Pas d’armes blanches
C’est baston à l’ancienne
On frappe encore
Avant que la police intervienne
From the rugged region of Dauphiné comes No Filter: three seasoned souls hardened by twenty years in the French black metal scene, now diving headfirst into the raw currents of punk, Oi, and coldwave. Born from a desire to break new ground, No Filter initially sang in English but soon turned to their native French, finding the language’s blunt, biting edge better suited to their message. Each track pulses with tales of violence and loyalty, nights soaked in revelry, and the stark landscapes of their rural roots.
They sing not of abstract ideals but of lived truths—of friendships forged in fire, of a countryside as wild and relentless as their sound. Their themes grip at the marrow of life’s harsher realities, throwing them into sharp relief. In every chord and verse, No Filter captures a fierce, unfiltered ode to place and people, to roots that run deep and friendships that hold fast.
Musically, No Filter finds kindred spirits among French outfits like Bromure, Syndrome 81, and Oi Boys, but they push their sound further into uncharted terrain, amplifying the synth-wave edge until it feels like an unholy union of New Order’s spectral pulse and The 4 Skins’ raw power. It’s a brew that’s strange yet stunning, rough yet unexpectedly refined—a new voice howling from the French underground. ‘Synth punk, bagarre et blousons noirs,” as the band describes themselves.
Today, the lads unleash a raw and raucous video for La Haine Nous Appartient, capturing a night where fists fly and tempers flare under the glaring lights of a local dance. With fists clenched and bulletproof vests donned, they march into a battleground of grit and bone, a place where tradition collides with pure defiance. Brothers shoulder to shoulder, they brace for the bruises, driven by loyalty, local pride, and a touch of madness. It’s a primal scene: punches aimed squarely for the jaw, voices rising in feral cries, each hit ringing with the thrill and fury of an age-old rivalry.
There is a poetry in the ferocity of the French lyrics. Fear dissolves like mist, thin as the air we breathe—no flesh, no fate, no fury can shackle us. Knuckles glint like fallen stars, clenched in fists as if cast from iron, striking without memory, without root. In the night, we’re shadow-figures, faceless and fearless, tied not to past or place. Rage is our realm. Hear the rough cadence of the street, where alley and asphalt cradle our call, fire-wrought throats hurling guttural chants. The scent of dust and desire clings; we are wild breath and broken glass, hooligans, the raw howl of the unsaved.
Faith? We burn it. The holy is a crumbling mask. Virgin relics fall as flame consumes their shrines, ashes scatter in our wake—a heresy forged in dark fire. Fists high, pride like iron, we sing to the night—no fear, no name, no allegiance but to rage, the only hymn we need.
Pogo dance into the next revolution and watch the hockey brawl of modern life below:
A year ago, they unleashed Sans Filtre via Avant! Records: a blistering 10-track cassette that brims with urgency and spirit, a sound too restless to stay confined to tape. Now, Sans Filtre finds new life on vinyl, bringing fresh resonance. This edition features striking new artwork by Canadian artist Nakkabre (Conifère, Spleen, Vespéral), infusing the project with an intensity that mirrors the music’s raw edge.
With Sans Filtre soon on vinyl, No Filter lets loose a dark, undeniable energy, sharp as steel and relentless as the pulse of city lights. You can get it on 22 November.
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