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Rating: I was flung from an exhausted car into the outskirts of Udine, accompanied by impatience and two dear travel companions. Drowsed by the summer wind that follows a storm, I observe the town in its humble beauty, like an innocent girl without pretenses.
Sounds, metallic and rhythmic. One, two, three. Breathe. On the other side of the phone, the Muc doesn't linger long, he just says: "Enrico pesce", then hangs up. All this must have a meaning, I think, as it's already my turn at the ticket office. Enrico pesce? I repeat, questioning myself out loud, unaware.
The girl behind the counter smiles, checks a sheet absentmindedly without stopping looking at me, then tears off three tickets and hands them to me, indicating the entrance staircase. Thank you, I thought. The wait lasted three medium pints, while a needless lucky group introduced the arrival of the artists, the real ones. Time to remove the drapes from the instruments and consciences, and the concert presented itself, without letting prejudices and expectations taint the uninhibited melodies surfacing from the depths of the soul, far from the artifice of the God money, characteristic of this musical era.
"It's the end that is the most important", thus begins the journey. The beginning and the end. The paradoxes of existence. The latest works follow uninterrupted "Ballate per piccole iene", "La sottile linea bianca", in a seamless succession of chords, sighs, screams, and long gulps of red wine that Agnelli jealously guarded at his feet. On the scenery of the Friulian medieval castle, the five minstrels delight and entertain with wise mastery those who, beneath the stage, are witnesses to the work.
Not even the arrogance of the aforementioned leader stands out. The castle, the court. Tonight he is the count, he is the master who directs, full of self-satisfaction and egocentric to suffocation. Tonight we allow it. It’s time for "Vedova bianca", with that haunting chorus that twists your guts into a suffocated and resigned cry for help "A dirty kiss, you know, can strip my heart of nightmares.. Come take a ride inside me, or this fire will burn out by itself". Pause. But I gather my tested limbs only a moment later.
"Quello che non c'è" and the wrenching "Non si esce vivi dagli anni '80" revive the scant crowd in a chorus in unison: "..Discovering that love fades, herpes is forever!". Around, tears. The count sips the remaining wine, returns the applause and, teetering atop the speaker, self-congratulates. This time to conclude. Gentle introduction to the end, an epilogue of a show that is first life, then dream. Finally death.
"Bye Bye Bombay" Afterhours, a liturgy of melodies protecting me from unhappiness.
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