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Rating: “Damn, what a drag,” says the torrid Bisoli, and I kind of understand him too. Yet here we are in the Sarah Records treasure trove and this is a collection of all the singles by Brighter. And if some folks decided to call themselves Brighter, I imagine there must be a reason.
Oh Bisoli, I know, it's the usual fluff, the crystal-clear and refractive sound... the reverb... the jingle. Stuff that always seems like Monday, but somehow also festive. Add in all those faces like kids in trouble and, well, I’d say it’s fine like that. There’s always time to spout wisdom…
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We’re all inadequate children, I think. Charlie Brown at the psychiatric help, Linus in the pumpkin patch. And if there’s poetry in the tale, there’s none in the starting point.
Nothing airy, in short, but rather a wrinkled reality, a congealed existence. Not to mention the musty smell of that little cubicle where no one, not even your mother, ever opens the window.
Then, luckily, yes luckily, salvaging pop takes the smell of dirty socks and, like a reverse Circe, transforms it into noble gas, so in the end, if it was crap before, now it’s actually sky, even if not necessarily blue.
Never mind if a washing machine, from a strictly hygienic perspective, would have achieved a better effect. This isn’t about exchanging one detergent box for two, here we talk about alchemical transmutation, that strange phenomenon where any loser, precisely because he’s a loser and precisely because he’s any, becomes God.
Of course, there are tricks, the sound passes through an angelic sieve, envelops you in a kind of emotional cotton wool, enters the wonder of what could have been, which is that thing that the wise call the space of illusion.
Not only that, there’s also a mute that muffles and hides so that the desire to approach that sad enchantment is born. They are games of soft light, subtle textures, minor harmonies, or maybe just that thing called jangle pop.
Think of the sixties, the Smiths, shoegaze dissolved in a glass of barley water, or milk and honey. And in the end, it’s always autumn or always spring, daisies and dead leaves apparently being the same thing.
So do this, tomorrow morning, when you wake up, put this record on, opening your eyes it might be necessary to believe that the world is still standing, just like this little gem, which even if it’s a shaky house of cards, no storm will ever blow it away. Tralala...
Tracklist
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