On his makeshift throne, Hatik appropriates the rap scene as he appropriates the public space. Without asking permission, as he wants, where he wants. With his collection of “Folding Chairs”, audiovisual shots in the colours of the times, he never stops blowing up the meters. Because he has some great stories to tell. Good ones, hard ones, and as many subtle ones as rough ones. Born in a music-loving household with jazz and soul ties, his early years brought forth a gift for writing, first of all by blackening the paper with poems. The musicality of the US rap he cherishes (A Tribe Called Quest, Busta Rhymes,…) then makes room for words spoken in his language, with Soprano and the Psy4 . Hatik’s career took him from freestyles to ephemeral studios and he ended up making an impact on some of the great minds of the rap scene, who saw him as a newcomer to the scene. The time will finally come to put an end to this game of mirrors, leaving Hatik free to sail towards his own destiny. Hatik’s destiny as an ex-boyfriend who’s grown up and whose potential is as clear as his instincts are feared. Hatik’s destiny is in line with the holy trinity of French rap, where Diam’s messages, Soprano’s sensitivity and Booba’s attitude rub shoulders with each other. Today, at the age of 26, Hatik is ready to unveil what he has been premeditating for 10 years. The formula of a rap matured in the shadow of feelings, fed by atmospheres injected with fever, tears, sex or blood. A universe where the animal, however powerful it may be, also becomes bait to better distil his thoughts under the guise of desirable instrus and imperious punchlines. The proof with its now famous “folding chairs”, veritable replay machines, that the world replays itself in a loop to detect details as numerous as forehand strokes. Like so many unidentified artistic viruses, of one minute or almost a hundred ideas, fragmented treasures that touch in many ways. In many places. And this is only the beginning. You have to sit down to believe it.