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My friend Zaireeka invited me the other day to be more present on the site. Of course, if the result of the debate on the most important Italian album released this year, whether we like it or not (along with that of the MV), is the present, the desire to make a good ragù far outweighs the wish to leave posts on DeB. I hoped to find some more articulated thoughts than "It sucks" or "The first one was better." Minkia: even the first Zep is better than the second. My friend Bartle encourages me to go after our friend Blech. But what can I counter to someone who doesn’t answer my questions? Who, with the same confidence as Harold Bloom, dismantles Brondi's poetics, which at least has some poetics. But how can you say, Blech, that you don't understand my discourse? What does it mean that the phrase "and not being able to reach you because of the odd-even license plate scheme" makes you laugh? I repeat, if you don't try to contextualize it, if you don’t make an effort to understand that all his paraletterary work is a continuous back and forth between the imagery of the '70s and the present, just forget it. But if I start pulling out single sentences from the last of your adored MVs, I can tear them apart in five minutes. What can I say to my friend Isi, who only responds, as if we were in a DDR propaganda film, always and forever "Faust'o"? What can I say to the one who points out that Marlene have created a "little masterpiece" with Bianco sporco? That probably he’s the only one who noticed it? And finally, we have that one who brings up Ciarrapico and I don’t understand what he’s referring to when he talks about sadness. Here, the only sadness is that a small metaphor regarding Brondi's work, which is largely about the leftist singer-songwriter scene of the '70s, gets immediately misunderstood as if someone truly intended to go to his concerts and sing A Ja ljublju SSSR. Sorry for the disturbance. Back to the ragù.

Well, I’ll allow myself a couple of rants too, seeing as everyone here is so learned, medical, and wise. It’s quite paradoxical that the majority of people who criticize the album are roughly the same age as Vasco (except for isi), and therefore seem entirely unaware of what Italian singer-songwriter music has been over the last thirty-five years. Just as paradoxical is the fact that I, an old man, have to defend this young chap. But what did you expect to find in this album? Laptops? Symphony orchestras? Marimbas? Go tell the Marlene that they’ve been making the same album for twenty years, and it keeps getting worse. Not this guy, who at only twenty-five has his own poetic style and recognizability. Moreover, he’s honest, doesn’t peddle his soul on TV, and keeps to himself. If you can’t contextualize him, it’s not his fault. But how many singer-songwriters with his power and imagination have you listened to in Italy in the last twenty years? I’m really curious to know the answer. Just as I wonder, in the international market, yes, those who write songs in English, what do they say that’s so interesting? Or maybe the problem is precisely that, not imitating some American band but rather drawing from the Italian tradition? If someone isn’t interested in singer-songwriter music, I completely understand that it might suck. But if you take a moment to understand the context in which he operates, well guys, he’s the only one who makes me want to go to a concert and raise my left arm with a clenched fist. But, of course, probably, aside from isi, no one here has ever done that once in their life.

Well, what can I say? I'm super happy that you’re back to writing (I see only now that this is the second time in two weeks, but you know I don’t go out much anymore). What is it, the last attempt to save the site?:-))))) Can you believe I’ve never listened to them? Every now and then I tell myself to download them, but the combination always scares me a bit, B&s have always bored me. But Mark is right to sing a few songs here and there if he can't write anything great... he’s still the best singer in the world, anyway. And besides, I don't listen to anything new; for example, I have "Sweet love for mother heart" on, I get up from the couch, play it again, have a drink, play it again, smoke a cigarette, play it again. You know I’m a boring type. Kisses.

Trottolino, the only thing I have to say to you is that you promised me the review of the MV two weeks ago and it still hasn't come out. Look, it's just a record, not the Commedia or the Recherche. Go to bed earlier and write this damn review, otherwise I'm going to post on "Sentire ascoltare."

Well... it's always nice when there's something you haven't done yet.

Baf... plus 5 because he listens to Elton John, or rather, let’s make it complicated, plus twelve. Minus thirty-two because "I created an event on Facebook," an only thought arises in me: "Get lost, seriously." Plus twelve, because I don't know who he is. But love in those times tells me: "Making love in containers... and our Black Fridays... and come with me to gather the fireworks that didn't explode." And I, I've already got my dose of poetry for the winter: "We'll go freeze somewhere."

Actually, I stopped by to see if there was your review of the new MV, trottolino. Should I reply to you about GYBE? I'd say yes, in Trezzo, but from here to January...

What a bufferia, I listened to it just yesterday, and it had been a couple of years since I last heard it. There’s a reason too, days of Philophobia, where he sings Adele. I don’t know, it didn’t say much to me back then, and it doesn’t now either. But hey Psycho, take care!

@Ole, I put the Blurs there just to mess with you. That doesn't change the fact that they have at least evolved, and that Damon is the best melody writer of the last two decades in Albion. @Josi, the Sparklehorse crossed my mind, but I would have been shameless, because I've never listened to the fourth one. Changing coach, no, right?

I agree with the intrusion, especially for Morphine and Jesus Lizard. Uh, and two big names I forgot are Beck up to "Sea Change" included and the always underrated Sleater Kinney.