Last updated: 2 days ago
CardFace isn’t here to entertain you — he barely cares you exist. He’s the antisocial fracture inside the Wreckcore movement, a skinny chaos-clown with a mask stitched from torn playing cards and a stare that cuts through stage lights. CardFace doesn’t talk to crowds, doesn’t do interviews, doesn’t post updates. He’s a glitch in the system: present when the beat hits, gone the second it ends. When he performs, it feels less like a show and more like a warning. His voice — that manic, high-pitched Joker rasp — sounds like someone who laughs at pain because it’s the only thing that makes sense anymore. Every verse is a panic attack sharpened into a weapon. Every hook is a bad decision said out loud. CardFace doesn’t rap for fame, approval, or connection. He raps because the noise in his head won’t shut up unless he lets it out. Off the mic, nobody knows where he goes. No friends. No socials. No pictures. Just rumors about a kid who never grew out of the circus nightmares he was born into. In Wreckcore, Wreckborn leads the charge — but CardFace is the shadow behind him, the thing you hope doesn’t notice you. He’s unfiltered chaos, unpredictable as a flipped coin, and uninterested in being understood. CardFace isn’t trying to be your favorite artist. He’s trying to be the one you never forget.
Monthly Listeners
1,190
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Followers
466
Followers History
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16 listeners
16 listeners