The sounds come from an ancient iron workshop located in the street I live in, in Saint-Ouen. It is a hundred years old. Bell chimes, welding, sawing. Sparkles, crackles, quietness. The closed-in space of the workshop. Human rythmics with age old gestures, hammer banging to bend the iron. Loud noise of machines cutting the iron as if it were paper. Regular stroke of the power hammer: precise and acurate drum machine. The giant clock of electronic music. And there are voices, the iron craftsmen voices…