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Some duos ride trends. Others tear through them. Dear Deer are the latter: a pair whose sound is as untamed as it is calculated, as chaotic as it is poetic. I saw them once—Dark Spring Festival 2023—and it was enough to leave an imprint. Not because they were polished. Because they were raw, alive, vibrating with the kind of energy that doesn't ask for permission. "Les deux piliers" ("The Two Pillars") opens like a manifesto whispered through clenched teeth. Its lyrics toy with duality: line and margin, fullness and emptiness, presence and absence. "C'est plein et vide, un choix dirigé" — full and empty, a steered choice. Each line pushes back against the one before, like thought versus counter-thought in an endless feedback loop. There’s tension, but also surrender. The vocals—sung, shouted, layered, looped—become their own riot. Clothilde and Frédéric don’t sing so much as they embody the emotional dissonance. Their voices claw at convention. They don’t care if you’re comfortable. That’s what’s beautiful. This isn’t just a song—it’s a small theatre carved into distortion, a stage where gloss and grunge meet in embrace. Musically, the track is angular and wild. The rhythm pulses like a machine learning how to feel. Guitars scratch at the walls of structure, synths spiral out like ink in water. This is no easy-listening earworm. It’s defiant, theatrical, strangely intimate. Dear Deer don’t just give us a single. They give us a plunge into the cracks between things. Into the margins. Into what bleeds between the two pillars. And that’s exactly where the magic happens.
 

Author: khocico
Translator: khocico
Add date: 2025-04-30 / Music reviews