nix

FRANCESCO NUNZIATA, I challenge you to a duel. You will hear from me soon.
You can easily agree with my emissaries on the place and time of the contest.
Preferably Turin and on a Sunday.
We also need to decide what weapons to use.
Vinyl records, I would say (to be thrown like sharp frisbees at the jugular).
Guess which will be the first record I throw at you?

Beautiful review. It makes me want to delve deeper into the history of this band. I remember listening to them in the '80s, recommended by friends who were crazy about them. I confess they bored me a little. The review is rich in insights and literary connections. It’s better than many reviews plastered in major publications by big-name critics. Well done.

among other things, I do not share. The tendency of those who write online: to underestimate punctuation;

too many (good) energies for a coaster disc

Of course, treating depression with cocaine means jumping from three thousand meters without a parachute.

The album is a splendid example of that jazz rock generated by the extraordinary experience that was the creation of Miles Davis's "Bitches Brew." It is a richly layered and underrated work that deserves much more than this mediocre review. Furthermore, I completely disagree with the references to "sick music" or "mental illness," which have absolutely nothing to do with Herbie Hancock's artistic world. I suggest to the reviewer Mr_Iko, if he has truly fallen in love with this album, a similar work of the same particular charm, namely the first album by Weather Report, aptly titled Weather Report, which I believe is from 1971.

They will find the Director perched on a chair next to her bed, her arms dangling and her knuckles brushing against the parquet. A strange, wicked little smile on her lips, her usual expression, but a tiny trickle of red behind her left ear will alert them that the time of her life as a scoundrel has expired at least three hours ago. The clean job promised by odradek. You organized the boys well, well done odradek! We will already be in some remote cabin in the Swiss woods, sitting around a map, animatedly discussing future sabotage. Clean jobs.

We will cross the mountains at night, the path illuminated by the moon. When we reach the pass, on one side the green Switzerland and on the other the Italy occupied by the foreigner, we will hear the alarm sirens down in the valley, then gunfire and the angry barks of the invading dogs for letting us escape. But it will be too late. We will give them the finger, there you go, and then we will begin our descent towards transalpine freedom.
But it will only be to reorganize a new resistance.
Do you feel up to it at 50 years old, long past due?
I do. Say goodbye to your loved ones, we are leaving. But we will return.

The name Hot Tuna was an ironic and suggestive fallback. The original name of the group was another (Hot Shit), but the record label did not allow it. And irony is the true leitmotif of all the music of this band. While the Jefferson Airplane aimed to make a revolution, with Hot Tuna these artists (Kaukonen and Casady) chose to play with their own tradition.

By chance, I've been listening to "first pull up, then pull down" these days. Brilliant (but Burgers, maybe, is slightly superior).
In fact, what I've always loved about this genuinely honest group is not so much the music, which is good but really a bit dusty with time, but the formidable image and stage presence of Jack Casady. I don't think I'm exaggerating when I call him an icon of American music from those years.