| 01 | | Ebisu Rendez-vous | | | | | | | 02 | | Dans le Club | | | | | | | 03 | | Le Chant des Hommes | | | | | | | 04 | | Du Sang sur le Dancefloor | | | | | | | 05 | | Catalogue | | | | | | | 06 | | J'ai pas Sommeil | | | | | | | 07 | | Rap Jeu | | | | | | | 08 | | Latest Dance Craze | | | | | | | 09 | | Girlfriend | | | | | | | 10 | | Batard Sensible | | | | | | | 11 | | Codeine | | | | | | | 12 | | Meet the New Boss | | | | | |
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What’s the best way to describe the new album from Parisian future rappers TTC? Like the Sex Pistols jamming with Daft Punk in French? The soundtrack to the victory of machines over humans as directed by Luc Besson? The funniest, thuggiest outpouring of nerd posturing in the history of hip hop, ever (and still in French)? Or maybe as all of these things (in French).
One thing is for certain, the group who gave us “Ceci N’est Pas Un Disque” back in 2002 have come a long, long way. That time around you could make out that they saw themselves as part of a worldwide movement of underground hip hop, even if they couldn’t be bothered being stupid enough to take themselves that seriously. This time it’s like listening to a record made in a vacuum, albeit one with some synths, some porn, some inimitable Frenchness and a whole lot of attitude floating around in it. That’s to say there are no obvious reference points for “Batards Sensible”, just an icy cold self belief combined with the kind of kitschy silliness which makes a saxophone solo played on a laptop seem like a good idea (“Le Chant Des Hommes”).
Perhaps it’s because the trio have become a quartet, or depending how you look at it, a sextet. In addition to the key members Teki Latex, Cuizinier and Tido Berman, the group’s DJ, Orgasmic now makes the front cover. And the music for the album was produced by two of France’s most exciting electronic pioneers, Para One and Tacteel, as well as Tido. As a result the album has a much more consistent feel than last time out, a much cleaner feel, an aggressive attempt to stand out.
The subject matter here ranges from menstruation (“Du Sang Sur La Dancefloor”), insomnia (“J'ai pas sommeil”), clothes (“Catalogue”), the nature of time (the DJ Screw tribute “Codeine”) and having sex with friends’ girlfriends (“Rap-jeu”). They even come over as the weak, needy sensitive bastards they believe all men to be on the album’s title track. But unless your French is very very good, your grasp of slang remarkable, you’re probably going to have to take our word for it. Instead, revel in the combination of delicacy and brutality in the use of electronics, the contrast of the three MCs’ voices, the multitracking and distrortion of those voices, the sheer range of ambition and invention.
Already being hailed as a masterpiece in France (“Jumping into the future in a way
very few have done before in French hip hop… incredible” – Les Inrocks), it’s time TTC were embraced by us all. Even if we ain’t got a clue what they’re on about…
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