nix

In other parts of Debasio, people split hairs over a silly rap tune. They argue for entire pages over two puns made by teenagers. The egos of certain young fellows are unleashed, and one must be careful; woe betide anyone who contradicts them. Sometimes, you don’t even understand what they’re saying. My esteemed fellow citizen Odradek almost bore the brunt of it just for having said he had enjoyed dwelling on a little song. If only he hadn’t… alè… here comes the wave of narcissistic disturbances.

Then you enter your posts… and it’s a whole different vibe that I really love. Low profile, few words, barely more than a notification. An airy, thin atmosphere, I would say, with funny and composed comments. Names of musicians that are interesting to revisit. You brush against the television and cinema of bygone times.

In short, I feel better here with you all. Do you mind if I stay for ten minutes? I’ll order an exotic cocktail, sit down, and read while listening to this jazzbigband-exotica-lounge disc.

The only flaw in this operation that I consistently feel like applauding (I’ve become a fan of yours) is that you never include the recording and release dates. They might not be marked on the records, but with a bit of research usually….

As for the rest… kudos as always, MauriceHaylett. It's nice to be here with you, but let’s not say it too loudly, or those others with the narcissistic disorder will arrive, and the magic will be over.

Yes, he writes with strength. The things I read about him several months ago didn't have this anger.
I can't even imagine the flight of musical passions he must have experienced in his life, Odradek. Since he was a kid, he must have loved/hated them all—thousands of records, thousands of hours spent listening, delving deeper, dancing, loving, criticizing, discussing, tossing out the window, or storing away with care. He must have seen quite a lot if he is as old as he claims (but here, many of us have crossed the half-century mark) and if he writes with this strength and this rage.
And after all this long journey, where does he land? He lands on this little stuff here.
I don't know this stuff. It really seems like little stuff to me, but in the end, the first to say it is precisely him. Odradek himself says it's little stuff, but that after all that flight mentioned above, these two boys brought him a smile and an emotion.
It's a position he has that can't be criticized. It happened, and that's it. It's not a review. It's the account of a completed fact.
There's nothing left but, if one feels like it and has respect for the person involved, to delve into the matter to get a clearer idea.
I'll take another look at them. I'll try to understand. Odradek isn't a fool, so it's worth it.

It's exactly the kind of reading I'm looking for right now. At home, it's 34 degrees in the shade, and in the evening, if there aren't at least 200 corpses and a good fifteen complete copulations, I can't get into it.
I await your judgment at the end of the reading.

rockasteria.blogspot.com. I think both can be found there.

I hear "la Patti" and it brings to mind something that has little to do with it, but perhaps it does: about thirty years ago, a large group of trans individuals were working near my house, and over time I became friends with some of them. Coming home at night, I would stop there to chat. They talked a lot about Patti, Patti here, Patti there. Obviously, they were referring to Patti Pravo, who at the time was in their circle and for many of them, the model of femininity. Some had even undergone facial surgeries to resemble her at least a little bit.

The most cultured among them, an intellectual trans woman very involved in the underground world of my city, was also well-acquainted with Patti Smith. One evening, she invited me to dinner at her place, a bazaar-like house overflowing with works, objects, photos, records, everything and more, and she showed me a photography book of Patti Smith taken by the photographer Robert Mapplethorpe. I only knew the album "Radio Ethiopia," which I considered, and still consider, an absolute masterpiece. I realized that I knew only a meager ten percent of it all. There was so much more.

She is one of the great figures of twentieth-century culture (perhaps even twenty-first century) and her star shines so brightly that it transcends the narrow field of music, engaging all the arts.

Congratulations luludia, it’s always a pleasure to read your pieces. I’ve come to understand that there is "stile luludia," a way of approaching artistic phenomena, music, poetry, and more, as well as a very specific way of writing. It’s called "stile luludia." Some might try to imitate it, but there’s only one authentic luludia.

mamma mia, dwarfs, taxidermists... do you realize? The reality of that crazy genius Fulci exceeded imagination!
That horror/fantasy/splatter genre from the '70s was truly terrifying (in a good way, it was frightening and repulsive).
The plots were almost always disheveled, and the actors and voice actors were sometimes disastrous (just look at Argento's films, especially the later ones, which go well beyond the point of absurdity) didn’t do them justice. Yet, overall, they left a mark in the history of cinema.
A lot of "B-movies," with small gems scattered here and there. But overall, we had nothing to envy the Americans, who actually looked at us with admiration. See the opinions of the great Quentin Tarantino.
Of course, the level of "The Exorcist" is practically never reached, but...
...for example, "The Beyond...and you will live in terror!" by Fulci is incredibly visionary. I think it's one of the best in the genre. The last scene of the film truly keeps you up at night. Only a madman could conceive something like that.
"I Don't Torture Dead Pigs" is missing for me. I read enthusiastic reviews from debaseriani that I respect, so I’m going to seek it out.

Even if it wasn't actually carried out, I can imagine the judicial inquiry, Joe Marrazzo's shoulder-mounted camera lingering in the corridors of some old courthouse, mobsters in handcuffs, Rolex watches and tracksuits, accompanied by old lawyers with cunning eyes, court attendants peeking out, pushing trolleys full of files through a grim black and white setting.
"Camuorra? What camuorra? The camuorra is in Rome. I’ve only done good, everyone can tell you that, everyone can tell you, Dr. Marrazzo."

These are well-deserved compliments.
I allow myself to "digress" for a moment and return to the topic of nostalgia triggered by soundtracks.
A few times, I’ve happened to hear a very old song by Lucio Dalla titled "Fumetto". The song is cute, nothing special, yet every time I listened to it, I would always feel a mysterious surge of happiness. I dug into my memory, also helped by Wikipedia, and discovered that "Fumetto" was the opening theme of a cartoon program on Rai broadcast between 1970 and 1973, unimaginatively titled "Gli eroi di cartone".
Here’s the explanation for the flash of emotion. I was six years old, and when I heard that song, it heralded the arrival of Wile E. Coyote and Beep Beep, as well as Charlie Brown. Tricks of memory and the Power of Music, which sometimes embeds itself in the heart for a lifetime.
Forgive my digression.

At the risk of repeating myself, I truly find your project of recovering soundtracks and collections for sound design from the 1970s fantastic, often containing little pieces that have entered the collective imagination of Italians for having served as theme tunes for Sunday sports or daily strips from that era.
The jingle from the Almanacco del Giorno Dopo was something I missed.
Many of these artists have been undervalued and have unfortunately remained in the shadows for not having released commercially successful records. Perhaps they wrote incredibly interesting things that went unknown to most, and then lived for years off of fifty seconds of one of their pieces used to accompany a time signal.
Operations like this are culturally fascinating and greatly enhance Debaser.
Huge compliments!

great recovery operation. Among other things, your comments are balanced and well-written. Congratulations.