He’s got his fill, Mononc ‘Serge. And he swings in it. Not happily. Not angry for a loud laugh, not as an outlet. Angry hard. “I was tired of driving in van with my band », It is not so much second degree as sickness assumed. “One day I was told that I make niche music,” he says, insulted by the pejorative connotation. He claims it, his niche, and he is quite right: ” […] zero regrets, all these beautiful trashy things / have earned me my niche where today it works ”. He adds with the title song: “Artist of the year, pff, nothing to shit / The year will pass, the artist will flow […] Me, I write in indelible ink / that we are going to sing again in the year 8000 ”. In the collimator, the disengaged (I care), the perfect flawless (Citizen model), the I-don’t care (Terrorist). All in hard-rock with big riffs (and not in metal à la Anonymus, nuance). Nothing to please, nothing to rejoice, if not the inexhaustible verve of dear Serge. In the end, we’re angry like him. That’s the point.
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