What else is left for Yves Teicher but love and Rabelais to canalise the insolence of the genius that is running through his veins ? There are gentleness, fieriness and the grinding high furnaces, the torn fingernails, the cry of a seal on the drift-ice, the splendid dialogues with the crows, the tender and hungry kisses, the borborygmes, the Guernica’s and the Passions, and the amends of the surfaces.Yves Teicher is more then one, he adjusts, he detunes. There’s Sun and then there’s Moon. On a mountainslope, as a drunken ropewalker he carries with him Chostakovitsch and Grappelli, Johan-Sebastian Bach and Ligeti, Art Tatum and Chaplin to go para-gliding till…………! And me, who isn’t scholarly, I smell an opus magnus here, without suspenders or trousers, but charged with an audacity that will be heard in the history of the violin.