Down
Down III: Over the Under

THE REVIEW

1 August 2008, Brighton.

It’s 5 in the afternoon in Brighton. I'm at a stupid educational camp with a friend. We have half an hour free; we're at Churchill Square, in front of a huge shopping centre. We go inside, and I drag my friend into the nearest CD store. I instantly realize it's one of the biggest places I've ever entered. A goofy smile appears on my face, and I wander aimlessly. My friend swears and leaves. But I don't care, there is a sea of CDs in front of me. I spend 40 minutes searching, then a strange CD with an antique fake cover intrigues me. I pull it out. It's Down by Phil Anselmo, whom I had the chance to see just over a week before in Bologna while they were opening for MetallicA. That evening, I believe I could have generated an immense offspring from the number of times I came in my pants. Without even looking at the tracks, I buy the CD. If Phil Anselmo is on it, it's cool. Then I realize I was supposed to meet up with the others about 20 minutes ago, and, obviously showing my disappointment (which would equate to a series of swearing that would make even Mosconi pale), I head towards the college, where I get a massive telling-off from the leaders. Annoyed, I go to my room but, surprise, surprise, I only brought my iPod, no CD player. After another expression of disappointment (the nearby church's windows shattered), I kiss the CD and put it safely in my suitcase. My Precious. Throughout the rest of the evening, I try not to think about it, but my brain wants to listen to that CD, and all my thoughts are directed towards Down. I have tears in my eyes. To listen to that CD, I'll have to wait another two weeks.

Days go by, and I start suffering from hallucinations. Everyone seems like Phil Anselmo, Rex Brown, or Pepper to me. I'm going crazy. Every night at home, I caress the Precious and sleep with it, anticipating the moment when I will hear it.

At the end of the two weeks, my parents pick me up at the airport in Milan, and I beg them to listen to the CD. When finally, after a string of swearing, I find it in the suitcase and insert it, I end up on foot in Verona. I forgot that my parents can't stand metal. Damn. When I finally get home, I discover my parents are at the beach house, 40 km away, and I don't have the keys. At that point, I go mad. From being sweaty and tired, I become radioactive and swearing. I start running naked through the whole city, screaming. They say 2 old ladies died, as many men changed sexual orientation, and after a while, I found myself with a procession of nude people running after me, led by Blink 182. Once I got released from the asylum, a month later, I had a beard like Rex and still hadn't listened to the CD.

I finally get home and find the time to play the CD. I listen carefully, tension through the roof. Hey, wait a minute, but since when did Black Sabbath change their name to Down and take Phil Anselmo as their vocalist?!?!?! I'm bitter, with tears in my eyes, and I was expecting a Pantera 2!!!! Disappointed, I promise to take revenge on Phil Anselmo. At the moment, I'm organizing a jihad against him. Those who would like to join can contact me.