Cult of Youth
Final Days

An old man, an old man at the bar with a glass of prosecco in hand, shouting about "his good old days." We all have a guy like that in our town, and every time, it's either laughter or pity for him. Perpetually drunk, constantly with a full glass, red in the face, spewing S F P B Z, and luckily here in Veneto, we cut off double consonants; otherwise, it would be a constant shower. I think about myself—will I be the old drunk in 50 years babbling incomprehensible things? Talking about the music of once upon a time? From this perspective, I feel very young at the age of 25, younger than the youngest. An 18-year-old can go out at night, drink to the limit, stick her tongue in others' mouths and maybe have a quickie, stay out until 6 AM every night and say "I AM YOUNG," but if she listens to the same old stuff that has been pushed for the last 50 years, where is her search? Her personal revolution? Her connecting a song to memories? Someone will object and tell me, "But even LigaCrap makes songs right now, and the memory will be that!" Okay, you have a point, but that memory will also be of millions of other kids, right? Okay, the Cult Of Youth aren't exactly the most obscure in the universe, probably some other thousands (or hundreds) of people will tie a memory to them, but that curiosity and that sense of discovery will be unique and inimitable.

Their Neo-Folk tied to Post-Punk in their previous works is very derivative, in this one they add something more that fits perfectly. I can't tell if it's specific moments of electric feedback or the tribal elements, perhaps that acoustic guitar buzzing in ears and that affinity to everything revolving around that rascal Nick Cave; all I know is that everything sounds very cool. This is my first listen, and the 5 stars will almost surely become 4 in the future; everything fades like the panties of the 18-year-old.