Recorded on December 1, 2009 at the Instants Chavirés in Montreuil. Marteau Rouge, legendary band composed of Jean-Marc Foussat (VCS3 synthesizer, toy voices), Jean François Pauvros (guitars, voices) and Makoto Sato (percussions). And the tenor saxophonist and soprano Evan Parker with whom Marteau Rouge had already recorded a CD, “ LIVE”, the year before, released by In Situ in 2009.
Hammer Rouge is a trio focused in the tellurical, electric noise with Pauvros’s saturated and electrocuted guitar and Foussat’s unspeakable layers and loops that merge, intermingle or explore moving drones, whispers, bats that Makoto Sato’s crazy baguettes agitate, lift, and Evan flies off as he rotates, or lets the vibrations spread. It is then in a moment of almost slightly electrical silence that has crossed the playing area (18 minutes) like a bolid, that Evan’s breath is slowly born, his notes, which swell swiftly like gas bubbles on the stagnant rotten water of an abandoned pond, come out of their gang oscillating around a tonic ghost. The JFP arch makes a two-note anthem mount in space above the electronic vibrations, a few discreet cymbals beats contribute to the unexpected sequence atmosphere. The tenor sax marks his signature for a moment. A little fresh air. Into the Deep. This music fills space and forgets time, creates listening, allows silence to flow, marks its territory. The blower comments, bites the sound patch of the tenor sax that rises, spirals, rotates, turns in front of the whistling of rotors, the grinding of machines, reacts briefly to sound signals, holds on to the friction of the guitarist. The drummer spreads his rebounding bars on the skin, the cymbals crumble, the barrels resonate, the machine whistles, the sax wraps the bites and burns like burning tapes, buried in the hole of voices coming from nowhere.

A few sharp notes of the guitar oscillate, a drumming replicates bearings, electronic whispers, the psyched guitar saturates, fractures the sounds, shakes the electricity, Evan Parker's sax takes back to the flight fragments played by JFP and taking over, demultiplies his phrase. The relentless joints of the breath overlap, crush and fraction the illusion of melodies. Guitarist and electronics explode the power plant, the lead, it explodes or three guitar notes play equal with the Parkerien guirlandes. Collective improvisation becomes epic, time is completely broken, logic is returned to the dressing rooms, the ring has become a fair field and you hear bird calls, cracking, beatings of the percussionist. A loudly lit passage emerges, guitar – indescribable synthesis, overwhelming, the drummer lost in a rhythmic that reminds everyone of order in cadence and the tenor sax plays the game, its sound transformed by moments by J-MF. Consistent collective construction for a few minutes before everything implodes, the lava takes away the barriers, scraps overflow. There's still smoke, batteries, shadows... Will-O'-the-Wisp, the moment of collective agility, kinesthetic energy... of gravity ascending over the vacuum. Everything bursts. This music does not seek a continuity, a narration, a logic, but allows for sound events, contrasts, swings of mood, outrages, delusions, vociferations in which the saxophonist marks his footsteps, from which he feeds and over which he flies to dive. Exchanges, provocations, dreams, moments that swallow up, madness... The gift. (Jean-Michel Van Schouwburg)