Algebra Suicide
The Secret Like Crazy

(This is what happens when you strive to make reviews as “professional” as possible)

I am the martyrdom of Saint Myself (Chuck copyright)

Even asking His Eminence Johnny Cash to intercede for me with Saint Peter Murphy from the Paraside of Amsterdam, who, in turn, would have asked for a favor from the four Dinosaur Jr of the Apocalypse, about Algebra Suicide (what does that name mean?) it’s impossible to find any information at all. Not even a shred, just to do something. The kind that Father Manuel Agnelli would see “right in the center” and then would say “come inside, come inside, I’ll take you…” etc. etc. Not a single biographical note, nor any sort of indication on the complete discography: of this duo, formed in 1982, consisting of a poetess (by birth Lydia Tomkiw) and a composer (by registry Don Hedekero), it seems there is no trace left.
They call them “Meteors” (cue the theme song: “There's a starman waiting in the sky...”).

Ziggy Stardust and his “Starman” (Italia Uno copyright) are not the exact words, but they are the first that come to mind. So space for improvisation (as much as I can) for a record that didn’t quite enthuse me, lacking in tone variations, too much like itself: predictable.
So: two months ago, I found this record at the mall, literally buried between yet another Greatest Hits by Titti Bianchi and the remix version of "Andamento Lento" by Tullio De Piscopo. [Musical avant-garde at its purest, for connoisseurs. (Imagine my face at that moment).]
Anyway. I buy it.
End of the eighties.
[The radio stations are playing only Michael Jackson (pre-epidermic metamorphosis) and Mariah Carey. In Italy, Rai Stereo Notte rules by broadcasting indie sounds in large quantities (ask Kurt Cobain)].
Lydia writes the lyrics. True musical rhapsodies. Don juxtaposes the notes on the staff among guitars, synthesizers (which reign in the beautiful “Somewhat Bleecker Street”) and drum machines scattered throughout the album.

One of the flaws of “The Secret Like Crazy” is putting too many cards on the table: too often, there are drops in inspiration, repetitiveness, monotony in bursts, which make listening not very fluid, “Tuesday Tastes Good”, “Sinister”, “Seasonal Zombies” and “Agitation” are the apotheosis of this.

“Little Dead Bodies”: beginning of the record. More than a title, a true leitmotif of this sonic journey. Auroral and at the same time dark, rough and sweet, syncopated yet lively. Effects obtained by exploiting the shoegazer guitar style of the era with solutions borrowed from electronics.

Lydia Tomkiw sings like a Nico (see “Tractor Pull”, see also “Father’s By The Door”) who has been to the same beautician as Siouxsie Sioux. She paints monologues. There is a certain songwriter edge in her phrasing that tinges with country, new wave (a tradition of which Algebra are partly heirs), New York no wave (remember what a great record “Buy” by James Chance And The Contortions was?). A similar discourse can be made for the album's sonic arabesque: something completely different, a dark musical zenith diametrically opposed to what was happening in those years in Chicago (and here good Pretazzo rightly exalts Saint Stefano Albini), Seattle, and Pennsylvania. A total blend of genres in the name of melody.

True Talking Heads with tailcoat and top hat (David Byrne’s leopard loafers were already out of fashion, alas), Algebra sail light years away from the blitz and dirty, raw sounds of the garage-noise scene. Settings, in some respects, symphonic: guitars in ambient jamming, chamber lounge atmospheres, twilight rhythmic section. Lou Reed’s lesson in “New York” (“Romeo and Juliet” and “Halloween Parade” above all) has not gone unnoticed and can be heard in this record, although forgetting the notes that the good ex-Warlocks had given his students on a certain discipline called "art and entertainment"....

Perhaps this record would have pleased Jim Carroll: “In Bed With Boys” recalls the rock swings of “Three Sisters” (see the entry: “A Catholic Boy”) sweetened by the Atlantis of Inga Rumpf.

The dark wave becomes the undisputed protagonist in “True Romance At The World’s Fair” and in “Tonight”.

Anyway: hypnotic, glamorous. No sonic baroque, lots of philosophical lineage. If you really want to have them in your CD collection, do so perhaps in the “Amarcord & retro” section.