Connexion macabre

Words fly like tiny sparks from the asphalt - fast, with the hoarse energy of the street, where rules are made on the fly. There are no pretty pictures here, only the pulse of the street: business cards, bracelets, Glocks, “collectif,” and laughter through clenched teeth. It all sounds like a match on a concrete field - with blows, passes, feints, and short phrases that are more important than long speeches.

Underneath the rough beat, there is a strange order: chaos gives birth to rhythm, and rhythm gives birth to its own code. It's not a pose, but a reflex - to speak sharply, live fast, and keep your distance. In this music, even danger sounds like a game, but a game where the stakes are real.