Véronique Béland has an accent. Where she comes from, you don’t listen to records on a record player; you play longplays on a turning table (which, in the end, produces the same result). It is moreover in this way that she ended up with silence: through the ear. By first becoming interested in the empty crackle of vinyl records, then in the other, just as noisy interstices of thought. Without an amplifier powerful enough to offer an audible sample of the latter, she tries, in the stories she tells, to reconstitute at least a part.