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I'm fed up with pure and simple Rock'N'Roll, it's blown my mind, I'm fed up to the back teeth, enough please, enough. I'm fed up. Enough with the simple, direct, raw... standard. Sure, if we want raw, yes, direct depends on the case, but I demand it to be evolved, studied, di-ver-si-fied... and above all per-so-na-lized.
Okay, it's 2005, it's hard to make rock'n'roll these days, it's even starting to be hard to make Rap which was born yesterday, imagine how complicated it is to personalize something that's forty years old and heading straight for fifty. But challenges are beautiful when they're complicated. There's no fun in beating your backyard sporting-casalpusterlengo, satisfaction comes in conquering Bernabeu. Zizou, give us a blow job, five to zero flat out.
Hard doesn't mean impossible, nothing is impossible if you put the right commitment, consistency, and perseverance into it. If you like something or someone or something, insist until you get there, the important thing is to participate but the thrill is in winning the bets, and enjoying the first place as long as you can. These guys won the bet with themselves, to show anyone and anywhere, that in Italy Rock with a capital R is not dead.
Has rock said it all? Good, then let's call it Rawk'N'Rawl. Distort it or dirty it up, stretch it or compress it, but either way, evolve it, make this fucking sound your own. Sign it.
From Acid Doom to '60 psych, from '70 Hard to Desert Stoner, from romantic female voices to dance ones, from cavernous big men to those on vacation prize in neurology. All here piece by piece, an overtour of electric guitar, bass, drums, synths fuzz big-muff wah-wah feedback marshall rawk'n'rawl stoner to the core.
You can call it "Stoner at 360°", you can call it with the various genres it comes from, you can even just call it music, I call it passion the content of this compilation. The first real compilation of Italian underground Rawk. Passion for what you like, passion for entertainment, or passion for art, how you want it.
No big label, no recording studio with Bob Rock, no six million Dollar mixer, just the sheer desire to show that if you want to, anyone can show who they are if they know what they're doing.
No stadium name, but not even the first jerks who came along. All from the peninsula, and rest assured, the selections were not made by Luzzatto Fegiz. No one made them actually, they came out on their own, and that's where the magic happens.
I'm a bit sorry for him, he's a dear old man, he was a good guy, many people care about him, but there's nothing I can do, he's fried by now. It's a sign of the Destiny, or the Dynasty, or if you like of Sue Ellen, but the fact remains that I like an Italian band once in a blue moon, here there are sixteen, dear Woity, now it's your problem.
Let's bury the Pole with Marshall blows, let's bring down the Dead Pope Walking, the session of mescaline spaghetti has come to swap the chairs in Italy.
Mario Lalli President of the Council, Jus Oborn of the Senate, Rocky Erickson of the Republic, Syd Barrett Minister of Foreign Affairs (Eh, with all the trips he's taken)
Jimi Hendrix Holy Spirit, Janis Joplin the Madonna, Paolo Catena on the throne of the Vatican, and Fraz is gììsas craist.
Armageddon, may the distorter guide you, Let There Be GNWWWIIUUUUEEEEMMMMMNNNN... wwhhiiEEEoooWWnnn...
...Stoned Forever... Forever Free...
BUY IT, DAMN IT.
www.wuckrecords.com
www.perkele.it
http://omegagenerator.com
Let The Music Do The Talking
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