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Rating: Divergences on the commercial strategies adopted by the major for the previous record lead to the termination of the contract, so Il Paese E' Reale is released by Casasonica.
Il Paese E' Reale is a dreadful album.
Musically: a long series of pop dirges, which take up the worst elements from I Milanesi...: symphonic constructions with baroque arrangements, technically beautiful, but soulless. There are few salvageable episodes, perhaps only Io E Il Mio Amore (Paolo Benvegnù), What You Said (A Toys Orchestra&Luca Alberti), L'Uomo Dagli Occhi Di Ghiaccio (Calibro 35) are beautiful songs, while others, starting from the title track played by Afterhours, pale with shame the careers, often memorable (I'm thinking of the same After, but also Cesare Basile, Marta Sui Tubi, Teatro Degli Orrori, Beatrice Antolini, Settlefish and so on) of the "guests."
Conceptually: I am a person who believes in a better country and does something for it, less than I would like and could due to "small selfishness/and just as many fears", and it really pisses me off the idea that with an album like this, so lacking in ideas, one could believe to do something that is useful. Art is undeniably a vehicle for dissent, for change, it makes the user aware, but... this? It seems embarrassing even to think that Agnelli&co. feel engaged just because they redid a song by Area (they were indeed engaged), it borders on the ridiculous when Zen Circus (Gente Di Merda) state "Everyone important/everyone is someone/billions of artists/and now no one in the fields"... because you 19, excuse me, what are you? Had your Maoism escaped me, perhaps.
In conclusion: I will never consider this album in your careers because I believe, I want to believe, that you are not just this, because I want to believe that Capovilla is more real when he rallies us from the stage, reminding us of Ken Saro and the crappy country we live in; because I want to believe in Marta Sui Tubi who were playing some years ago on the stage of an obscure Unity fest, in an equally obscure provincial city; because I want to believe in Zen Circus who, always in the same obscure provincial city, told Berlusconi to go to hell from the stage; because I want to remember Demetrio Agnelli (or Manuel Stratos?) in that film by Chiesa as a tribute stripped of arrogance, but full of the desire to change something.
I spit on this album, but not on you. Keep trying.
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