into the countryside. I felt an immense need for a change of scenery, to rediscover my true friends, plants.

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^[1] Oral questioning.