nix

Damn, 186 euros?!? It must be a special print. To be honest, it’s been a while since I delved into it, but I remember it as quite a common record.
Actually, now that you’ve put the bug in my ear, I checked on discogs.com: this work boasts 96 prints from '71 to today (one even in the DDR in '86, evidently with the approval of the STASI), including three Italian vinyl prints and three Italian CDs (including the classic "Armando Curcio" from the newsstand).
Who knows, it might be a signed copy by Beppe Grillo.
Thanks for the appreciation. Given the length and the not particularly original choice, I feared nobody would read me. Just one, but a good one!
14.50? I’d say that’s money very well spent.
I sold my soul in 1991 and they gave me at least 30 years of warranty, but it’s been a scam. I’m suing Lucifer himself. I want my soul back, along with interest and moral damages. It’s his problem now!

here, I felt it

I also appreciate your choice to write about a musician who is a piece of American music history. The review isn't bad, but it suffers from some flaws.

First of all, Brian Jones, from his current location, cannot provide us with any technical insights, neither now nor in the future.

Then, the punctuation definitely needs to be revised.

Finally, I find the final statement about the daring lyrics "for the time they were written (between drugs, drug addicts, and tuberculosis patients)" somewhat unclear. I understand what you mean, but I still find it a bit obscure; since it could be a central issue for this work, perhaps it deserves a less generic and more comprehensible comment.

The merit of these few lines is the evident passion for what you are discussing, which is not a negligible point in your favor.

In short, a few lines that are improvable but passionate about an album that I find interesting.

So, your writing piqued my curiosity and the sample fascinated me, so I started searching online for data about these artists. I wanted to understand what this is all about.
The spokesperson for the Finnish group, one Lauri Ainala, tells some quite strange things. They love to reuse sound recordings taken in a playful manner with possibly low-fi means (like recording worshippers singing religious hymns in a church with a compact digital camera, and the more off-key and out of sync, the better), but also old recordings from demagnetized cassettes and music from vintage video games like Nintendo or Sega. They then mention other artists who inspired them, and among five almost unpronounceable names, I even find the Beatles. They’ve occupied old abandoned buildings and made photographs that they project by candlelight during their shows. Then there’s a certain spirituality with a vaguely Eastern fragrance.
In short, a combination of trends that on their own are not new or unheard of: ambient, psychedelia, folk. The blend of these "fascinations," carried out without a specific project but based on each musician's sensitivity, gives rise to something truly strange and original.
I must say that the journalist who interviewed Ainala talks about an underground of Finnish artists with similar projects, part of a "Nordic neo-folk scene."
Overall, everything has a neo-hippie flavor (quite luxurious, elegant variant).
In short, Finnish hippies having fun. In two years, they’ll all be working in banks.

I’m one of those who considers U2 a significant band up until 1985, with a moment of excellence during the time of Red Rocks Live (1983). After Rattle And Hum, they fell out of my musical interests. My opinion isn’t original because many people my age (class of 1965) feel the same way.
Anyway, you wrote an interesting piece. Best regards.

delicious review of an album that, when it was released, was a revelation for me. I listened to it constantly, ten times a day. That lazy voice, set on a stylistic track that never allowed for a strange twist, never a "stain," always "lazy," even when the almost "bossa" rhythms were more danceable. I fell in love. When "Cafè Bleu" came out, I can't even describe it. This elegant and superficial pop, but with truly exciting bursts (see the mentioned "Paris Match" in its two versions, each more haunting than the other) felt like a revelation. It became the soundtrack of that distant 1984 for me.

It wasn't a revelation. It lasted a few months, maybe a year. I liked the next album by Everything even more (but already less than Eden), but the following ones...

Let's not even talk about the Style Council after Cafè Bleu. Coasters.

A flare of English pop. A beautiful flare.

Anyway, Eden still moves me today. A real gem.

I also had a little Countess related to those late-night listens of that album. Maybe she was a Duchess, in any case, a memorable flop. Today she is married to a bigwig in the Turin 5-Star Movement and has a daughter identical to her.

I would give you 6 stars if I could, as I would give 6 to Eden, a reminder of a distant year.

Write more like this and I will end up de-loving you.

Here with us, we say "mandane abbomba." Mandane abbomba.

For me, it wasn't my dad's Fiat 131, but the strictly forbidden room of a friend's older brother, where we would sneak in to satisfy our curiosity on certain afternoons. It was 1975 or thereabouts, and without fail, there was a record that fascinated me, with a photo on the cover of a guy sitting, behind him a mirror reflecting the same image infinitely, and behind that, a lawn with other people, his bandmates. The back cover of the album featured a meticulously arranged display of all their instruments, from the largest to the smallest bolt. Ten years later, I would come to love that album by Pink Floyd immensely.

I’m happy to see generations come and go; the world changes, everything changes, except for certain emotions, certain anxieties, and certain comforts provided by music, which instead remain the same.

That's why I love your writing, the honesty and spontaneity that radiate from those lines. Stepping outside of this "mode" of feelings where even "bad" music has its rightful reasons, I realize one thing has remained unchanged despite all these generational shifts: Pink Floyd.

I must confess that this doesn’t sit well with me, and because of that, I find the Pink Floyd albums after 1980 boring and insidiously repetitive, just as grand and sincere as those before that fateful year were.

Therefore, I give 5 to your editorial/review because it truly deserves it, and 2 to the work of Pink Floyd after "The Wall."

you don't include the year of recording and publication of the album (except for one track), which makes it impossible to form an idea and calibrate your references to Pink Floyd or Kraftwerk.
Moreover, the review seems to be about an album by Nuova Idea, while it is actually by drummer Paolo Siani, who, for this occasion, enlisted the collaboration of the Nuova Idea group he was a part of. This circumstance, far from being secondary since it is the third work of this musician, is not clearly expressed. And what about a word on his previous works? In contrast, you mention the previous works of Nuova Idea. This review confuses ideas rather than clarifying them.

Professor Balthazar and his machine!!!!!!!!
I grew up dreaming of Professor Balthazar's machine, which, after all the turning of mechanisms and gears, would release a drop of liquid, a single drop that exploded into a shower of psychedelic colors that put everything in its place. Just this quote alone is worth five stars. Naturally, the rest lives up to it, but... Professor Balthazar... I’ve been searching for him my whole life.
It seems he lives in Hungary, and his machine is in the garage, rusting under a tarp. If only we could get it working again...

a lady review.