Book #27 in series Director's Cut by the magazine Blow Up.

From the Introduction:
Automatic translation: I sometimes think that great artists don't die at random but leave the Earth when the times reject them, when their beauty is despised or considered useless. Zappa left in late 1993, a few weeks after Sun Ra (and Fellini), a year after John Cage. They were giants who no longer fit into a world that had become small and was heading towards the dictatorship of the Internet and progressive Orwellization, and they had too much dignity to survive as fossils. It's easy to say that we lack them, that the god of music hasn't sent us any others like them. In the meantime, the future seems to have disappeared, those who "stay behind" are increasingly numerous and I can't imagine a fifteen-year-old born in the new millennium daring to ask his parents for a birthday present to call a musician "who looked like a mad scientist. It was wonderful, I thought: finally a mad scientist had made a record!”

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