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Dinos delivers his biopic—just like Sinik with 93 bpm

This year, Dinos made a striking comeback with his album Kintsugi. With a strong first week of 20,000 units sold, the project quickly earned a gold certification by April—proof of his audience’s enduring loyalty. To extend the journey, the rapper recently unveiled two new tracks from the album: 93 bpm and La Janaza d’un frère. Two bold and deeply personal cuts that each carry their own weight.

The first, firmly rooted in boom bap, samples the iconic Une époque formidable by Sinik. The second floats on a delicate jazz loop. Longtime fans of the Dinos from Imany won’t be surprised—he’s explored introspective textures since day one. But since Stamina—and even more so with Taciturne—he’s managed to modernize his sound without ever losing touch with the heart of his writing. His trilogy of EPs leading up to Hiver à Paris, especially tracks like Deido and Amaru, stand as testament to that.

“Don’t ever talk to me like I’m the Dinos from Imany again,” he declares. And yet, for all the evolution, he’s remained loyal to his DNA: writing above all. It’s this loyalty that makes him one of the last standard-bearers of a generation where lyricism was sacred—a generation he believes has been betrayed, but one he still defends in his own way.


Dinos delivers his biopic—just like Sinik with 93 bpm

With 93 bpm, Dinos delivers a raw self-portrait, echoing Sinik’s legacy. The track summons the ghosts of a bygone era, paying tribute to Une époque formidable and the poignant 93 Mesures, where Dinos grappled with inner demons, torn between “boumarra” and therapy:

“I can’t go to the corner dealer ‘cause I fear the sky
Can’t go to the shrink ‘cause I’m a street guy”

Dinos responds with the same duality, right from the opening lines:

“I didn’t go to the corner dealer, I went to the shrink
But when he called my name, I’d already left
Contradictory—God made me that way”

This track fits squarely within the lineage of his most confessional work—songs where ego takes a backseat to truth: Helsinki, Deido, 93 mesures, Ammaru. It’s no coincidence then that Steph One is behind the production, the same mind who crafted Helsinki with its stripped-down emotional palette. He also frequently works with Benjamin Epps, another artist who favors slow tempos and razor-sharp bars.

Dinos even reprises the memorable chorus from Sinik, forging a bridge between eras:

“Remember, we were young, no hate in our veins
No label backing us, barely had phones to our names
I think back on all the times I didn’t call you back”

With clarity and reflection, Dinos revisits his own rise, his escape from the neighborhood, and the contradictions of success:

“We used to be broke, now we’re breaking hoods
We were just soldiers, now we’re calling the shots”

But light, in his world, always comes laced with shadow:

“The weight of family on my back, the hernia will hurt
‘Cause even in pain, we pretend everything’s fine”


Dinos ventures into jazzy territory, à la Kendrick Lamar

The second release, La Janaza d’un frère, offers an elegant and melancholic counterpoint. Produced by rising London-based beatmaker TenBillion Dreams—notably known for his work with Ghetts—the track channels the energy of Kendrick Lamar’s To Pimp a Butterfly era, or even the smooth stylings of Guru’s Jazzmatazz sessions.

With stark vulnerability, Dinos dives into existential resignation:

“I died before I was born, empty before I loved
Drunk before I drank, and night fell before the dusk”

A response of sorts to his earlier success-themed tracks—this time, a reminder that neither fame nor money can erase what scars the soul. Some wounds, he suggests, are simply too deep.


A chiaroscuro vision from Steven Norel

Both visuals were directed by Steven Norel, whose black-and-white aesthetic echoes the mood of Helsinki. In 93 bpm, we follow Dinos wandering the streets of Paris, retracing steps from his 93 roots. La Janaza d’un frère takes place in a quiet studio space. Steven Norel, previously acclaimed for his work on Sorcière by Tuerie and T’as pas la ref by Benjamin Epps, once again proves his ability to elevate intimacy into cinematic form.

ZEZ
ZEZ
C.E.O HELL SINKY, author, journalist, documentary

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