fiquata

1) Rightly, the cleverest decide to stay in Naples, where, in fact, you go to the market - but not even that; any street will do - and one from the PD would say you can find art there, the one who sings, the one who paints the signs; you take the subway and you're at the theater, willingly or unwillingly, playing a part. Others live in anonymous cities, lead anonymous lives where they are passive even in their enjoyment of art, provided it still exists, art, and they actually believe that art exists, as if art were not just a black-and-white reproduction of life. In Naples - I’m not optimistic enough to say SUD - if you have the faculties to understand, you are no longer an anonymous person. The crowd is less of a crowd. They call it the chosen people.
2) It was Tocqueville in Democracy in America who said that democracy is like the sea, nothing sinks and nothing sticks out? If it’s not his, it’s mine, deal done. The current, post-modern man - to use two buzzwords - "man" and "post-modern," for me it's just mediocrity - has managed to destroy any form of sharing because there are no objects - what can a mediocre person express? - and no subjects - too few non-mediocre ones. We find ourselves in real Windows Media Player tunnels where blue no longer corresponds to blue, red corresponds to black.
3) When the blacks, Pakistanis, gypsies & Co ask me for alms, I would react like American Psycho. Everyone criticizes consumerism without understanding that the poor are nothing but the most consumerist, enduring absurd journeys in hopes of becoming like them, like Corona, like Silvio - I must state that I hold these characters in much higher regard than the "emerging" ones negatively impacting average man's values, compared to the average man - and the naïve would tell you they respect them because they maintain their families blablabla, that they have values; then why not respect a mobster who has his own values and values so strong that he would kill for them, who wants money, power? Because they are mediocrities. We're ruined. Bye.

but explain it to that idiot of a reviewer, since he can't figure it out on his own, that the One Dimensional Man printed 5000 copies of You Kill Me, which is more than all the FBYC records combined - who, idiot (2), didn't start with Sfortuna, but like ten years ago or more - can't even reach that; that the One Dimensional Man made videos that aired every evening on MTV Brand New, that they had two hours of Sala Prove on RockTv, that they played on Supersonic with Enrico Silvestrin - that’s what you deserve - that evening with the Karate. the FBYC are followed and loved - because there are people who really love them, just like with the bands of the old days - because they put their heart into it, which is something rare nowadays, because they play when they can, when they want, without any ambition and among people who care about the hype - idiot! - and various foolery is definitely not to be overlooked. and I say this as someone who can't stand the homogenization of those who try not to be homogenized, but not like idiots. tattoo the review on your ribs, because it hurts on the ribs.

S H I T

a fresh, brand new record that has never been explored by the public or critics. thank you.

one acts cool, cultured, technical and then comes out with "but rather". mock, mock!

they do what they want, they make money off us, and they screw us too. amen.

cute, nice, and dispensable.

dead and buried for good with this record - from '98 to today they've probably made like 20 minutes of decent music; the rest is zombie rhetoric, sometimes even nice, huh, but it's always zombie rhetoric. this, along with Timothy's Monster - the only two records really on point, without bullshit just to fill in, rock'n roll at a dime a dozen -, is a masterpiece. the only two masterpieces by Motorpsycho. great, God of a band, holes in the ground, but too many records, too many songs, too much useless music. they had the Husker Du syndrome, a disease that leads to death: indeed, they are dead.

you don't understand a damn thing, as usual.

So it's not forbidden to write about interesting things?