Jean-Louis Costes is an essential figure of the french underground. The first time I heard of him was through a friend in Marseille, in 92. This friend bought original Costes tapes mailed by the artist himself. What I heard in these tapes: a man screaming, howling like an animal on a minimal musical background. It sounded cheap and violent. In 1997, as Momus was becoming a parisian figure, we went to see a Costes show near Pigalle, in a small club called Le Gaulois (was it Le Gaulois?), in a stone arched cellar. What we saw was amazingly trash: naked people singing, simulating sex (was it simulation?), covering themselves with shit (was it real shit?), Costes jumping in the public after having taken a live pee shower under his naked girl partner. I tried to avoid this disgusting contact. When Momus interviewed Costes, he said that the performer is really calm, smart and generous in his responses.
I have heard of Costes from many people since then, even from people coming from the poetry scene. Costes is one of the most respected figure of the french underground. He never compromised, even the smallest phalanx of his little finger remained free. So it was strange to see that he's having his first novel out on a very big publishing company. The book is called Grand-Père. It was a commission of the publisher himself. I am happy to see that sometimes, miracles like this are still possible.