Pogo Car Crash Control is not just about the music; it's also about a message. A kind of never-digested adolescence, a testament to a certain malaise. Society is coded, and there are only two options: either you fit in, or you're out. And as Claudy would say, you'll have to make a decision. Pogo chose to stay out. The lyrics go against the prevailing pretense where everyone has the night of their lives for an Instagram photo.
"Ce Monde Humiliant," "Seul A Tomber," "L'Ego Au Chiotte," "Pourquoi Tu Pleures"... The titles from the album "Tête Blême" speak for themselves. Vocals shouted, played, and raspy at 3000 miles an hour, as if rushing to pogo to avoid crying: the evolution of their "Déprime Hostile." The next stage. That of crisis, of nausea. Welcome to a world that pits realism against fantasy.
But be warned, Pogo Car Crash Control remains a party and live band (over 150 concerts to their name). Just look at the faces of the audience after an hour-long set: smiles mix with sweat, joy mixes with blood. A salty happiness, you could say! And this, regardless of the venue size. The same feeling in a squat in Saint-Ouen, in a wild Zénith de Paris, on the Hellfest stage in 2018, or in a packed Maroquinerie. Size doesn't measure euphoria.
P3C is not static, not confined by the precepts of a hardcore style with its codes, obligations, and limits. Here, the band builds anew, freeing itself, embracing the killing of all traces of pop. The band creates a kind of Alternative Schengen. The free movement of riffs. Moving from metal to punk, from one color to another in 2 bars, not easy? Challenge accepted!