This is the latest work by an independent who is keen to preserve all sound systems, including those of dead or dying languages.

Not only have the Mohican tribe long since disappeared, but it seems that the race of readers of Fenimore Cooper's novel is also on the brink of extinction.
François-Bernard Mâche feels he should point out that the name of his new work, Uncas, is none other than that of the last of the Mohicans, because "it symbolises those peoples who, like animal species year after year, disappear from the world and leave it impoverished, while their language dies with them. Now, every language is a sound system that carries a specific music, which is something quite different from the signs that linguists deal with. " 
A qualified classics teacher, this composer born in 1935 knows the fragile power of languages that are difficult to resign to being declared dead. The languages he uses in his compositions in the form of brief quotations - Dargwa, Eskimo, Lude and seven others - will not leave as lasting a trace as Greek or Latin, but because they are still spoken, they offer the inestimable musical advantage of still having a sound reality.
One of the distinctive features of François-Bernard Mâche's work is the prominence given to natural models - noises, sounds, languages, songs - recorded on the spot and often broadcast during the performance of the work that draws on them.
The author can thus compare the elementary material and its more or less free or tight imitation. The process is not without danger, for anecdote always threatens; it takes some getting used to, once you understand that the instrument follows or reproduces the inflections of a spoken phrase, to discern that these successive effects are in the service of a higher conception, which they prevent you from perceiving if you become too attached to them.
The result is a sound poetry of rare freshness, requiring a listening attitude that is free from traditional criteria: the instruments seem to speak and the words begin to sing.
There is, however, a purely technical novelty in this work, without which it would not be what it is, but which does not sum up its originality. The two soloists (who play on electronic keyboards) use small disks containing a certain amount of data to make each key say a spoken syllable, chosen from among those of the words whose original recording had previously been heard.
The composer can thus arpeggiate the words, shorten or lengthen the syllables, with all the velocity of piano playing. Until now, to achieve such a result, tiny fragments of magnetic tape had to be placed end to end. The Mirage samplers therefore represent a considerable revolution in the live production of what used to be a matter of studio editing.

                                    Gérard Condé, Le Monde 24 June 1986