With their first album, Opus I, Violence hit us right between the eyes with an ultra-angry universe, a mix of bass music and corrosive metal, a furious thing that hit very hard. For their second album, the project initiated by Frédéric Garcia, a.k.a. Niveau Zero, changes its habits a little: no, this second album is not simply titled Opus II but The Block, a statement of intent in itself... But above all, unlike the first, it is much less of a collaborative album. It's as if Violence has refocused to better define its identity, with a few well-aimed blows to the face.
The air smells of gasoline. There is an omnipresent scent of rebellion in Violence, which is immediately anchored in a contemporary, realistic universe. Post Truth, Nothing is Real: reference points are disappearing, notions such as decency are forgotten, truth itself has become something to be toyed with, and reality is now just another opinion. The music bursts forth like a brick thrown at the window of artificiality, which is far too many words and syllables to say that it kicks ass. The sound is massive, apocalyptic, the perfect soundtrack for smashing everything up. Refocusing, Violence sounds perhaps a tad less metal, with electronic bass imposing its omnipotence and cadence. It breathes easier, but only to hit us harder.
In terms of effectiveness, there's nothing to complain about, The Block is a model of thrashing. Less than half an hour of boom-boom, tadada-tadada, bleuaarrgh, it's enjoyable and nasty. It sometimes brings to mind Combichrist's relatively recent tracks with their desire to mix savagery, catchy formulas, and a few more bizarre impulses, but with a less martial, less structured madness. Violence takes dubstep from the 2010s and turns it into a wrecking ball accompanied by bloodthirsty riffs. Horskh's contribution to Wide Shut brings different textures and emotions, between the aggrotech synths of the intro, the screeching guitar and Bastien Hennaut's vocals, it's irresistible.
The Block: is it the block of houses that serves as the backdrop, anchoring Violence in an urban universe made of concrete and gray? Is it a block of stone that we catapult in a gesture of rebellion? A dark monolith around which we dance like madmen at night to the sound of No Matter What, featuring Graphyt as a guest artist, which begins like a circle pit anthem and then crushes us with its abyssal bass? As they say, Silence is Violence, so we take it all and turn up the volume until the walls crumble to dust. That's where the soul of Violence lies: not shutting up, not turning a blind eye, breaking down barriers. Blind Enough pounds relentlessly, enough to shatter any foundation. There are messages that need to be shouted, because they need to be heard, but also because it feels good to let them out, cleansing the inside while purifying the outside. You come out of The Block like you've been through a spin cycle, but with the desire to go back. Violence's second album, by gaining in clarity, also gains in impact. The result is massive.
