Grasshopper

Last night, while I was listening to the final symphonic crescendo of "Signal To Noise," and the usual, timely shivers ran through my (rather unusual) body, only to swiftly dissipate in the enchantment of "The Drop," I wondered: "Is it possible that Mariaelena has never talked about this album?" Of course, she has talked about it, and in her own way, with all the necessary passion, it's just that amidst so many adolescent ventings, stadium insults, and fanboy exaltations with blinders on, one might miss something that was actually worth reading. Better late than never. I just hope this isn't "the completion of a life cycle," but that the cycle continues, possibly at these levels.

STIPE, the only childish thing here is your reaction, typical of a fan devoid of the slightest objectivity, who, as soon as they see their idol or myth questioned (which is not being destroyed, but simply downplayed, as indicated by the score of 3, which is not a failure), instead of countering with some argument, finds no better way than to take revenge by tearing down the reviewer. The reviewer is not getting angry as you say, but is laughing it off, taking into account (that is, zero) what is not a critique, of which you are incapable, but only the miserable outburst of someone who cannot stand the exposure of opinions different from their own, assuming they have any at all. From the little I've read of you, it seems that you don't: it's flat calm, absolute banality, nonsense, hot air, empty rhetoric...

You see, dear senior86, the issue isn't that ONE gave me such a judgment: it can happen, even though it hadn't happened until now. It's that, since it's the opinion of Mr. STIPE, of whom I've read some bland reviews like hospital broth, I believe it's entirely appropriate to regard it with the respect it deserves, which is to say zero. Hence my sarcasm; especially since, for reasons unknown to me, the aforementioned STIPE seems to have taken on the legacy of the "official human case" degregorius and roams around my reviews shooting off opinions that are more or less trivial and crudely "fan-like" like this one, unsubstantiated, even if accompanied by less venomous ratings than this. Another reason to completely disregard his judgments.

My God... I am dismayed! Will I be able to sleep tonight?

Regarding "Storia di un impiegato," I've always considered it to be slightly inferior to the previous two "concept" masterpieces ("La buona novella" and "Non al denaro...", for those few who might not know). But just by a hair, and only because the themes addressed are more contingent and less absolute than the universal ones of the two mentioned albums, namely God and Freedom. However, if we view it—how shall I put it, as the trade unionists would say—within the context of its time, its absolute greatness becomes more evident. In any case, even 34 years later, it proves to be a historical document more valid than many sociological treatises. Listening to it, we feel poisoned by the tense and insidious atmosphere of those early '70s; that "materialistic" anger may mislead, but in my opinion, De André doesn't stop being a poet here either, even if in a less evident and "orthodox" way than usual.

Bjork68, I hadn't read your comment, but I was absolutely certain it wasn’t referring to me. Let’s not say who it was directed at (since at this point it can be figured out by exclusion). In fact, let’s break a small lance in defense of this person, who is often spat upon on this site, sometimes well beyond their merits, to say that their philosophical musings on "Anime salve," even though they cannot truly be defined as a review, were nonetheless well-argued and quite relevant to the content of this work. At least in my view, that is. Regarding my own, I repeat what I said before: it was my debut, I was excessively concise, partly out of fear of greatly exceeding the double of the suggested character limit in the "instructions" (staying within the 1800 limit was completely impossible, so I set the 3600 one), and partly because by nature I tended to be schematic and didactic, as the "late" Vanamente pointed out to me (by the way, how many people have vanished from debaser?). Now, without false modesty, I write much less, but also much better.

A learned and beautiful review that adds a lot to my own, which was rather concise and schematic, from the distant August 2004. In my defense, I must point out that it was my inexperienced debut, the first of a long series (126 to date). I don’t give a rating solely for reasons of conflict of interest, but it’s clear that the implicit score is a 5. As for the album, there’s no need to say it: for some, it is De André's absolute masterpiece. It's difficult to choose an absolute one for an author who had a certain familiarity with masterpieces; however, it is certainly an album that will leave a mark in the history of Italian music, also thanks to the often undervalued contribution of Ivano Fossati, whom some incompetent people even call "pedantic." De André's poetry is absolute, but on its own, it wouldn’t have been enough to make this album what it is, had it not been perfectly linked in a symbiotic relationship with ethnic musical influences, for which we owe a great deal, if not everything, to Ivano Fossati.

Alright, the mystical-religious part (which, alas, takes up a nice chunk of the text) could have been spared, but the rest of the review demonstrates the usual indisputable musical expertise. And it still merits recognition for introducing the debaserian audience, now accustomed and I would say almost addicted to digesting the hundred and second review of Pink Floyd or the seventy-ninth of Queen (with all due respect to the aforementioned bands, of course...) to a masterpiece of a completely different nature, moreover interpreted by a soloist of great value. Every now and then even the best can go off course, and the justification you present in your intervention, overly self-critical, is very convincing: writing while listening to music of that kind, so deeply engaging, the risk of "sbarrocciare," as we say in my area, getting carried away perhaps too much, is just around the corner. It happens, and there's no need to get too down about it. Moreover, self-criticism is a rare commodity on debaser, where one reads passionate self-defenses of truly unspeakable abominations, and this also adds to your honor.

It could be that I don't know the life, death, and miracles of Pat Metheny, or it could be that the sound always seems the same to me, even if perhaps the inventiveness isn't as brilliant as, for example, in Bright Size Life (to name one), the fact remains that it still sounds excellent to me. Not exceptional, but still excellent, just like the review.

Wonderful album, a masterpiece by Jackson Browne alongside "Late for the Sky." The "on the road" spirit is felt throughout the record, but always tempered by the attention to feelings, which has always been typical of this artist. Not a bad review.