TTC

You don’t have to understand French to understand the four sensitive bastards of TTC. On their second album they come with pixilated and sterilised hip-hop put through the glitch grinder and polished to a vibrant, and forceful finish. The grit here is totally synthetic and reined in, but their aggressive cock-rock attitude is so over the top you too will produce your best Billy Idol snarl of confidence. Melodies are so clean they seem to pipeline around each other without touching, but still fill out the songs. Beats are alternately so dirt-free and so fake-dirty that they verge on parody. Again, it’s those crass rappers and the smart vocal production that propels it beyond mockery and back into seriousness. This is something else! Alert and angular like Etcha-Sketch, this odd ball is a gem.