Blob
La Consoli al Festival di Sanremo

THE REVIEW

While I was watching Blob, at a certain point a host appeared with "ice cream" in hand approaching Consoli. She's got bangs over her eyes, more and more manly. The host asks her how one should relate to the Sanremo festival? Consoli says (verbatim): if you love Italy, you must love this festival, and I love Italy because it's a great country. This festival is a feather in the cap because in other countries such a festival doesn’t exist.

I was eating a mixed salad (eggs, tuna, mozzarella, pine nuts and whatever else you can think of) I spit it all into the plate, turned to my cat, Edgar, and yelled a massive curse. Yes, I know you shouldn’t do that, but some things could use Father Amorth to help get away from evil, from the possession of Astaroth.

Now, we live in a country that we know how it is, but damn... how is this possible?

The interviewer again: “Oh but I notice your hair is different from the last time”! She: “yes” (flirtatiously and with great understatement) “I’m actually gray-haired, like Morgan, whom I take this opportunity to greet... he’s a friend and a great artist”.

At this point I turn again to my cat who, having understood the importance of the moment, vanishes into the dull void of the kitchen. There are no more words to express my/our/your frustration. We are in the land of polished tongues, it's a banality by now. But what am I saying, a clarity.

Here I transcribe a text by Consoli to convey the greatness of this Sicilian "poetess", a land that I particularly love:

So much has already been said
and bold words cannot nourish illusions
and the winter knocking at the door
the guest returning from a long journey
famished gazes beg for a small taste of someone else's life
Before dawn, they could catch us unawares
captured by a dream where clear waters swallow our steps on the banks of Morpheus
they’re surrounding us and advancing cautiously like beasts on the prowl
Flee Romeo time is a tyrant
it is not the nightingale's but the lark's song
greedy glances pounce
on the proud feast without decency

So, the girl is talented. But how can one reduce oneself to licking the backside in this way? And that other one, Morgan (but I truly dislike him) who acts the part of the cursed artist. But if you were a decadent rockstar you wouldn’t care what people think, right? You could even sniff detergent, but what do we care? Ah, what a splendid provincial country like Busto Arsizio... And to say that Busto isn't bad, maybe.

Guys, in truth Consoli, Gazze, Morgan, Cristicchi, Cherubini, and whoever else you can think of are all one thing: hot air. But on the other hand, Mala Tempora Currunt.

Ad maiora. bye bye.