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Memories

THE REVIEW

You can't get more than this...the shamanic voice, the sauerkraut memories...rock officially deceased...

excellent idea to destroy rock, bravo Johnny...better gardening, playing briscola, barbecues by the river, contemplation, open-air cinema, sparkling white wine...

then we fell back into it (rock, I mean)...and why is that?...

lack of imagination...the little sacred picture/poster always on the wall...even if an imaginary wall...a sanctuary wall...

or, if you will, the usual manual...

the usual manual of youth...

end of punk too, which like all the most beautiful things lived only a day like roses...

and anyway it was fabulous to limit the public image by keeping only the pout and the nonchalant look...true artists must always give the impression of being there by chance...

after all, Johnny just wanted to be the singer of Can...or play around with the mystique of the refraction of a dub note... (by the way, was that note perhaps the one that the Ash Ra Tempel guitarist was raving about?)

oh, Johnny's voice in “Memories” sweeps away all competition...

it's terrible...exciting...haunted...absurd...nighttime...daytime...angry...

I have no idea about the lyrics...it's not needed...that voice is just a producer of sounds...

it's a crazy non-verbal linguistic communication...or maybe the language of saints in a bad mood...or maybe the metal moon, which is what the metal box is...

the music of "memories" was never heard before...even the Can vanish...and they do it gladly, bowing from afar...

"Metal box" can't be listened to in its entirety...I've never managed to...

today "Memories", tomorrow "Swan lake"...and the day after tomorrow pizza...