«THE PURPLE BANNER FLUTTERS IN THE WIND»!
The icy wind shakes the lilies flags and numbs the body, but the change of pace with which Jovetic earns the decisive penalty at the end of the match against Udinese warms the heart.
I start from here, for «Niente Di Serio» by Diaframma.
The fact is that playing for Fiorentina are both the champion Stevan "Jo-Jo" Jovetic, worthy heir of the majesties Antognoni, Baggio, and Rui Costa, and the clumsy player Alessio Cerci (oh dear, these days, playing for him is a mirage, I even think he has been sold). The latter is the classic frou-frou dandy who, on the field, spends most of his time adjusting his blonde curls rather than chasing a ball and, off the field, uses his head more than anything to keep his ears apart; in short, one of those for whom a Carletto Mazzone and a Costantino Rozzi would be needed to hang him on the dressing room wall until a compassionate equipment manager puts him back on the ground.
The real drama is that, often, among us altered 'purple' fans, too much time is spent chattering about Cerci's antics, while the shooting prowess and the repeated goals of Jovetic pass in silence. But we love Jo-Jo dearly because he is pure talent and every play of his is a particular expression of beauty: it is impossible not to fall in love with such athletes at first sight.
And let's get to the point. On January 17th, the latest works by two historic Florentine bands are released in stores, Diaframma of Federico "Jovetic" Fiumani and Litfiba of the prodigal son Piero "Cerci" Pelù. Whose side are you on?
Now, about Litfiba of the last twenty years, there is little to say, and especially about the events from the divorce to the recomposition of the dynamic duo Pelù-Renzulli, it is better to draw a veil of pity, so as not to tarnish a story worthy of respect (at least for «Desaparecido» and «17 Re»); with the aggravation that Pelù is even more irritating than Cerci, given that he has deliberately wasted his own talent. But everyone talks about Litfiba, as if their latest nonsense was the future of Italian rock'n'roll, a kind of «Born To Run» in Florentine sauce.
Fiumani, on the other hand, almost no one cares about him: maybe because he's not very cool and his hair has even turned white. But he deserves to be like Jo-Jo, the inevitable recipient of the audience's ovation when he enters and when he leaves the field, even if right after missing a goal in front of the empty net.
For all forty-five minutes of «Niente Di Serio», Fiumani-Jovetic plays wholeheartedly across the field, doesn't waste a ball and provides twelve assists, of which four are genuine gems placing the attacker alone in front of the opposing goalkeeper, and in any case, the other eight deserve to be seen in the highlights on «Novantesimo Minuto».
There are four tracks to memorize: «Madre Superiora» is an electric ballad in two acts, splendid all around, but particularly in the second, at the end of which you find yourself wondering if the doctor has finally found a rag that is love; «La Botta Di Energia Del Rock», just what the title announces, to remember, first of all, that it is always January, and then to serenely send to hell anyone who discusses more or less seriously the social/sociological implications of rock, hoping listening pushes someone to abandon books and prefer records; and then the title track, a realization of a personal and collective defeat, but at the same time a promise of a rebirth to be seized with energy.
Full stop and new paragraph.
Because then a separate discussion I make for «Grande Come L'Oceano», one of those songs that I have happened to listen to a few times in life. Because I'm not even able to say if it's a good or a bad song, well-arranged or not, but it has gotten under my skin and I know it will never leave me; one of those that give me the certainty that the world has someone who knows everything about me and understands me fully but doesn't even know me and less than ever suspects my existence.
At a certain point, Federico Fiumani sings: «There was a time where / My best friends were the Ramones / And every new record of theirs was a party / ... / They were green years of proud solitude / And of extreme fragility / ... / There was a shirt all yellow / With the swastika / Like an original punk / ... / And at the shoulder seam with the sleeve / The fabric thickened / Formed a growth, a swelling or something like that / And I thought that by holding on to the swelling / Of the sleeve, I would save myself / From every calamity».
That's exactly how it went; only then, many years ago, I came to be a man and maybe I even became one. It happened exactly like that, naturally, without even wanting it.
Thank you, because it's nice to think it happened also because of «Siberia» and everything that followed, up to today.
To conclude in harmony with the general tone («Niente Di Serio», precisely) ... You know when a star player (anyone, Jovetic), forced to play alongside a clumsy player (anyone, Cerci), avoids publicly telling him to go to hell in front of the whole stadium for missing yet another pass, not even an amateur; and then, what does he do? He applauds him with a disconsolate air, bitterly regretting not having ended up in Florence in the times of Antognoni, Baggio, or Rui Costa.
Now, listen here to Fiumani in an interview with Elena Raugei on Mucchio Selvaggio of January: «Being a nostalgic, I appreciate the reunions - I think of when the Television re-formed in '92 - and I see the return of Litfiba well because Pelù and Renzulli had reached a dead end in their careers. It's like reclaiming a piece of me, since we were born together ... I would like a new collaboration with Piero Pelù - we are friends and, when it happens, we do Amsterdam live together ... ».
Still him, in «Vivo Così», the track that opens the album: «But do you really believe all the bullshit I say?».
Priceless.
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By telespallabob
Fiumani is very serious because in what he does, there is him, you can't joke with yourself.
It is a perfect record, in the highest sense of things. And in the heart of the Ultras.