Soul Glo avoine la pouliche avec Gold Chain Punk
La scène punk n’arrête jamais de se renouveler pour le plaisir de nos oreilles et Soul Glo en est le symbole. Le groupe nous envoie une rafale de parpaing dans la gueule et c’est plus qu’appréciable. On les considérait comme un groupe à suivre. Maintenant, le quatuor a montré qu’il était bien assis sur la chaise respectable des putains de bons groupes. Les preuves ont été envoyées par leurs riffs en Colissimo express et tu vas recevoir le colis en appuyant sur play un peu plus bas.
La punk musique de la nouvelle signature du label culte d’Epitaph Records est un mélange de noise, de punk et de metal. Le chant est un cri frénétique. On alterne cri primal et moment plus rock et calme. Ca sent le punk hardcore des années 1980 à deux cents kilomètres. Les mecs ne nous laissent pas de répit, ni de trêve et franchement j’adore.
C’est donc extrait de Diapora Problem, leur premier album disponible sur bandcamp et ça nettoie le cérumen, c’est moi qui vous le dit.
Lyrics :
Can I live? Can I pull out the needles I’ve been stuck with in a bloodletting Ima turn into drip? Can I live? Can I chill and not take up space to trip, red-pilling myself until I submit? Can I live? Can I pull up on myself and disclaim whoever else voice it is that say my mistakes only why I exist too much and too loudly for me to question it? A nigga is the grill he got, a nigga is the chain he lost that he got from Willy Will off the lot. A nigga be in pocket till he not, till he shut down and won’t talk, Fort Knox. Giving so little takes so much, putting in work to look like he don’t give a fuck. It’s worth it to pretend you never get wound up and shrug it off and put half on the Sag cusp. JK Ima hold it forever. The angry nigga at my core is many things, (but) not forgetful. He say, “The jewels retooled you to make more fools than schools do; of course you out here now wishing you could do better. You know that you’ve sewn the thread of all you’ve regretted. You know no one calling after ties have been severed.” ¡Y no lo puedo puto creer! So I hit the dab pen on the Megabus, nigga who gon beat my ass? I might get high too much, but do I give a fuck? Who gon beat my ass? Half the time I see my best self as a nigga who know what he deserve. Then I wake up on the next day unable to relate to the meaning of the word. The unlimited worlds in this one earth, their work and its worth motivate my love of life undermined by, as it were, feeling insecure, so who gon beat my ass? (who want it goddamit??) Who wanna play judge loose and fast bc they got nothing but time on hand, but still give a fuck about where a nigga land? Who the fuck out here with it like that? Can a nigga live? Can I live? Is it really possible for a nigga to piss off his therapist? Uhhhhhhh I’m just asking for a friend, try not to read too much into it. Can I live? Can I pull up on myself and disclaim whoever else voice it is that say my mistakes only why I exist too much and too loudly for me to question it? Can I exist in love of my own decisions? Can I hold my own hand under my weighted blanket? Forgiveness is a ghost to my mind, ever-fading from my sight with time. Out here happy and dying, that’s life. Savagery run it and I’m doing just fine. I’m doing just fine… Can I live? Smith and Wesson in my pocket, who gon beat my ass? Out here drunk and I don’t give a fuck. Who gon beat my ass? Say more, say less, it’s all the same. When it’s time to die we can meet outside to see who gon feel my pain. So who gon beat my ass?
