Keeping inaccuracies follow the speaking of this explosion of archaic psychism. For me, Italian psychedelic rock doesn't exist so much as the impalpable strength of how it revealed itself en passant; at most, there are situations that inevitably reincarnate precisely in the place where they must reappear.
Even revisiting a piece by Miles Davis is misleading in the hommage of blocking a homemade mushroom proselytism where the hallucinogenic "cooked and eaten" places a (numbered) stone on the continuation of a local psychedelic scene that, sparing in quantity, had provided a bit of "stars that danced in the evening," to be heard with the toaster on.
That's all there is, but it is enough for us, imagining that a commitment to demonstrating superiority is temporary, keeping in mind that the ancient soul of Chetro & Co., compared to superb foreign expulsions still afflicted by duality, seems to renounce excessive experimentation by dotting the i's of a deliberately sought lack of protagonism, sealed by the use of the violaccia, a string instrument built by De Carolis aka Chetro, which reinforces the air of abandonment without allowing encores, thus nurturing even more the nonexistences, echoed by the collage-accumulation of the abstruse magnetic cover that unravels timelessness.
And here lies the evocative strength of the two pieces that burden us with the acknowledgment of carrying this burden of truth regarding the objective effectiveness of the work, spurious in seeking competition. And such immediate clarity could only be achieved with the help of the (ambiguous) esoteric aura of Caput Mundi in pearling millennial impersonality over a lysergic liturgy that finds the square of the circle in being a child of the Mediterranean basin, where even ancestral echoes from the sirens' songs are recovered.
And enchanted by such bewildering psychedelia, we find ourselves wondering if they might just be regurgitations of ancient music that chanted underground encounters in the clandestine Mithraeum of the moment. The catacomb is open to all but demands rigor for the expressed genius and does not allow for repeats, hence prostration is mandatory in the face of this refusal to materialize, thus exalting physical death as a passage, as evolution.
But this is precisely its strength, surrendering to the flood: "Rideranno pazze le donne" (The women will laugh madly).
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