Grasshopper

I too would be curious to know how De André "addressed" the crowds, especially considering he had a tremendous fear of the stage and sometimes had to gulp down industrial quantities of whisky to get up there. By the way, he would have been better off, and with less harm to his health, if he had encouraged himself with a majestic Brunello di Montalcino (he could afford it), or with a fragrant Nobile di Montepulciano, and even with a succulent Morellino di Scansano (Maremma, where a few centuries ago no one would have thought of planting a vine, is a bit like our California, and it promises great things).

No one has ever said that only Grasshopper can review classical music works. Fortunately, there exists a decent number of classical music enthusiasts in here, and I believe that roughly all of them share a certain respect for what they are discussing—respect that I would say is at least appropriate, if not even obligatory, towards works of this kind. I think that none of them (nor we) would even think of mocking a work with a series of disjointed and nonsensical phrases, especially one that you yourself admit is the most beautiful by Puccini, and I agree with that. The glaring proof that not only Grasshopper but anyone—and I mean anyone—can write about Puccini and classical music in general is the fact that this species of provocation (I wouldn't know how else to call it, certainly not a review) didn’t end up in the trash but was published. However, if someone throws a stone into a pigeon loft, they shouldn't be surprised if the pigeons flutter around irritated and some of them might react a bit excessively, but ultimately in the most fitting way for a pigeon, that is, by covering you in shit. Instead, why don’t you explain to me and to those who were left a bit stunned what the hell you meant with this sort of hodgepodge of fragmented sentences, abruptly truncated, that only brush upon Puccini? It may be that there’s irony behind it that I didn’t catch, but even after reading and re-reading (three times, no more) I find there’s really very little there, and even as a provocation, it seems quite lacking to me.

As a Tuscan, the only thing I haven't appreciated is the wine comparison: it seems to me that lately we've made giant strides, even if I still prefer the good old classic Chianti to these trendy "supertuscans" that are accessible only to tax evaders, even though as an everyday wine, that too is beyond my budget, so I’m glad to welcome the robust wines from Sicily and Puglia, good and inexpensive (to put it with Guccini, "the strong one from the South that makes infinite flavors taste for all the good-mouthed people..."). It's not just Piemonte, although obviously, Piemonte is unbeatable in its own right. Closing the wine parenthesis, I wholeheartedly agree with the premise and the passionate defense of quality against the rampant and arrogant stupidity that is more pronounced than ever in the pre-Christmas atmosphere. Right now, a colleague passed by who confuses Paolo Conte with Carlo Conti and considers the latter a major expert in music (he used to be a DJ at a radio station in Scandicci, just think about that resume...). This person, of course, is not even aware of Gianmaria Testa's existence, and she never will be. At 42 years old, she will continue to indulge in the now-decayed adolescent dreams of a Renato Zero who has long become a caricature of himself, she will keep thinking that the bland faux-rock of a overcooked and boiled Vasco Rossi is "strong," she will continue to wait for Sanremo every year to have some catchy tune to keep in her little head, to forget within a month, and forever. With people like this, it's useless to even try to talk about music, but still, let's continue to "Don Quixote against a system, against a market, a plethora of imbeciles." It’s always worth it.

What a shame. It’s also the most beautiful Puccini work for me, and precisely for this reason I wonder, and I ask you, was it really necessary to treat it (or rather, not to treat it) this way? As for poor Verdi, I don’t see why he should get under your skin: it’s not his fault if some fool uses him for their Padanian delusions. It would be a bit like hating Wagner because Uncle Adolf used him as a soundtrack to gas the Jews.

It might be that I also tend to write lengthy reviews, but I didn’t find it heavy at all: quite detailed, yet with accessible and understandable language. Personally, I am an avid Mozart fan, but I haven't forgotten that this was also the year of the good Dmitri Shostakovich, and somehow I tried to honor him with a review of his Symphony No. 7 “Leningrad,” available on this site. As the know-it-all says, relegating Shostakovich to the lesser composers is a foolish thing to do, which is also true for Prokofiev, perhaps even more so. Both were persecuted in life by Stalin, whose coarse ear could barely grasp the fanfares of the Red Army, and both are rather underrated even in our times, resulting in their sparse presence in concerts. This, which unfortunately I did not attend, is a commendable exception.

Personally, I am more attached to albums that are a bit less cryptic, like this one, like "Rimmel" and "Alice non lo sa," while the lyrics of "Bufalo Bill" and the so-called "sheep" album (Francesco De Gregori 1974) sometimes leave me somewhat bewildered due to their incomprehensibility, almost equal to their beauty. Nonetheless, it’s just a matter of taste: in all these cases, we are talking about historic albums that have made an impact.

Too nice everyone. Jim, what are you doing at my place? Aside from a wall of about 2000 CDs, there aren't really many attractions...

A great album, always inexplicably underrated, perhaps because it’s less cryptic than "Buffalo Bill," which I see as an advantage. For me, it’s the last masterpiece of the Prince, enhanced by an excellent review.

Trellheim, I had written the Czech "r" (copied from Josi's excellent review of Dvořák's Quintet), but with every copy and paste it mysteriously disappears, and it must have vanished during the publication as well.

Great instrument the clarinet, great its promoter Weber (one of the few after Mozart), great its interpreter Sabine Meyer (usually, I don't know here) and a wonderful surprise bubu7: ignore the idiotic posts and welcome to the "loggione" of Debaser.