Dislocation

Really nothing to say.
Maximum respect to Jarrett and the imperial trio.
Maximum respect to the garages, unfairly, although understandably, labeled as refuges for only basic rock bands.
Maximum respect to those who review anything (albums, but also books, culinary recipes, porn films, electric basses...) letting themselves indulge in personal memories and passions.
Well done, well done.
Well done.
Did I already say that?

I've followed him (I used to, sigh!) forever, since the remote and heroic days of the Magical Yellow Orchestra, then through his sublime solo career, collaborations always with wonderful people and great artists (Sylvian, Byrne, Dolby, Bowie, Holly Johnson, Zazou, Cesaria... anything else?)...
Then, an eon ago, I saw him in concert, solo, in Genoa, just a grand piano, outdoors, at Nervi Parks, where he conducted a concert of remarkable balance between classical, ethnic Japanese, jazz, and pop of unrivaled class... then, around midnight, with the sea in the background illuminated by fishing lamps, a train passed by not far away, and he, with infinite grace, stopped playing, alternating his gaze between the piano's keyboard and the railway, blending the first notes of the piece's reprise with the noise and clatter of the train, as if he had made a dramatic appointment with the engineer.
The Artist, whole and indivisible.

But... Damn it... I had never thought about it...
Then, trusting the claims of my noble cousin Reggiano, I typed on the internet and found this... No, sorry, these...
Machedaverodavero?

Antiglory and The Guitar is Dead were not bad tracks; I remember the album little, buried as it is among equally forgettable ones...
But it makes me eager to listen to this one...

Honestly, I confess it took me a few days to understand something in the writing of the valiant, yet unscrupulous, @[Almotasim]. I read and reread it, I searched for hidden meanings or veiled behind Homeric similarities, I verified the correctness of some Kantian statements, and then I tried again, like a new Newton; I had a faint, brief illumination: @[Almotasim] and @[Falloppio] are relatives, thus both afflicted by that inevitability of a common destiny, by that inextricable fatal stringing together... In short, they are two charlatans in the truest and most definitive sense of the term, two debauched nobles, given to every possible alcoholic or chemical excess, and, as we know, well-versed in every unnatural sexual aberration. Knowing this reveals in every more recondite aspect the quantum truth stated in the writing... What? Study, bastards, study.

Joy for the ears of bitolmani since the late seventies... In Colori, Heaven Tonight, All Shook Up, Dream Police, Budokan, all records close to the heart... Epic the Sgt. Pepper Live, a true and sincere philological tribute to the Four's album...
One song above all and for everyone: Surrender.
I didn't know this album, but I will fill the gap, thanks, PPF!!!

The Prince of Poggio Bustone...
What has always ruined Battisti's songs for me, ever since I was a child, were the lyrics by Rapetti, filled with clichés, insipience, degrading (and degraded) obviousness, spouting half-rhymes reminiscent of the Acli after-work gatherings, truly diminishing the objective validity of Battisti's music, one of the few Italian talents that can be placed, in terms of compositional pathos, production, and ultimately chart performance, on the level of some more acclaimed English-speaking and non-English-speaking artists, alongside, for the same reasons, Battiato, to name one, but there are surely a couple more...
I received the news well at the time that the renowned mogolbattisti partnership was coming to an end, less well the compositional contribution of the future widow Battisti, an insubstantial attempt to distance herself from the previous and burdensome future maitre à penser of the Italian discography... Then came the Panelliade, today praised and rightly so, full of goodness, but at the time barely comprehensible, even less understood and, let’s be honest, even less accepted by the hard-core fans of yesteryear who would have always only wanted acquazzurracquachiara from the bustonese for life... Time would prove Battisti's choice right back then.
Great album, sparkling and fresh sounds, an amazing band, the dentist I don't know.

A dear friend of mine, a professional diver with an exceptional memory (he could rattle off the Genoa lineups from the 70s as easily as he could the Beatles’, and everything in between...), told me around the early 90s, with his annoying Spezzino accent, that Supertramp without Hodgson were like an ass without a hole, useless.
Yeah, he had never been much of a diplomat.

For the warped mind, I agree, it is indeed so, without a doubt it is so.
Disco-apice of Branduardi, but shall we say something about the musicians who participated?
Gigi Cappellotto and Andy Surdy on rhythm section, infallible. Maurizio Fabrizio on keyboards and Bobby Puleo on picks, and then the enormous Gigi Lai on launeddas, not to mention...