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Rating: The first of July will go down in history as the Watershed Day…
On June 30th, I don't even know what DeBaser is, I haven't read music reviews for a decade because they're in magazines that cost too much, the term indie only reminds me of a dumb blonde yelling "Indieeeeee, helpoooo" in a movie at Indiana Jones.
Then there's the first of July: I randomly access DeBaser's Home Page.
Four weeks later, I've purchased two fun t-shirts from the site online, I've chosen a virtual nickname that fully represents my being not exactly a smart person, I've discovered that indie is a music genre meaning approximately Weird Music, and that DeBaser users are accustomed to organizing Meetings, one of which will be held in Urbino right at the start of my vacation, during a festival called Frequenze Disturbate.
What follows is a (more or less) faithful chronicle of what I witnessed in three days euphemistically defined as INTENSE.
Friday 5th
While the train, overcrowded and scorching and full of sweat, takes me to my beloved Marche, I ponder the fact that: I've never been to a Meeting of an internet site, I know none of the participants at this specific Meeting, I haven't had time to even read which bands are playing at Frequenze Disturbate (which, by the way: never heard of it) and I've never seen Urbino. A typical leap into the void, in short. And I madly love leaps into the void.
I arrive a bit worn out in Fano, where I have an appointment with some shady characters who will turn out to be Humax4, Frantz, and Humax4's friend, Marco, who is called that way not for lack of imagination but simply because he doesn't have a nickname or a computer, he's a newbie like me, maybe even more than me. We get acquainted, decide that Marco will be called DeFriend, drink limoncello, then head up to Urbino, to the square, where there's already music playing, and where, bit by bit, more characters gather: Trellheim, Antimo, Josi_, Li; Cleo, DeHusband, Psychopompe (who will appear now and then in the coming days), Zzzzzzzzzzzz, Magomarcelo, and two not better specified Dwarves will also join us.
I shake hands, drink beer, talk to this one and that one, the relaxed atmosphere tickles my proverbial talkativeness. I even get convinced by Josi_ to visit an art exhibition, that of the spatialists, (the phrase that breaks down any resistance is “Look, it's free”) and luckily there's the art expert Frantz explaining the works on display, otherwise, I wouldn't understand a thing and I would limit myself to considering that in that painting they used a quite lovely carmine red.
The evening flows joyfully, amidst chats, greasy crescia, and various rum and pear drinks; I manage to see The Raveonettes, who I instantly like very much, fine songs, lots of energy, great voices, Dinosaur Junior, whose bassist, I will discover the next day, is Lou Barlow (THAT’S WHO IT WAS) who leave me rather indifferent, and the only song I truly appreciate is a Cure cover, and Julian Cope: he presents himself dressed as a S&M Granddad, I remember him from the days of Teardrop Explodes, when he sang "Passionate Friend" with that beautiful clear, clean voice, and I'm stunned in front of the raspiness and metal he showcases on this occasion, maybe it wouldn't even be bad if it wasn't ruined by a live performance bordering on trash, complete with Julian Cope scarring his chest and the audience loudly telling him to f*** off, calling him Giuliano Coppola. After the concerts, there's a Nutella crepe, while Frantz and Li debate about the declining figure of the modern male, then a very fun DJ Set in the center, during which I, Frantz, and Josi_, whom I rename the Impassive for his habit of making biting remarks with an inscrutable expression, enthusiastically engage in rather improbable tribal dances as Trell looks on smiling as if to say "Poor things." Reaching the attic where we are staying, I crash onto the bed and fall asleep instantly.
Saturday 6th
We wake up very late, just in time for lunch; we have a nice aperitif at Cleo and her DeHusband's house, and on this occasion, we gift them a coccia (in Marche dialect: a small ornamental plant) whose species I haven't understood but has nice little flowers. As we eat fish dishes at the restaurant, we are joined by the sunny Zzzzzzzzzzzz, who brings me the trendy DeBaser t-shirts, Magomarcelo, whom I'll discover to be a Software Engineer or some complicated stuff like that (which makes him appear to me incredibly authoritative in a computing way), and the famous Dwarves, Turkish and G, whom we'll host in the attic, who come from Bolzano and are among the inventors of DeBaser. The Dwarves, in reality, are two wardrobes, so I deduce the nickname comes from some motivation that transcends physical appearance. One of them, I will learn, has very precise ideas about raising children away from the television yoke and doesn't quite like rock sung in Italian, the other has a very personal concept of the type of shirts suitable for wearing in public and how to silence crying children by yelling "BASTAHHH", both have a latent vein of madness that they will show in due time. We return to Urbino, Trell brings out a bottle of excellent whiskey whose sight elicits stadium-like roars, and so we get ready for the evening concerts.
Among the bands scheduled, I'll only see the first one, whose name I couldn't catch (Kep? Kech? Keth? No idea) and Echo & The Bunnymen; during the Sons & Daughters performance, in fact, I'm lying on the grass with Frantz discussing politics and big issues while gazing at the horizon, for the rest of the time, I feel awful, due to an indigestion from an excessive intake of cheese crescia, and fall asleep collapsed against DeFriend, who with aplomb attempts to pass a remotely decent evening reading a book, oppressed by Inge Pupp's little head drilling his chest and probably thinking that one day the Church will make him a Saint. Maybe even a Martyr.
The Kep-Kech-Kesh seem interesting and enjoyable to me, engaging, while listening I think that once I figure out what the hell they're called, I might look for something in a record store; I know Echo & The Bunnymen because I remember them being mentioned in the English grammar book I had in middle school, live I like them quite a lot, a dive into the good old new wave, I find them quite skillful despite the singer acting a bit too somber&doomed and expressing this existentialist penchant by moving in slow motion and smoking like a chimney (apparently, excessive smoking is very much an artist maudit for him). No DJ Set, furious indigestion, attic, crash onto the bed, darkness.
Sunday 7th
Nano G, upon waking up, has one black eye and the other glazed, but otherwise is incredibly lively; he informs us that the DJ Set the night before was out of this world, hilariously fun, thrilling, that they returned at 4, then he slips into the now-mythical checkered shirt clearly purchased from a mail-order catalog and leaves, I don’t know where. The dwarf Turkish is a more laid-back type, looks less battered, and also confirms they had fun, then he steps into the bathroom and floods it while showering. Humax4 and DeFriend leave for Livorno while we move on to lunch at Cleo's house, gnocchi with sauce, so good I’ve never tasted better, and great wine; during the meal, I learn a lot of interesting things: that the Florence Meeting was even more alcoholic than this one (imagine that), that there’s a singer named Fango, that in Norway there's a near-zero unemployment rate, that the day before a guy named Daniel Johnston didn't perform due to being too inclined towards antidepressant abuse, that it’s Greg Dulli who ennobles Afterhours and not the other way around. The weather sucks but this doesn't stop us from making a quick beach trip where the Dwarves, leaving for Bozen, show the world how crazy they are by swimming in the murky sea, probably as cold as death.
In Urbino, the downpour mixed with fog renders the Fortezza Albornoz a place beyond reality, magical and fascinating. Armed with umbrellas and makeshift shields, we are greeted by Four Tet and Lippok & Morgenstern, the first playing very focused, head bent forward going up and down to the rhythm, lost in his world, the latter, much more communicative and laughing, interact with the audience, overall we are enveloped by a triumph of electronic music that sends Magomarcelo into rapture, who, indeed, disappears into the crowd, under the stage; I like electronic music, but they don't catch me, I dance a bit but otherwise, I observe them doubtful, at times bored, I find them somewhat banal. We say goodbye to Mago returning to Milan, and Frantz and I enjoy Blonde Redhead in great form (Trell and Antimo have gone to eat piada); the talented Kazu Makino, adorned with a little white outfit likely to catch double pneumonia any minute, charms me with her sweet voice and makes me jump like crazy, now forgetful of wet shoes and bitter cold, when she sings Equus, which, yes, I KNOW, it’s a BIG HIT, but sometimes even big hits can move a bit, OK?
Finally, Yo La Tengo, a band I only know by name, I find their music a curious and well-crafted rock, very particular, which at times I like and at times I find exasperating due to the (ab)use of variations and improvisations with which they spice up many of their pieces, making them last half a day.
At the end of the concert Urbino by night, no more distortion or rain, only beauty, almost empty streets, quiet. It's the last night but it’s beautiful nonetheless.
Monday 8th
I, Trellheim, and Antimo, the three survivors, wake up aware that the Marche adventure is coming to an end. We wave bye-bye with a little hand to the attic and Urbino, we say goodbye at the Pesaro station and I return to the Florentine vibe. What else is there to add? That these three days of music, greasy food, healthy fun, excellent alcohol, fantastic people have been spectacular. And that sometimes, a leap into the void is really healthy.
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