Dillom Gives Into Sex, Drugs, and Rock & Roll on ‘La Nueva Violencia’

On his new album, La Nueva Violencia , Dillom is finally ready to let his hair down. That may seem like a strange mission statement given the Argentine rapper’s uproarious breakthrough: his 2021 debut, Post-Mortem . But just as he was anointed the trap messiah of a post-pandemic generation, his next record, Por Cesárea , swerved into punk and psychedelia to deliver a darkened character study that reflected on the rise of incelibacy and gory social polarization. Now, the face-tatted enfant terrible is opting out of grand concepts in favor of adrenaline-pumping hedonism, completing his rock & roll metamorphosis and leading fans on a wild night of partying with a dazzling crew of local and international friends in tow.

La Nueva Violencia is a smirking, libidinous play for the dance floor, picking up where the distorted guitars of the last record left off and channeling each new riff into sleazy post-punk and electroclash that stick to the body like sweaty velvet. Opening with the title track, feedback-heavy licks set the temperature as Dillom catches us up on the escapades of recent years. “I have new acquaintances with lovely surnames,” he says, musing on the doors that opened since he started feuding with Argentina’s president and headlining stadiums . Then he revels in his taste for excess, which has swelled into full-blown hunger, asking, “Where are the drugs, parties, and dancing?” Later, on the Pulp-nodding “Gente Común,” he unpacks allegations of nu-riche snobbery, fielding accusations of looking gift horses in the mouth and expressing zero interest in meeting his friends’ babies. The lines are delivered with an ironic wink, but it would also be gauche for an artist touring the world, earning Latin Grammy nominations, and here dueting with electropop icons Miranda! to still purport himself as an average Joe.

Though not outright as conceptual as its predecessors, La Nueva Violencia leaves room to ponder celebrity overexposure and the mind-warping effects of the content age. Over the grooving bass lines of “Vedette,” (or “Showgirl”), Dillom likens himself to a rabbit being pulled from a hat for cheap amusement, conceding that playing the showbiz game keeps money and friends within arm’s reach, even if fulfillment still eludes him. Later, the throbbing “Superdiversión” breaks down the corrosive effects of FOMO, where the incessant need to attend every party keeps him from enjoying any one of them. This is by no means Dillom’s “boo-hoo, being famous is hard” rant, but rather a space to consider the intimacy and humanity lost in spotlight, be it the ability to indulge in salacious activities without having a phone thrust in his face, or the grotesqueness of our social media-addicted zeitgeist.