The occasion - a late seasonal summer bar was entering autumn - had brought together Namid and Dago Sondervan. A jazz quartet and a live coder. The analog with the digital. Vincent Brijs' saxophones and synthesizer, Fré Madou's double bass and effects, Sara Meyer's alto sax, Maarten Moesen's drums and Sonic Pi's algorithm-and-blues. It all went into the particle accelerator and then it was waiting for a collision of atoms.

The chosen few in that Garden of 'Heden' (dutch for 'today') witnessed the birth of a new kind of fusion. A fusion of electrons and positrons for whom attraction proved greater than gravity. A child of quantum love.

It must have been just about the first time that a code cracked itself and a computer began to sync up. Artificially intelligent became organically smart. One big, whimsical, rolling improvisation.

An attempt to capture a big bang in sound and image: Weather Report and Frank Deboosere, the Sahara and the tundra, Squarepusher and Pullover, Motown in Oneohtrix Point Neverland, Praxis and string theory, Marc Moulins Placebo with effect, Sun Ra and Moondog, Uncanny Valley of the Silicon Dolls, Air Ball in Addis Ababa, man-machine learning, the Titanic band on Das Boot, anarchy in Parliament, modal modules, cyber punk funk and future kraut shock.

So no idea how to describe, let alone capture on tape, that constant, haphazard movement, centrifugal and centripetal, orbital and total loss. A snapshot in a super collider, well knowing that what you record is no longer there and will never be again.

But the record does exist! There is a trace of the once-in-a-lifetime. Space and time curved into the singularity of an LP. Something that cannot be repeated live, and therefore makes one yearn all the more for another such, but a completely different confluence of circumstances. To the next, impossible merger of Namid & Sondervan. (Johan Faes)