Scorie – Gallodrome
Scorie’s debut EP Gallodrome, out April 24 on Géographie, is five tracks of Parisian post-punk that arrives fully formed, all sharp edges and cinematic nerve.
Scorie formed in November 2023 at Point Ephémère in Paris: Germain Izydorczyk on vocals, guitar and keyboards, Antoine Barbier on bass, and Achille Germain on drums, with Arthur Dantcikian joining on guitar and keyboards a year later. More than a year of what the band call “learned distillation” went into these five songs, and it shows. Gallodrome doesn’t feel like a band feeling things out. Guitars ignite, keyboards hypnotize, the rhythm section keeps pushing toward the dancefloor while something nervous pulls in the opposite direction. The lyrics are shot through with satire, cynicism, and images that carry a cinematic weight without ever leaning on obvious reference points.
We’ve been following Scorie since W23 2025, when “The Leash & The Fury” arrived as a confrontational, oddly catchy debut produced by David Cukier at Studio Delta Paris, with contributions from Gabriel Arraki and Basile, and mastered by Sam Berdah at The Wall Studio. The record opens with “Not Alone (A Certain Path)”, dismantling every structure people lean on, religion, work, community, and replacing them with nothing, a repeated refrain that tells the listener, calmly, that yes, you are alone. “The Leash & The Fury” follows, turning voluntary submission into black comedy, the speaker fully aware of what they’re doing (“they wouldn’t understand how I can be a man while acting like a fool”) and doing it anyway. “Property” is the most explicitly political: “let’s build a wall / made out of concrete and Adderall” ties border paranoia to pharmaceutical numbness in one line, a portrait of defensive, violent domesticity that doesn’t need to announce itself as satire to land as one. “Room Full of Gangsters”, covered here in W09 2026, stretches to five and a half minutes of slow-burn crescendo in a stifling western atmosphere, a man staring his existence and death in the face. It’s the most cinematic thing on the EP and earns every second of its runtime. “Legitimate Violence” closes the record: rawer and faster, the portrait of a cold, soulless character, oscillating between the urge to dance and the need to scream.
What I keep noticing is how consistent the tone stays across five very different tempos. The band described themselves as “a beef bourguignon where the red wine has been replaced by two bottles of cognac”, and that’s not far off.
Five tracks doesn’t give a band long to establish an identity, but Scorie doesn’t waste any of it. Gallodrome sounds like a group that already knows exactly where it’s going, and it’s why it’s here.
