Big Black
Racer X

I was coming back from a night of drinking, I'm in the car with some friends, while I drive they're talking about some girl they just met, the conversation is lively, while the stereo plays "Racer X" by Big Black. In fact, I'm not as drunk as they are, to be honest, I'm not drunk at all.

TUM TUMTUM PA TUMTUM TUM PAPA TUM TUM PA TUM PA.....................

The relentless drum machine seems to match the beats of my heart, and the guitars are like blades piercing me, combined with the drunken ravings of my buddies.

To be honest, at that moment I wanted to kick them out and toss them onto the street, being sober I couldn't align myself with their discussions, anyone who's dealt with drunk people can understand.

I simply turn up the volume and let myself be carried away by the music, noiserock at its finest, the bass and the drum machine weave obsessive patterns, the guitars shoot riffs like metallic shards in a factory and Steve Albini throws in your face whatever the hell he wants, without any niceties.

Ok, I admit that I didn’t understand 90% of the words but at that moment it was as if they were speaking exactly about me, about my life, about how much I couldn’t take it anymore. In a sense, I was Racer X.

Their nihilistic fury totally enveloped me, every note was in its place, every hit precise, "fuck all this" I think. Flashes of lucid awareness alternate with moments of blind rage. This music seems to read me inside, I think.

But then the 6 songs end, the guys are already at their homes, I'm the only one left, lost in some small ancestral piece of personal hell (or heaven). I turn off the engine, Racer X goes away with it.

As I go to bed I think that if I had drunk tonight too it might have been better.

"I am the ugly American
I hate what I am
I take a picture of your founding father
Take a picture of your local color
We're so ugly, we're so ugly
We're so ugly

I am the ugly American
I am the ugly American
I am the ugly American
I hate what you are"