François Virot releases his first album - at least the first that is not a burnt CD-R. Presented with a yes-no question, both the public and the critics unanimously went for the first option.

He was praised for the nervous urge and the staggering melodies of his lo-fi pop folk, and even got nicknamed a one-person Animal Collective.

He found himself dragged out from the invisibility of Lyon's squats and rushed hastily on stage.

He was expected to give his opinion, but no one realised how unprepared he was. He had crafted his songs for himself, the hard way, without hindsight.

For a hyperactive such has himself, versed into song-writing since he was a child, naivety was not a ploy, and DIY is not a fancy gadget.

The honey of his first success had a bitter taste. « The first time they dimmed the lights at one of my concert, I didn't understand what was going on.

I came on stage, everyone cheered. I needed to change a string, so I said so, the crowd answered by applauding once again.

I changed my string, I finished my beer, 10 minutes had passed, the lights were still on me.

People found the scene delightful, they were laughing hysterically. For me, it was hell.

There have been many moments such as this one where I felt at odds." François Virot appeared in the credits of two of the most beautiful records of the year.

The first one (Comfortable Problems from the trio the Clara Clara) put to shame every claimant to Deerhoof's throne.

He showcased his rowdy yet vacillating drumming skills, his acidly borderline chanting, wandering somewhere between happy hardcore and subtle power pop.

The second one (Time & Death of Reveille duet) was as touching, addictive and imperfect as a collection of demos from The Evens.

He would no longer walk into the lion's den by himself. He would not sing his torments playing nervously on his acoustic guitar.

No one was laughing anyway: applause sprung from shock, desire, respect. "I stopped making funny faces, talking to the crowd or make them sing along.

I focused on the music and ignored everything around it. Still to this day, if no one shows up at a concert, I don't care.

What I want is to be satisfied with what I hear." François Virot comes out of the woods again and plays the trick of the majestic double.

After Clara Clara's third album (Bugarach), a gem of shimmering pop, he's back to sobriety for a second solo album that we had never ceased to wait eagerly for.

A record that is as much a laid-back digest of his discography, an actualisation of his obsessions (colourful drums, catchy but devious melodies, referential tangle - Police vs.

The Ex vs. Joe Dassin?), then a declaration of independence from the current indie pop laws.

"Lately I couldn't find any record without reverb effects, or a band that doesn't use a chorus pedal or some recorded material live.

It annoyed me. Music making should not be about composing the most beautiful thing there is.

You need to catch a glimpse of what's inside, hear an actual human being sing and play." Marginal Spots is François Virot at his core, oblivious to the illusion of success, directly plugged on his heartbeats.