Tight-Lipped

Franck started strolling back and forwards inside the vast public atrium of the Maison de la Radio, home to public broadcasting since the early sixties. The building – a massive white-glazed doughnut pierced by a tower topped by transmission masts – had originally hosted both radio and television, but the latter had moved elsewhere in seventies when it became clear that it had outgrown radio in scope, audience, and capacity to both attract and devour large sums of money. Like many post-war temples to modernism, the Maison de la Radio was ageing poorly. Scaffolding had infested its exterior as a prelude to a massive overhaul. A sign, presumably, that someone, somewhere, still believed in the spoken voice. Not to mention – a less common occurrence – the attentive ear.