Cyborg has a skeleton of solid, stripped-down instrumentals, getting straight to the point, onto which the muscles of a real, technical, and confident flow cling. At a time when makers are saturating the market with soft trap, dreary synth pads, clichés strung together like beads, pitching episodes of Gomorra and repainting them with autotune to the point of nausea, Nekfeu shakes up this void with a sanguine, complex, and ardent record. Voice upfront, to showcase the discourse and demonstration of true mastery of language. It hits, it bounces, it delivers meaning, it tells stories, it leaves you speechless, like the best special effects of a Hollywood blockbuster, and yet it's done only with words and a science of conveying them. There is love, real love, doubts, cracks, and bluster; it is deeply embodied, as rap is less and less, and that is precisely what makes it so powerful here. Nekfeu is backed by a crew of rapper sidekicks: Nepal, Murkage Dave, Alpha Wann, Sneazzy, S. Pri Noir, Nemir, 2Zer, Mekra, Doums, Framal, Jazzy Bazz, Crystal Kay, but also by the silky Clara Lucciani, rising star of aesthetic song, and everyone, you can feel it, makes the necessary efforts to rise to the level of their host's songs. Instead of the standard electro gadgets, there are saxophone slaps that tear your soul apart. It makes sense: a Cyborg with a soul is somewhat the definition of this transhumanist and spectacular album.
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