macaco

In any case, the debate pro or against Scaruffi interests me little; I just wanted to break a lance in his favor to thank him for this book. Let's say I bought it (38,000 lire) between '93 and '95; I was twenty years old and had an insatiable hunger for music. I purposely (and with some regret) missed the whole grunge, stoner, alternative, indie scene because I had discovered prog, for whose navigational coordinates it was enough to contact some forty-something freak. For the avant-gardes and everyone else, I had this book and the wonderful Ligurian magazine Musiche, with two passionate writers, Paolo Chang and Alessandro Achilli. The rest was buying records blindly based on reviews. With the album described above, in fact, it went just like that; unfortunately, I have never liked it.

His first album is probably his masterpiece and the masterpiece of all cosmic music; it’s a grandiloquent and monumental "quadraphonic" symphony for a thirty-piece electronic orchestra. ???????, who started as a late psychedelic musician, reinvents himself as a pioneer of a new baroque electronic music that connects more to the symphonies of the nineteenth century than to acid rock. In a certain sense, he actually builds a bridge between the "visionary" elements of these two genres. ??????? also condenses half a century of German culture, from Wagner's sound masses (who may be the first to replicate them in the electronic context) to expressionist painting (which retains its obsessively gothic characteristics). The symphony by ??????? takes its cue from a "pictorial" idea but transcends it into atmospheres dripping with cascades of panicked sensations. As a Michelangelo-like architect of sound, he is capable of erecting dazzling mirages in the universal chaos, distilling ecstasy from the magma, weaving tales and spells in the eternal silences. His "fanta-music" endlessly replicates the sidereal sounds and conveys premonitions of planetary cataclysms.

The three movements of ???????? elaborate a documentary music that is a slow ascent through sweet tremors, breaking into sudden bursts, exuding anxiety and fear in the face of the unknown and the infinite. The electronic hisses that open the work gradually accumulate into a cataleptic suspense that prepares the entrance of the violins; the poignant melody of these plunges into a chaos of sound bands that has become deafening; other sounds plunge reverberated from galactic distances, and suddenly a pipe organ intones the liturgical crescendo that is somewhat the heart of the record: deformed, cadenced, accelerated, it simulates a raging pulsar, torn apart by immense pressure, which indeed explodes at the peak of orgasm. The second part is a monolithic and hypnotic vibration, where the strengths and weaknesses of this atmospheric descriptivism sublime.

What a shame, with a keyboard in Cyrillic it would have been perfect.

UH-OH. We are told that the review has been copied from that one by Jonny Testicolo. Shame on you!

I was unaware of its existence. For all the atoms!

Il Pensinato is the song that moves me the most, absolutely. Five also for personal reasons.

I agree.

Fuck rational explanations, and I won't tell you what I dreamed the day after seeing her.

Manara without hair does not exist.

Heila Puni, name the devil and the horns will appear.