Because of that son of a hopeless ballerina who made me know about these idiots, I've gone crazy. I do nothing but listen to the first and this one continuously, damn them. And I can't wait for the third to come out, which should be released soon, within this month of April...

What have they been drinking, what have they been smoking? On the other hand, without assuming any improper substance, I find myself, lucid, launched into hyperspace with this vomit of splatter of quotations, references, kickbacks, even from the musical point of view, mind you.

I've always longed for Rome, and after millennia of reincarnations, in this ultimate life, I finally managed to be born directly there, but they gave me a small consolation: okay, you worked hard, let's have you born here this time, but in North Rome. Rome east is in your dreams and then at 30 you're kicked out!

And here I am, speaking with Kafka for twenty years instead of with the Colosseum: in Prague, these rascals have thrown me. And to keep me tame, they've made everything spin fine, home, work, family; I've got my rear end covered.

But I am and remain from Rome, because when someone is from Rome... they are from Rome, they are from Rome, they are from Rome. Understood! Therefore, to this combo, I say: may the best of your dead souls haunt you; how dare you abort this project here. Who the hell do you think you are? Don't make me angry and confess immediately how the hell you managed to produce this stuff. The "Trucilogia," look at them...

While in the first album, the BJLFP want us to know their serial entity, in this second, a new way of being is probed, and in the third, perhaps we will expect a conscious stance adorned with a healthy revisionism. Taking sides and fighting...

Even in this second work, they go down tough, where the exposition of deception is supported by solid foundations of bizarre truths, but guys, this is the world we live in, the happy ending is transmitted by television. Out here? Everything regular. As much as in the first album they exposed the "Us," in the second they dedicate themselves to the "Them," not surprisingly the third will center on the "Nothing"?

And here is how also here they approach divine omniscience by blending not randomly a logical random, an omnipotent synthesis of text and music inseparably united. The essence of this Roman fruit salad is a didactic maelstrom extracted from the mediatic cloaca: it's the logical result of those who are well aware that everything is interconnected-inseparable, and as a final result gives One.

The awareness of this empties and strips everything bare. The communication is effective and direct because it is impersonal. The presence of the invisible is acknowledged, much more real than material reality: neither is considered nor judged, one dissolves. Reiterating the absence of free will, the "everything happens" is further mocked with a "Live de Nascosto."

And here with targeted quirky intersections (so to speak) the circle is squared, everything fits perfectly, making the absurd pertinent, and "those who do not expect the unexpected will never find the truth!" said a philosopher. And the further merit of this operation is that it cannot create/trigger proselytism, followers, new age slaves, it naturally withdraws from classifications. In short, it doesn't create addiction because it relies on an intangible force hence credible. The Trinity is stripped of its religious meaning and adapts, evolving by fighting it, to modern inquisition by adopting a belligerent definition: the "TRUCILOGIA" is in progress!

And to dot the "i's," with the title of their next album, they surpass those crappy 666, taming stupid satanic delusions with their three "S's": Semo Solo Scemi. An infinite April Fool's joke: suckers! There's only one thing: the BJLFP aka OCR whether they like it or not, they rock! Enough said.

Regarding the music, here too they perform a definitive operation, a summa summation of genres concentrated at best where right from the first listen there is an immediate impact that doesn't fade over time but grows increasingly. Hence my lively preamble in Romanesco.

Rhythms and constructions "as Christ commands," waves suspended in time that astonish for their unexpected fresh blackness. The comparison with a Randall Kennedy of "Scenes From Redemption" (1983) is obligatory. And more than with The Residents, the masks of inexistence remind me of the Czech group OZW (Onkel Zbynda’s Winterrock).

And we realize we are in the presence of ancient souls, we feel the pulse of the Roman Empire, Rome Caput Mundi, but also the Rome of: "Do you have a cigarette?, lend me a hundred lire... This is the noir par excellence, in Via Merulana. The ugly mess could only be in Rome.

The impossibility of being "normal," wave of Capocotta, wandering sweetly in this drunken vessel. This is the Roman Beach Party: the Australians had realized this ages ago.

GIROLIMONI READERS!

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