French TV tried to throw this unknown rapper under the bus, but it didn’t turned out how they would expect
A think-piece about Nick Conrad, a then-unknown rapper who became infamous when French medias and politics tried to tear him down out of nowhere after the release of a song titled “PLB” (short for “Pendez Les Blancs” - “Hang White People”).
ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN FRENCH ON YARD.MEDIA
Before politicians and the national press chose to make him exist for the wrong reasons, Nick Conrad was a nobody. But the media frenzy he generates and fuels grants him undeniable significance. And it speaks volumes about the other France.
September 2018. Time passes, but nothing changes: rap is once again at the heart of a controversy shaking the country—or at least a part of it. Who’s being blamed this time? Booba? Damso? No, Nick Conrad. "Nick who?!" wonder, in unison, most industry players, from specialized media personalities to the most passionate listeners. As rap enthusiasts, they should have known this rapper whose name is now echoing across the national press, with BFM, Le Figaro, and CNEWS leading the charge. But no. These media outlets, which barely a month earlier were still asking, "Who is Kaaris, the rapper who fought with Booba?" have now managed to do something unexpected: they have introduced us to a new rapper.
At 35, Nick Conrad is an aspiring artist like thousands of others. After releasing five projects that went virtually unnoticed, he became infamous for "PLB" (short for "Pendez Les Blancs" or "Hang White People"): a provocative track accompanied by an equally explicit visual, in which he stages a Black people's revenge against historical crimes committed against them—an eye-for-an-eye scenario. In the video, he kidnaps a white man, shoves a gun into his mouth, smashes his skull against a curb—a recreation of the infamous scene from American History X—and then lights a cigar in front of his lifeless, hanging body. The images are undeniably shocking (but isn’t reality itself already shocking?), yet they had no inherent reason to be seen by all of France.
Numbers don’t lie: at a time when rap is consumed primarily via streaming, Nick Conrad only averages 3,949 monthly listeners on Spotify, and nine of his ten most-played songs on the platform have not even surpassed 10,000 streams. Only Doux Pays, his latest work, has barely crossed that threshold—and for a clear reason: it was recently condemned by none other than the Minister of the Interior, Christophe Castaner, who denounced its "unspeakable lyrics" and "odious video." By seizing on the issue, politicians and far-right circles managed to turn a spark into a wildfire, prompting media outlets to follow suit.
"It’s through controversy that we end up covering a topic like this. If politicians say nothing, I’m not convinced we’d be interested in his latest song," acknowledges Gaëlle Darengosse, a journalist at France 3 Île-de-France for the Seine-Saint-Denis bureau. A few days after the minister’s reaction, she approached the editorial team at YARD for an interview on the 7 PM news. Her intent was commendable: to pose the question that should have been central to the conversation about Nick Conrad, as it determines the weight his words should carry—the question of his legitimacy and significance in the industry he claims to belong to. Ultimately, the interview never took place. "Nick Conrad is essentially a nobody who found himself in the middle of a controversy far beyond him," continues Darengosse, who did end up interviewing the rapper. "The guy makes music—think what you will of it—and suddenly he’s getting hammered by every politician, his name splashed everywhere... He has the right to respond. If anyone were attacked like this, we’d go see them to ask what’s happening."
To explain the storm surrounding Monsieur Nobody, the journalist has a theory: "Politicians are going after him because of this terrible fear of 'anti-white racism,' which they claim Nick Conrad embodies." Once again, the far-right’s game is being played, amplifying narratives that suggest racial minorities have it out for white people and pose a threat to them. Never mind the nuances that should be considered to properly understand the discourse. Never mind who is delivering it.
Unfortunately for his many fervent critics, the artistry of this rapper from Noisy-le-Grand may be mediocre, but it is not as mindless or shallow as they would like to paint it. And when given the space to explain his approach—as he was in Le Parisien—Nick Conrad does not appear clumsy. Quite the opposite: he makes his perspective comprehensible to those willing to listen. According to him, PLB is about "creating a mirror effect" and "reversing roles." For the duration of a music video, Black people become the oppressors of white people, inflicting upon them atrocities not so different from those historically endured by Black communities in real life. "It’s a fiction that depicts events that, from start to finish, actually happened to Black people," he explained to RTL. In a slightly more provocative tone, the 30-something denies being racist, pointing out that "80% of the video’s crew were white" and that "[his] white friends support [him]." A delightfully ironic rebuttal, considering how often this absurd argument is wielded as a shield by those accused of making racist remarks against racial minorities.
The goal is to shock, but above all, to provoke thought. The former was achieved brilliantly. As for the latter—well, that remains to be seen. Because in order to provoke thought, the recipients of Nick Conrad’s message would first need to be willing to question their beliefs. Like the one that rap should always be taken at face value. That it is never about embodying a role, playing a character, or putting oneself in someone else's shoes, as is common in cinema. When, on CNEWS, the rapper calls for "distancing" (sic) when interpreting his work, editorialist Ivan Rioufol, 67, categorically retorts: "Those who listen to you do not distance themselves; they take you at your word, and you know it very well." As if Nick Conrad’s audience had actually rushed to hang white people after hearing his infamous track. Ridiculous. Another flaw in Rioufol’s argument: Nick Conrad doesn’t even have an audience. His views come from non-rap listeners curious about the latest twist in a bizarre media saga.
With the PLB and Doux Pays controversies, the man has made the rounds on television. A successful strategy. Each time, he is caught in a dialogue of the deaf, facing sharks who pretend to offer him a platform but only show contempt, constantly interrupting him as he struggles to deliver his sometimes over-rehearsed speech. French television in all its glory. Thrust into a public trial where his right to defend himself is systematically undermined, Nick Conrad is practically doomed from the start. An unfair situation that ultimately generates unexpected sympathy for him. On social media, more and more people who initially didn’t care about him or his art end up siding with him as they grasp the true nature of his adversaries.
Plus, Nick Conrad actually already faced a (real) trial, which resulted in a suspended fine of 5,000 euros on March 19 for incitement to crime. The case was brought against him by AGRIF, whose president happens to be a former member of the National Front [french far-right party], and LICRA, which, not long ago, supported the staging of an Aeschylus play at La Sorbonne where white actors were made up in blackface. Two associations whose true allegiances remain ambiguous.
Back in January, journalist Sihame Assbague live-tweeted the hearing, which proved to be nothing short of surreal. Malcolm X was reportedly portrayed as "an anti-white racist and a black supremacist" by AGRIF's lawyer, while LICRA's attorney went so far as to question Nick Conrad's status as an artist (and therefore his right to the freedom of expression that comes with it) on the grounds that "very few people knew him before this controversy." To which the defense retorted: "Does one need to have a contract with Universal to be considered an artist and have the right to create freely?"
Another point raised by the court was that the French public might not be aware of the references used by the artist in PLB, as if the sheer ignorance of some could justify the bad-faith trial imposed on his work. Similarly, lawyer Marie-Anne Soubré expressed outrage on RMC over Nick Conrad's decision to depict the "French mentality" through a white woman in the Doux Pays music video. Perhaps one day, she will heard about the deeply symbolic figure of Marianne.
Driven by dubious motives, politicians and national media have only ensured Nick Conrad’s rise. Thanks to them, the once-unknown rapper has gained two things he likely never dreamed of: supporters—rallied by the grotesque and unhealthy harassment he faces—and a platform. Within just six days, the controversial Doux Pays video amassed over 300,000 views—with nearly 80% negative feedback. More than all the videos of a promising artist like Zed Yun Pavarotti, who enjoys extensive coverage from rap medias. Unsurprisingly, a national media-fueled scandal brings more visibility than a string of specialized press features.
Maybe Nick Conrad will land a record deal with a major label willing to gamble on an artist who, unlike many others, can now claim to be recognized. After all, the U.S. has seen its fair share of labels capitalizing on bad buzz. Until then, Nick Conrad remains the monster created by the other France—one that, in its own way, exposes the hypocrisy and contradictions it endlessly embodies.