nix

boiled down since the disbanding of the Birthday Party, which is basically his entire career.
Well, if buzz says it, who cares about osborne... there must be some truth to it.
And so I, who grew up collecting his albums one by one, considering at least three of them practically among the best works in the entire history of rock (from rock around the clock to this morning), pretty much don’t understand a damn thing. And neither do at least two crowded generations. All fools.
Should we flush "The Good Son" down the toilet? Should we throw Kicking Against The Pricks out the window, too?
I feel like I’m hearing the usual rhetoric about the Pink Floyd being washed up after Barrett’s departure.
Once, I met a guy who claimed the Pink Floyd had basically been burned out long before, that even Arnold Layne was a suspicious release.
I haven’t listened to this work yet, but when it comes to Nick Cave post-1983, just calm down a bit. Take a cold shower.
Self-referential? So what? Because Bob Dylan wasn’t self-referential? And Jim Morrison? The best things I’ve ever listened to are self-referential. Where’s the problem?
The problem lies in the words. Certain words, in the wrong hands, become inappropriate weapons.

I made the mistake of trying to download the work for free. The filmed document I ended up with, which has nothing to do with music, is unbelievable. Wow!!

Mr. Wolf, by now you've gathered enough material for a small encyclopedia of blues. For me, all your pieces are good. I already knew many of them because I'm a fan of the genre myself, but in a couple of cases, your recommendations have introduced me to new things.

a dramatic review.

...but come on... rereading it calmly, it's a nice piece.

In that 1980, at 15 years old, I didn’t even notice this album. I discovered Lou Reed with "New York," but I also remember a concert from that time (early '80s) in Milan that was pretty boring. Anyway, today everything about Lou Reed seems worthy to me, even his most ragged albums. We could use more artists like him today. I also had a bit of a challenging summer. A hug dsalva.

Basically, it's nothing but a cover album. Horror!!
Just kidding. However, I’m against cover songs, even when they are played and interpreted beautifully. Even more so for an entire album.
Anyway, I used to make some amazing mixtapes that were highly contested by my friends.
I don’t know if I miss cassettes. I remember there were those chrome dioxide ones that highlighted the highs, but also increased the background hiss.
I recall a mood band from my high school that even ended up in Sanremo many years later; they recorded a cassette titled "Viva Italia." Local bands, especially punk and mood bands, started with cassettes before moving on to vinyl. By the way, the band for "Viva Italia" was Statuto; I wonder if you remember them.
Then a significantly higher quality came out, but also more expensive: the "metal" cassettes (if I remember correctly).

"Only in the deaths we face can there be evolution. The scarnification becomes audible through these sounds that, appearing to us, allow us to see a bit of that 95% of the invisible that surrounds us."
When I read this sentence, my antennas stood up and I started reading your piece carefully.
I like it. Perhaps a wikipedic examination of this work would be unbearably boring. This work doesn't deserve that because it's a masterpiece.
Maybe this is the only way to talk about music like this without being unbearable.
Maybe. Anyway, I appreciated it.

errata corrige: Sam Cooke ended up shot by a woman, a night porter, who got scared when she saw him coming in his underwear and out of his mind. The fact that he kept a gun under the counter is American normality (much like Solomon's obesity, perhaps).

I confess that I find the musical framing of an album like this lacking, which perhaps deserved a few more words. The description of the character, however, is amusing. But... But... Taddi, what did you think? That these characters were saints? And what about Sam Cooke? Who in '64 was shot dead by a night porter in a seedy motel while he, in his underwear, was chasing after a prostitute who had (perhaps) robbed him after the performance. And what about James Brown? Who often had his orchestra start the concert without him, meanwhile still stuck in some bathroom doing the "sex machine" with the current groupie, not to mention his relationships with cocaine... jail... and more. And what about Marvin Gaye? His dramatic drug addiction, which ended with a bullet from a revolver fired... by his father (!). Showbiz men used to living not with one, but with two or three gears more... the price for having left us with Otis Blue or What's Going On. They weren't surveyors; they sold their soul to the audience, but often also to the devil. A bit of naivety, then, in your story, albeit entertaining. Solomon transported by the forklift was a nice touch I didn't expect.