“This young man carries us away in stripped acid electronic swirls.”
Claude. Its name sound like one of the great names of French song and yet, this music leaves you with a funny acid taste. The taste for long nights of dancing alone, the noise of the city and the need to let go. Corrosive synths and these caustic and lucid verses which badly mask the sensitivity of a new voice which we hear once and which we will never forget.
24 years old, Claude is the perfect example of a disenchanted generation, but one that dances. And while the others sing to escape the constant hubbub, Claude immerses himself in it. He lives it and leaves it to the consumer. Claude also composes. He likes messy drum machines, schematic basses. Claude writes. More for catharsis than for poetry. Rhymes don’t matter.
From Tyler to Hubert Lenoir via Brel and DJ Pierre, deadpan Claude is the strangely baroque new signature of the microqlima label (L’Impératrice, Isaac Delusion, Pépite, Fils Cara…).