"Contact" is a swagger-charged ride through Gim’s mental and physical journeys, where every verse feels like a postcard from a different dimension. One moment he is stepping off a private jet at Le Bourget, the next he is brushing off haters who are still waiting at Charles-de-Gaulle. Surrounded by “v’la les contacts,” Gim flaunts a network that stretches from the gritty 93 suburbs to pop-culture fantasy realms like Erebor. Name-drops of Jean-Claude Van Damme, Machiavelli, Lagertha, and even Vladimir Putin turn the song into a rapid-fire collage of movie references, historical nods, and playful threats, all delivered behind a pair of dark sunglasses.
Beneath the bravado lies a streak of weary self-reflection. Gim keeps “ressasser mon enfance,” looping back to childhood memories and deciding that most people “ne méritent que l’indifférence.” His teleporting metaphors and cave hideouts hint at an artist who feels both omnipresent and isolated, powerful yet skeptical of everything around him. “Contact” is ultimately a declaration of independence: money may be unlimited, the credit card may never decline, but the real flex is choosing who enters his orbit—and who gets left knocking at the door.