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And then came 2020, with its epidemiological disasters and the famous departures (Paolo Rossi, Maradona and maestro Morricone, just to name a few). A disastrous year like few others, which we will forever remember as one of the darkest of our lives (kaiser, what an austere tone I've adopted, we need to lighten the atmosphere a bit).
As the unforgettable Cohen said, "there is a crack in everything and that's how the light gets in."
Amidst the many "Everything will be fine," the numerous gangs of companions with surprisingly incontinent quadrupeds, the "Italian Song Festival from the Balcony," the thousand models of self-certification, the yellow, orange, red, the masks that have come to cost as much as a Scianell clutch, take-away and the ban on sports, stealthily came to the world, prematurely and successfully, the first musical work of Battlegods, otherwise known as Coscialunga, as someone christened him here on Deb.
The inspirations remain unknown to this day. Some claim that Paz appeared to him one night in a dream, whiter than Numan and dressed like a modern Englishman. Others attribute it to the forced home stay, with the consequent separation from his beloved lake. Yes, the lake, omnipresent in every comment he makes, is the element of inspiration for Battlegods. A geographical point largely unknown to many, halfway between an unknown residence in the Viterbo area and the secret campaigns that hosted the techno raves of the United Kingdom. Yes, precisely those, where to get there you had to convince someone in the know to give you the map of the place. The ones that were held in locations reachable only on foot, after walking for a good half hour through rugged dirt roads worthy of the most daring stage of a Camel Trophy.
But in the end, it matters only relatively. What matters is that we were the first to talk about all of this, anticipating those of Ondarokka, who swooped down like hawks on the defenseless, introverted artist, trying (in vain) to extract some tantalizing preview.
On the other hand, my position as a reviewer and friend of the artist in question places me in an inevitable state of shameless, blatant bias, so I will be obvious from the start, stubbornly supporting my line, so as not to appear hypocritical:
"It's been since Replicas by Tubeway Army that nothing like this has been heard!"
My judgment is absolutely free from any influence and nothing was gained from the lure for bank account numbers and the consequent significant amount I agreed upon, written absentmindedly for whatever. The work deserves a careful listen, I warn you, so settle in, turn off your iPods, smartphones, iPhones, phones and press on.
Done? Good, the first track starts and I try to be more serious (than I already am).
An incipit with reverse (but without subliminal messages) opens "Hydrogen." A synthetic carpet that in certain ways reminds of Korda's "Move Your Body." The track is homogeneous and changing at the same time and a moment later we are projected into a yellow-smiley electronic territory, halfway between garage house and acid house, in the middle of a DJ set by SL2 at the Astoria in London. The company is good and substantial (on EDEN pills!): State 808, Bizarre Inc, LFO (who remembers the eponymous track from distant 1990?) and a pair of DJs collapsed in the armchairs in the back of the room. "Dub Planet" starts briskly with straight bass, set to a vaguely, but not too much, deep house ambience that cruises at a steady pace, but midway through the track it transforms: an unknown direction pumps smoke that saturates the air all around and among the trajectories of laser lights, shot into nothingness (perhaps from his famous keyboardist friend), appear the fantastic four from Düsseldorf in red shirts and black bow ties. No, don’t misunderstand me, there is no featuring of Kraftwerk, though they, in their small way, would have wanted to participate. The eponymous "In Deep" delivers us a brand new Lazio-region Dave Gahan, with the only difference that the latter prefers a thick mane to a brushed cut. "Space Tank" is the darkest track of the entire batch, a work of electronics stuffed with Schulze, John Foxx every hundred grams of Numan, Kraftwerk as required, and a dusting of State 808, all at the cooking time of Clock DVA. A delight for the palate. And also for the ears. In conclusion, a really not bad debut, which bodes well for a glorious future, but by contract I must abound, so:
Only today did you realize that masks were not designed to protect your ears and thus missed "In Deep"? 2020 has elected its album of the year, but were you distracted by the unified network links of Conte?
There's a remedy for everything, come in large numbers, listen to them all, the best has yet to come [pot-pourri of cit.]
Highly recommended by rival Tubeway Army! (this last one is a surplus off-contract, hands on the coordinates Battle)
Epilogue
Well, everything that needed to be said has been said. Here on Debaser, before Ondaruokka. Now I have to go, it's really late and then I need to find a priest willing to listen to all my sins.
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