Prisoner by Hummingbird: A Raw Punch of Alt-Rock Fury
Let’s cut the crap. Hummingbird’s Prisoner isn’t your polished, radio-friendly pop-rock fluff. It’s gritty, raw, and dripping with attitude—the kind of album that grabs you by the throat and doesn’t let go until track twelve. Released back in 2014 under Beast Records (France represent!), this sucker slams together Alternative Rock vibes so hard it feels like they’re trying to break outta their own damn cage.
First off, kudos to Sylvain Arnaux—he’s pulling quadruple duty on vocals, guitar, keys, AND bass. The dude’s got range, no joke. Cedric Chauvet’s drumming? Tight as hell. And props to Francois Brizard for artwork that screams “don’t mess with us.” But let’s get real here—it’s the music that punches hardest.
Take "No Way," for example. This track hits like a freight train soaked in gasoline and lit on fire. From the opening riff, you know you’re in trouble—but good trouble. Arnaux’s voice swings between pissed-off snarl and haunting melody, while those guitars churn out riffs sharp enough to slice steel. By the time the chorus kicks in, you're already hooked. It's one of those songs where you find yourself screaming along even though you don’t mean to. No way? More like HELL YES.
Then there’s “Father,” which flips the script entirely. If “No Way” is all fists flying, this one sneaks up on you. Starts slow, almost eerie, but builds into something massive—an emotional gut-punch wrapped in distortion. When Arnaux sings, “I’m not your son anymore,” it feels personal, like he’s yelling at someone specific—or maybe everyone who ever doubted him. Either way, it sticks. You remember lines like that. They haunt you.
The production has its rough edges—Michel Garcia and Hummingbird didn’t polish this thing to death, thank god. Tracks like “Kingdom Of Light” and “Under Your Spell” keep things unpredictable, veering from dreamy atmospheres to full-on rock chaos without warning. Even when the lyrics stray into cliché territory (yeah, I see you, “Birdsong”), the energy keeps you from caring too much.
By the end of Prisoner, you’re left breathless—and maybe a little confused. Is this an album about breaking free or being trapped? Freedom through rebellion or just straight-up rage? Who knows. Maybe it’s both. Or neither. That’s what makes it stick, though; it doesn’t spell everything out for you.
Here’s the kicker: years later, I still can’t decide if these guys were geniuses or just winging it. But honestly? I don’t care. Sometimes art doesn’t need to be perfect—it just needs to hit hard. And Prisoner? Damn, does it ever.
Final thought: If you hate boring music, crank this up loud. Just don’t blame me if your neighbors start complaining.
