Freeze Corleone is putting french rap audience in front of its own contradictions, but should we care?
A think-piece about the backlash surrounding Freeze Corleone, french rapper accused of being anti-semitic by French politics and media. Soon after the release of his album LMF—which sold more than 20 000 in its first week—, his contract with his label Universal was terminated.
ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN FRENCH ON YARD.MEDIA
Can We Say We "Don't Give a F.U.C.K About the Holocaust"? Legally, it’s very possible. Morally reprehensible? Absolutely. But has the controversy surrounding Freeze Corleone, as amplified by the French political and media establishment with barely disguised populism, outgrown this simple debate and demanded a broader, necessary perspective? Let’s examine the situation.
When an individual—especially a Black rapper like Freeze Corleone—is accused of antisemitism, political figures and the media are quick to react. Their condemnations are swift, and sanctions follow immediately: barely a day after the Paris prosecutor’s office opened an investigation into him, Universal Music—his distributor—announced it was severing ties with him. If only such rapid responses were the norm when editorialists and so-called philosophers spew toxic rhetoric about Black people, Islam, or women on national television.
French rap has long been accustomed to controversies that surpass the genre itself. So much so that it now anticipates them. When Freeze Corleone’s signing with Neuve, a new label under Universal Music, was announced, those familiar with his work and persona couldn’t help but be surprised: a major label had finally taken the risk of investing in the enigmatic rapper. But did they truly understand what they were getting into? Apparently not enough.
For his part, Freeze Corleone never deceived anyone. Since the mid-2010s, the artist—also known as "Chen Zen"—has built a reputation as one of France’s most skilled lyricists among a niche audience drawn to his mechanical, hyper-referential rap. It was widely assumed that he would remain an underground king, forever confined to a dedicated but limited fanbase.
Several factors explain this. His deliberate discretion ("You'll never see me in an interview on Booska-P or Rapelite"), his uncompromising artistic vision—eschewing radio-friendly beats, autotuned hooks, or marketable singles—made him an unlikely mainstream investment.
More significantly, his fascination with conspiracy theories and his repeated allusions to Nazi Germany—sometimes explicit but always open to interpretation—made him a problematic figure, incompatible with mass appeal and the corporate and political interests of a major label. And yet, despite having consistently pushed these boundaries over the course of six solo projects and countless collaborations, Universal took the gamble. Rumors suggest that Sony had also entered discussions before ultimately backing out.
The temptation had simply become too great for an industry obsessed with rap—its cultural dominance and its financial potential. The fear of missing out on an opportunity often dictates industry decisions. Freeze Corleone, a "rapper’s rapper" whose technical influence had been growing across successful projects since 2015, was evidently too promising a prospect to ignore. But the stakes had been clear from the beginning, long before the controversy ignited by LMF—leaving no room for feigned ignorance today.
Everything started with the End (of Times)
September 11, 2016. Midnight, Senegal time. Freeze Corleone releases FDT (Fin des Temps / End of Times), a 13-track project that encapsulates everything he stands for. Stylistically, there are no frills: Freeze is in his element, employing repetitive rhyme schemes that define his unique sound.
FDT is cryptic, almost occult. Each lyric demands decryption: every "like" introduces an obscure comparison, every "s/o" (shout-out) references a hidden figure, every metaphor invites listeners to research further. There’s no simplification, no hand-holding—each listener must decipher the message on their own. His themes remain consistent: references to pop culture (anime, films), deep cuts from Francophone rap, historical events, and, less commonly, African heritage—primarily Senegalese and Pan-Africanist influences.
Yet another key element emerges: secret societies, conspiracy theories, a fascination with malevolence, and borderline antisemitic rhetoric. Year after year, Freeze Corleone's formula remains unchanged. Sometimes subtle, sometimes less so, he always treads carefully, ensuring he never explicitly crosses the line that would irreversibly alter the perception of his work.
Four years later. September 11, 2020. Midnight, Senegal time. Freeze Corleone releases LMF (La Menace Fantôme / The Phantom Menace). Everything said about FDT applies once more.
A Pyrrhic Victory for Rap?
With one key difference: by 2020, Freeze Corleone had grown significantly in influence. The release of LMF was no longer a niche event. In an era where rap dominates the charts and artists who have steadily built loyal fanbases are finally reaping the rewards (s/o Laylow, s/o Josman), Freeze Corleone had expanded his reach, cultivating a devoted following—"the sect"—proud to be part of his movement.
His rise was fueled by increased output, high-profile collaborations (Drill FR 4 being a standout), and unexpected endorsements. Take Sardoche, a major French Twitch personality, for instance. On April 22, 2020, Sardoche expressed his admiration for Freeze Corleone to 20,000 live viewers during a "French rap reaction" stream. A few Twitter exchanges and a trending topic later, Freeze gained 17,000 new followers in a single day—far surpassing his usual monthly growth of 2,000. This surge played a significant role in his mainstream breakthrough.
The numbers speak for themselves. One week after LMF's release, with 26,499 first-week sales—outperforming industry heavyweights like Kaaris and SCH—there was no longer any doubt: Freeze Corleone had transcended his underground status.
Artistically, LMF represents a victory for artistic integrity in a rap scene often quick to conform. The album’s guest list includes figures known for their uncompromising approach—Despo Rutti, Alpha 5.20, and Alpha Wann, who remains steadfast in his vow to be "the last real rapper." But such success inevitably brought the controversial aspects of Freeze Corleone’s lyrics into the spotlight.
You know the story: on August 26, 2020, Valeurs Actuelles ignited the firestorm with a Twitter video compiling excerpts of his lyrics deemed antisemitic and revisionist. On September 16, the LICRA (International League Against Racism and Antisemitism) condemned him, followed by Interior Minister Gérald Darmanin the next day, leading to a formal investigation. The mainstream media seized upon the controversy, condemnations poured in, and Culture Minister Roselyne Bachelot denounced him in Parliament—acknowledging his "undeniable talent" but firmly rejecting his rhetoric. Freeze Corleone had achieved what he seemingly wanted: a successful, uncompromising album, praised by rap critics, condemned by the LICRA, and, possibly, soon to be banned by the government. The holy grail of the conspiracy world.
"I Have Rhymes You Need to Handle with Care"
It’s undeniable: without perspective or a conscious mental exercise, some of the imagery depicted by the artist can leave an unsettling aftertaste. "I have rhymes you need to handle with care," he warns in "Pas de refrain." Skillfully (and likely irreproachable from a legal standpoint), he always leaves room for double meanings and dual interpretations. The complexity of objectively grasping his work lies in the idea of giving the listener the freedom to understand whatever they choose to understand. And when dealing with a deliberately cryptic work—incidentally, a popular marketing strategy in music, as seen with Damso and PNL—it only adds to the ambiguity surrounding his real intentions. No wonder his audience today is so diverse, even polarized, and that criticism abounds.
Furthermore, an additional challenge arises from the fact that he has never expressed a clear stance outside of his music. No interviews, no statements, no positioning beyond his artistic expression. Unlike Dieudonné, for example—whom Freeze Corleone’s situation is often compared to—Dieudonné has always defended the idea of using provocation as a means to spark debate and reflection by exaggerating, creating a "laughter whose roots should be disturbing."
Today, with the necessary perspective, one can listen to the 667 leader’s tracks without being outright outraged. And that’s without being indifferent to the Holocaust (“R.A.F. de la Shoah”) or being comfortable with the idea of dismissing the suffering of a community to which one does not belong. Likewise, in our contemporary context, if we take satisfaction in seeing statues of colonial French figures toppled, it’s certainly not to, in parallel, admire the "determination" or "great ambitions" of Adolf Hitler. If Freeze Corleone’s lyrics don’t immediately provoke repulsion, it’s because from the outset, one can be convinced of grasping his intention—the message subtly woven into his lines: a deliberately provocative way to bring attention to other crimes against humanity that are more or less erased from collective memory ("shout-out to Native Americans, shout-out to slavery"). Because behind "Every day, I don’t give a F.U.C.K. about the Shoah," there’s a "shout-out to Congo" that mainstream media conveniently omits. And when he isn’t referencing Nations nègres et culture by Cheikh Anta Diop, he states, "In the lineage of Malcolm and Rosa." Yet this aspect of his work, which gives depth—or even a justification?—to his willingness to provoke, is oddly disregarded when it comes time for his grand trial.
A Dangerous Double Standards
In an article titled "Don’t give a F.U.C.K. with the Holocaust: A Journey into the Obsessive Anti-Semitism of Rapper Freeze Corleone," Marianne journalist Paul Dider writes: "We’d mostly like to make them understand that this competition of victimhood makes no sense, that a suffering Jew takes nothing away from a suffering Black person, that we can talk about both slavery AND the Holocaust." These are fair words, ones we’re glad to read and that are difficult to object to in principle. But here’s the thing: when does this actually translate into reality? When do we actually talk about both the Holocaust AND slavery? And is this "competition of victimhood" really maintained by Freeze Corleone, or rather by those elites who continuously dismiss the expressions of suffering from other minorities? There is sometimes a bitter feeling that the pain of the Jewish people is more easily heard, understood, and remembered. That it is one of the rare offenses France has vowed never to let slide. This has the effect of setting the Jewish community apart from other suffering communities—those whose thirst for justice is never quenched. To the point where people react less forcefully when the Jewish community is attacked, knowing that powerful institutions will step in regardless. A lack of empathy that is never far from turning into hostility. A dangerous game.
Once again: Do some of Freeze Corleone’s lyrics deserve condemnation, at least morally? Absolutely. The problem is that his are the only ones to be condemned amidst a constant cacophony of reprehensible statements. Supporting him then appears as a mechanism of self-defense, a way of fighting fire with fire: they are hypocritical, so we end up being hypocritical in return, just to prevent yet another injustice—this time against "one of our own." Hip-hop, a culture that is deeply anti-racist at its core, finds itself rallying around an individual whose words are almost as ambiguous as those it usually denounces. Quite the paradox.
Would we react the same way if an artist claimed they "didn’t give a f*** about slavery"? Of course not. But then again, one only needs to open a history book to remember that we’re told this all the time in more subtle ways. At the same time, some might argue that we could rise above and not stoop to defending statements we fundamentally do not endorse. But it’s never easy to react rationally and sensibly when witnessing an injustice. French rap veteran Mac Tyer could explain that better than we ever could.
By coming down so hard on Freeze Corleone, the political and media elite may actually be the ones most responsible for fueling polarization in our society—and, indirectly, anti-Semitism. Today more than ever, anti-Jewish sentiment manifests through stereotypes that portray Jews as a rich, powerful, dominant, and protected community. Desperately trying to silence the rapper this way—doesn’t it only serve to reinforce his narrative? Some of the most extreme fans of 667 will likely become convinced that the Jewish community is "pulling the strings" when they see how hard the system tries to silence their favorite artist. And tomorrow, when COVID-19 is behind us and Freeze Corleone can perform concerts again, "R.A.F. de la Shoah" might be chanted as a rallying cry by a crowd that has turned him into a symbol. And no one wants that—not even those who don’t yet realize it. Was there really no better way to address the problematic nature of his work? That would have required actually engaging with it. Just look at former Interior Minister Christophe Castaner denouncing Freeze Corleone’s "video clip"—when in reality, he was referencing a compilation of punchlines assembled by the LICRA (International League Against Racism and Anti-Semitism). If they can’t even listen properly to an artist’s corrosive work, how can they be expected to listen to a youth they’ve been trying to silence for so many years?