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Rating: There are five of us.
Rome exudes heat from every street, the muggy air envelops and wears us out immediately.
We arrive in front of the Foro Italico at 19:30, just in time for a porchetta sandwich and a beer, just to keep it light...(and to hell with Kaori and the light philadelphia…).
We walk to the Tennis Centrale and enter the open-air arena.
We descend the steps and sit on the ground.
I look around a bit and everywhere is a mix of many recurring elements:
Converse of all colors
Black T-shirts
Rather dark hairstyles
Menacing skulls
Knees-ripped jeans
I'm fully into the rock cliché too, but I feel quite comfortable.
MTV's well-endowed vj, Camila, takes the stage to present two emerging Italian bands: needless to say, we don't even get up from the ground to see what it's about: from the sound, the first band sounds like Evanescence and the second roughly like a mix between Placebo and Muse (very local, obviously).
The anticipation builds for what will turn out to be one of the best concerts I have ever seen.
I go to the bathroom about fifty times due to all the stuff I've drunk to avoid fainting.
Upon my return, I find The Happy Dead Boys bouncing on stage: boring, repetitive, very limited in sound but the fifteen-year-olds at the front adore them.
We watch them from the stands until 22:30, then…the moment arrives!!
We catapult ourselves, rolling down the steps, to the front row.
Camila’s bust enters first accompanied by the various chants of “o-lè-lè o-là-là” opening the scene for that absurd man Peter Hayes.
He enters alone with an acoustic guitar and a harmonica around his neck.
He looks utterly wasted: red-faced, eyes glassy, cigarettes in hand, sleeves cut on the T-shirt, and a demonic smile “First of all I would like to say Sorry for our president Bush… Ya know…”.
The applause erupts.
He opens with a new song titled Complicated Situation, a truly wonderful acoustic ballad in the Bob Dylan style, immediately followed by a b-side.
The crowd gets fully energized with the entrance of Nick Jago and Robert Turner, the band’s drummer and bassist respectively.
It's time for Six Barrel Shotgun.
The mosh pit begins: I quickly get a hard hit to the shoulder and one to the side.
I don’t stop, I throw myself onto everyone and sweat like a primordial beast.
A void forms behind us that remains unfilled for a minute, distanced by people watching us with disgust.
We move to the left side where the Italian fan club is also located.
White Palms, Stop, Love Burns, fill the air: the sound is perfect and the bassist crashes into the amplifiers and writhes.
In the middle of the set, the guitarist snaps a string but the song doesn’t suffer.
Tambourines, drumsticks, and Turner picks are kindly thrown to the public… and we are not even halfway through the concert!
Whatever Happened bursts forth and it’s the end.
The crowd seems to go crazy.
I jump into the scorching zone and get a solid elbow to my incisors: my lip swells immediately and I’m dazed for a few seconds.
This isn’t a mosh pit… it’s a damn brawl!
I target a guy in a blue shirt and take major revenge on his back, before being overwhelmed by another four people.
Everywhere is sweat, broken nails, smiles, and shouted-out cries.
The delay of In Like The Rose and the sonic violence of Spread Your Love keep alive what is turning into a true event in terms of audience response and musical level offered.
It feels like a ship’s engine is on behind the band, sweeping away the air that comes near your face.
Live, the three rockers deliver marvelously: sensual voice, powerful bass, and riffs penetrating to the bone.
They leave the stage before returning for an encore featuring the concert’s best part with Salvation, Rise Or Fall, and Heart And Soul to close: pure psychedelia to the last minute.
They don’t miss a beat even once: rhythm changes, punches on the strings, anger and love contaminating every single piece, completely erasing my partial personal disappointment with the second album released.
Peter “tweaks” the sound with his effects and Robert sings the last pieces.
At the end of the concert, I am aware and happy of having seen something truly rock, like never before.
The lights turn on and... THE PICK!!!!!
Under my shoes, a skull printed on the plastic looks at me defiantly.
It takes me a brief fraction of a second to pick up “the relic” smashed at the edges.
WHAT LUCK, allow me to say…!
Tired but happy, I head toward my friends who look at me with absurd smiles, shaking their heads.
The crowd begins to flow out and sweat envelops every rebellious youth.
We head to the car.
The recounting of all the emotions lived in two hours of music begins.
It will go on late into the night.
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