Io Ho Il Pene Banned

The problem is that today, in the year 2006, rock and roll is in the hands of these people, these dull and perfectionist scribblers, when rock and roll was born precisely to stand against such behavior. Rock is too often passed off as intellectual and cultured music, or worse, music FOR intellectuals and cultured people in a pretentious way, when in fact it is something else. It was, or rather used to be, music for the masses; today it has become an exclusive domain for small circles of worshippers who look at what was once the crowd, who used to revel in the notes of TRUE rock, as a throng of ignorant people who don't understand the Residents or Gastr Del Sol. Nowadays, to understand rock you need two degrees and three master's degrees; you must know Italian grammar and also English grammar to avoid entering the forums (the only place where it can be discussed) and being slapped in the face with fish for your ignorance. This is the sad fate of good old rock 'n' roll.

Reznor didn’t even know who Foetus was in 1994, for crying out loud, what does Pretazzo know about what Dante Alighieri was thinking while he wrote the first lines of the Divine Comedy?? Or what drove Beethoven to put the choir in the fifth act of the Ninth?? For fuck's sake, we are losing our senses, it’s all structure, more for architects than for artists, can we understand that the spark of inspiration is something that can’t be subjected to the claustrophobic scrutiny of little professors, whether by profession or as a pastime?? If the reckless will to express oneself is coupled with the ambitious pest of communication, then we have established the vicious circle of contemporary aesthetics: an exhausting search for an audience summoned to endure such persistent exhibitionism, logically aligned with the desires of market politics. Any aesthetic fling and any artist-like endeavor is already ideologically conditioned by the preconceived notion of "the beautiful in itself," never mind choice and expressive freedom, the intent has already been hesitated, art as social service??
hahaha, but it’s about using others! solely for the sake of a brazenly personal gain in public recognition. In fact, I’m not putting you in the ranks of reviewers that I’ve set out to spank (and I will, rest assured), I’m only calling you out for the unconsidered 4 you gave in these comments.

See festuecca, my phrase that you referred to would be the only one that could be used to say something about any given album; mine is a phrase dictated by the immediate fading away. After all, what can we have if not a sensation about the beauty and ugliness of something?? You can't draw up a treatise from a microsecond sensation like pretazzo does, mestruazions regulari john, scaruffi, and other little professors who infest these pages. For example, I already like your reviews more because you don't get lost in vague existential musings, you get straight to the point and talk about gut feelings. Damn, you can't be judging the inspirations that went through Reznor's mind back in 1994 while he was sitting down to compose; it's a bigger thing than what pretazzo thinks, don't you think??

In my opinion, it’s precisely this angelic and sacred vision he had of women that messed him up in his relationships with the opposite sex, Dylan eheheh. It's just my impression, but I guess he idealized them too much for what women really are.......anyway, this album remains a masterpiece too.

To death with critics like pretazzi, you kill a fundamental aspect of art, which is the immediate, you talk about structures, about how to do something, when instead the greatest works of art arise from the unthinkability of the act. You critics full of shit, social climbers, in place of the immediate vanishing, of the untameable stroke of genius that supreme geniuses like Reznor are capable of, you diminish its value with essays on these matters, the Pretazzi, the arrogant pretazzi, here’s the discourse on how to do it, out of place and inappropriate, here’s the structure, here are the structures that replace the immediacy of the artistic act, as if someone like Reznor at the moment of inspiration and composition would go through all the mental gymnastics you think he would, labels upon labels, walls and fences, constraints of language and forms for your own use and consumption. To death with the pretazzi, I will carry on this war of mine until the pretazzi of this world are swept away by a hurricane.

To death with critics like pretazzo, you kill something fundamental about art, that is, the immediate; you talk about structures, about how to do something, when instead the greatest works of art arise from the unfathomability of the act. You critics full of shit, social climbers, instead of the immediate vanishing, the untameable stroke of genius that supreme geniuses like Reznor are capable of, you diminish its value with essays on these subjects, the Pretazzos, the arrogant pretazzos; here is the discourse on how to do, irrelevant and inappropriate. Here is the structure, here are the structures that replace the immediacy of the artistic act, as if someone like Reznor, at the moment of inspiration and composition, would be caught up in all the mental gymnastics you think, labels upon labels, walls and fences, constraints of language and forms for your own use and consumption. To death with the pretazzos, I will carry on this war of mine until the pretazzos of this world are swept away by a hurricane.

To death the critics like pretazzi, you kill something fundamental about art, that is the immediate, you talk about structures, about how to do something, when instead the greatest works of art arise from the unthinkability of the act. You critics full of shit, social climbers, in place of the immediate vanishing, of the untameable stroke of genius of which the greatest geniuses like Reznor are capable, you diminish its value with essays on these things, the Pretazzi, the arrogant pretazzi, here's the discourse on how to do it, out of place and inappropriate. Here are the structures that replace the immediacy of the artistic act, as if someone like Reznor in the moment of inspiration and composition would have all the mental gymnastics you think, labels upon labels, walls and fences, constraints of language and forms for your own use and consumption. To death the pretazzi, I will carry on this war of mine until the pretazzi of this world are swept away by a hurricane.

To death with critics like pretazzi, you kill something fundamental to art, namely the immediate; you talk about structures, about how to do something, when instead the greatest works of art are born from the unthinkability of the act. You critics full of shit, social climbers, instead of the immediate vanishing, of the untameable stroke of genius of which the supreme geniuses like Reznor are capable, you diminish its value with essays on these things, the Pretazzi, the arrogant pretazzi. There’s the discourse on “how to do it,” out of place and inappropriate; here are the structures that replace the immediacy of the artistic act, as if someone like Reznor, at the moment of inspiration and composition, would do all the mental gymnastics you think he does, labels upon labels, walls and fences, constraints of language and forms for your own use and consumption. To death with the pretazzi, I will carry on this war of mine until the pretazzi of this world are swept away by a hurricane.

Pretazzo glasses-wearer is glasses-wearer, eh, always assuming he's the one in the photo, but anyway I think we shouldn’t generalize about the artist-critic relationship. I mean, certainly there are critics, not just musical ones, who would do well to change professions, but it’s also true that since ancient Greece, with its tragedies, there have been men working on the criticism of those performances. So it’s something that has always existed; art, unfortunately we can say, has always been subject to industry critique. Anyway, it’s undoubtedly an interesting topic, let’s hope we don’t start throwing insults right away.

First of all, don't attribute to me things I didn't say; this group is not my favorite group, and then you gave a 4 to a Descendents album and a 4 to this one—come on, how can you give the same score to these two albums? I repeat, there are people here who give ratings and express opinions about the validity of an artist based on the number of followers the group has. As soon as a group becomes a bit more popular, like Nine Inch Nails in the early '90s, when, at least in Italy, nobody even knew who the hell they were, yet it was precisely during that time that Reznor had his sharpest inspiration. As soon as they gain a bit more recognition, here comes the usual oligarchic lot to shoot their bullshit. But do you really love music?? Are you perhaps a little jealous? Critics are, after all, failed artists; they wanted to be artists but failed due to their lack of ability, resorting defensively to criticism. That's the noble function of the critic: a shady, bespectacled individual who sits in the dark, hating what he does. And above all, he cannot rate the work of someone like Reznor, who works on his art 24 hours a day, and when he doesn’t have anything to work on, he takes a sleeping pill and sleeps, while the critic does it for leisure, for fun, 2 or 3 hours a day, not 24 hours. Therefore, he has no right to speak about it. As Artaud said, a true critic should be an artist; otherwise, he can't issue ratings and written judgments. It’s like if my family doctor were to comment on the surgical operations performed by surgeons.