Q: Why do you give such a prominent place to computers? Why don't you, with such a formidable voice, trust organic, natural sounds more?
A: I've always trusted organic sounds, I've always loved them—the sound of the harp on Debut, for example. For years, I even felt the need to use exclusively natural instruments, acoustic or electric. With the Sugarcubes, we adored those wooden marvels: guitars, flutes, vintage drum kits. We found them comforting, close to us, close to the Earth. But over time—and by frequenting nightclubs regularly—I developed a new relationship with everything related to technology. Samplers, drum machines, sequencers began to intrigue me. At the same time, I felt I was reaching the end of a road; I thought acoustic instruments wouldn't take me very far anymore, even if they retained their infinite beauty. For me, strings, percussion, and wind instruments were connected to the external world, to the elements. In contrast, computers seemed to me to be more connected to our inner lives, our imagination. There's a difference here similar to that between reality and dreams, real life and fantasies. Computer music is pure imagination, extreme creativity, without guidelines, without a safety net. And if music based on technology lacks soul, it's certainly not because of the computer, but rather because the person programming the machine lacks soul. For the past three years, I've been working with a fantastic programmer. Marius De Vries—he's a bit like the executor of my fantasies, the one whose hands materialize the work of my brain. When I recruited him, I gave him this challenge: "I want you to reproduce the sound of the wind at the top of a coconut tree." Ten minutes later, I had my wind sound on the computer. I took Marius in my arms and we started working…