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Rating: It's been just over six years since I worked in a kitchen. I wasn't a cook, and I'm not one now.
My office was the kitchen of a two-room apartment on a tiny, village-like street, yet inexplicably located in the center of Turin.
Behind me, the stovetop, with a small part of the storage resting on top, useful for a quick inventory.
In front of me, a computer, a printer, a cell phone. To my left, a balcony overlooking the interior courtyard (gross).
To my right, the bosses' room (a tiny dark little sitting room), with a mega audio system, a 40'' screen, and a constantly updated playlist.
One summer day, a song started playing. A song that has nothing to do with summer, nor with me. Yet, I got up from my desk and rushed in front of the mega SONY: "Fright Night (Nevermore) - Ariel Pink's Haunted Graffiti." It took longer to read the title than to fall in love with that song. Like a teenager, I loved it, but I couldn't listen to it, it made my soul cry to hear it. I thought it at least deserved a listen for having snared me. I didn't understand what it had done to me, but it managed.
A few years later (but let's say two months ago), having learned that he was coming to the boot, I thought I wouldn't want to miss the opportunity, given that over time I had assimilated that Before Today and enjoyed the new Pom Pom, and I have never taken so seriously an artist who does everything but takes himself seriously. I harbored affection, esteem, empathy, and a few days ago, after a liter of Chardonnay, Marti and I found ourselves inside the DLF of Bologna, where Locomotiv is, I had never been there but Fil played there and told me it's a nice place.
I was a bit nervous, and a bit ashamed of it, this nasty bastard made me feel like a teenager, but he managed to do worse. At the entrance, a tiny merchandising booth, with him selling the vinyl records. My mind immediately went back to when I first listened to the aforementioned piece, to the car rides with Round and Round with tears in my eyes and the utopian and naive desire to reconcile the world, I could tell him, I could make him understand that he was a bastard who managed it, had touched a heart.
What did I manage to say to him?
- I point at the Pom Pom vinyl: "How much?"
How.
Much.
Well done Ale, what a personality you've shown, you really showed him. You and everything you imagined, because you've imagined conversations, you and all your thoughts, your emotions. Well done, congratulations.
How.
Much.
And the concert? The concert lifted my spirits, but no Fright Night. You know what I say? You deserved it, Ale.
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