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Laurent Schark in a blazer and T-shirt strumming a keytar strapped around his neck
‘I want to play in a stadium in front of thousands’: Laurent Schark. Photograph: Katherine Anne Rose for the Observer
‘I want to play in a stadium in front of thousands’: Laurent Schark. Photograph: Katherine Anne Rose for the Observer

A DJ's keytar: ‘I want the crowd to go crazy’

This article is more than 8 years old

Laurent Schark, 36, made a cardboard keytar when he was young – now he plays shows in London clubs with a real one

What this keytar says about me

Who are you?
I’m Laurent Schark, I’m 36 and a music producer.

What does your keytar say about you?
I’m an 80s baby. I want to play in a stadium in front of thousands – no, millions – of people, like [electronic musicians] Jean Michel Jarre and Giorgio Moroder in the videos I watched growing up. I want the crowd to go crazy when I press one key.

So you like showing off?
Of course. I play shows in clubs around London, and even when I arrive at the venue before a gig, people ask about the big box I carry my keytar in. Onstage I rock out and then walk around the audience.

Which is better, keyboard or guitar?
People say I should have been a bass guitar player, as my bass is so groovy, but I definitely prefer keyboards. I need to use both hands for chords.

How long have you loved the keytar?
When I was a child in Marseille, I cut cardboard into a keytar shape and drew on keys. I put rope on it and played to friends. That was 30 years ago. I said: “One day I’m going to have a real one.”

And what it really says, by Miranda Sawyer

Ah, the keytar. A combination instrument, a sorry mix-up as unholy as the offspring of an aardvark and a chimp. The keytar shouldn’t exist. It shouldn’t be allowed. But le voici! – here it is, a terrifying instrument that has been thoroughly snubbed by every British musician ever. Only to be adopted by the Europeans, who have a different idea of cool.

Laurent is very European. His shoes are shiny and turn-toed; he has a stripy purple shirt on under that jacket; his jeans are of indefinable shape and provenance. Musicians in the UK advertise their authenticity – their taste, their roots – through their appearance. They send signals through their choice of guitar, their haircut, by wearing Adidas or Nike. Laurent ignores all of this. He is has different references. Perhaps he has none. Maybe he’s an existentialist, living in the moment. He is French.

He’s also successful. His name rang a bell, and I checked him out online: he’s done a remix of Daft Punk’s “Get Lucky”, he has an album out called The Sun Is Gonna Shine, he DJs across the world. I have a feeling that Laurent’s keytar is just a way to get his work noticed.

As he is a successful musician, with a lovely face and an expertise – European musicians, like American ones, tend to be able to play their instruments – Laurent is confident. He brandishes his keytar without embarrassment. He cares not for our hidebound musical prejudices. He has found the instrument he loves. Not quite rock’n’roll, not quite electronica, but something in between. He looks like a nice chap. I’d let him come in for a cup of tea, but he’d have to lock his keytar to the railings outside. Actually maybe he wouldn’t need to bother. No one in the UK would nick it.

If you’d like Miranda to cast an eye over your favourite possession, email a photo to magazine@observer.co.uk

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