Dislocation

So, I start by cursing you and @[Conteverde] who, in two days, have burned two, I say two, records on which I had many ideas to propose in two reviews. Damn you. Since I nurture and cultivate the unquenchable vice of connecting music and records to my own affairs or events that have happened, to me or to others, I was looking for the best way to present them, along with three other little records that were bouncing around in my fragile mind. Damn you. It remains to tell you only that, as a visual complement to what you diligently reported, there exists a beautiful DVD, 'Live at the Apollo,' containing almost the entire setlist of the double CD you mentioned, to say the least exciting... Ah, I almost forgot, with Wilkins you have no hope, she is undeniably in love with me, it's useless to try.

I wasn't familiar with it, but I will definitely look into it, given my more than forty-year passion for electronics and my parallel love for bossa and "old" MPB...

I will not believe a word of what you have written above until I have carefully and extensively looked at a photograph of you that depicts you in the appearance you described and shows you dressed succinctly.

I should mention that I've been listening to DM since I bought their first record in '81, and I consider them true giants in every sense, having survived it all: trends, customs, and genres, and so on... They, along with John Foxx, were responsible for my early conversion from drums to keyboards, which lasted a decade; well, I feel embarrassed just thinking about it...

I saw DM for the first time at the "stadium" in Pietra Ligure in the summer of '86, August, I think... then many other times, but that concert was intimate, with so-so acoustics, the sea occasionally making its presence felt in the background, them being at the early stage of what would become their experiments, very young, a voice and three synths, with drum tracks recorded on a Revox tape machine positioned behind them... a repertoire that included the earliest, still immature tracks from Black Celebration... technically it wasn't great, but I remember it as a beautiful and intimate concert; they weren't exactly famous yet, nor had a huge following, and the dark-electro shift was still underway, thanks to Wilder...

And now to you... I already told you how much I love reviews that talk about memories ('these damn olds...) or that use music as the soundtrack of the review itself, or use music as an excuse to talk about life events... but here, my friend, it seems that apart from memories, there's nothing of yours, neither a specific feeling nor a slice of life to describe against the backdrop of music, you know... I had to read the comments to find your sliver of emotion regarding your friend/sister bringing you beers; I only understood that by reading the comments, not from the review text... I don’t know how to say it, but I find it didactic; I see it as a didactic review... which by itself is neither illegal nor bad, but it makes it poor and bare, and you've accustomed us, in your past lives on DeB, to much higher standards.

Oh, and don’t get too friendly with @[IlConte], he has a criminal record longer than a roll of paper towels, and all his convictions are related to blood and sex crimes, solicitation, and various sordid acts, often against nature. I told you so.

I have always loved, let’s say, the GLF, since the cicciccippì onwards, and the three albums of the ciesseì are truly milestones, osissì...
He, gielleeffe, on a personal level, never really inspired any sympathy in me, his search "for the true" has always seemed somewhat contrived, even if skewed and poor, I don't know how to tell you.
The lyricist gielleeffe, on the contrary, has sometimes amazed me, at other times irritated me, and still at other times delighted me, in short, I have appreciated him. One of the summas in that little bit of literature for tulemòn that can be found in today’s suffocating panorama of Italian singer-songwriter music.
And how much I enjoy speaking about personal matters in relation to music...

Oh, he's back @[IlConte], he must have wrapped up one of his many stays at our correctional facilities, at our expense, of course...
Dear Roby, the technical and instrumental analysis of the album is impeccable, to say the least, including the moment you delve into the universe of guitarists and explore the mental motions that lead them to prefer the Fender Stratocaster over the Gibson Les Paul, notoriously a guitar for real men, the former, and for spoiled, delicate types, the latter.
It's well known.
It's also great the time you dedicate to inviting listeners to the most experimental part of the album, where our heroes Spartanly, but effectively, engage in the skillful use of the Korg polyphonic synthesizer in the registers of strings and brass, perfectly mimicked to the point of resembling genuine orchestral sections.
And what to say about the remaining tracks, where our beloved ones stand as staunch defenders of the purest and least contaminated Icelandic band music, away from the new Norwegian sounds?
Of these, young rascals with exquisite tastes (in linguistic culture, savasandir, nowadays it's better to know it, one more language...) I knew nothing. I’ve gained a semblance of culture now, and I quite enjoy them, even though I wouldn't buy even a used CD from them, of course...
For the "Cover Art, what a passion..." series, I definitely vote for the young lady, or perhaps the woman, to the right in the illustration, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.
And then you know I enjoy reviews that start from one point and end up in entirely another, those that talk about our “cazzacci” and in which albums are often just an excuse to discuss our “cazzacci.”
There you go.

The stars, pig rap...

Nothing is wasted in stating that here, as in no other album, lies the Bible of prog, containing all the fundamentals of the genre, which come from every corner of the created universe: from jazz, in its myriad forms, from rock'n'roll, from the truest and least abject melodies, from classical music of all kinds, including the boldest and least experimental, and, ladies and gentlemen, from Poetry, yes indeed, that very same, eternal girlfriend of Pietro Campodelpeccato, yes, the lyricist considered part of the band's formation, whistle.
The instrumentalists, all excellent or on the path to excellence, foremost among them the late multi-instrumentalist mentioned above, capable of melodies, sobs, syncopations, always balancing between swing and free, between pure rock and metaphysical sounds, aptly followed by a Fripp in patient waiting for a state of grace soon to come and already a superb six-string player, who absorbed Hendrix’s lessons blending them with partially unheard sound explorations, creating a guitar genre of which he would later become a prophet and standard-bearer.
Greg Lake? A celebrated singer for his versatility, allowing him to appear credible in purely rock breaks and to perform almost angelic melodic phrases, so much so that he became a master of singing in the prog realm. Bassist Lake, far from being an instrumental virtuoso, was an infallible and imaginative performer, precise and punctual in timing. The acoustic guitarist Lake, then, earned the admiration of Fripp himself…
Drummer Giles, then, a metronome devoted to odd tempos, always, a quality that perhaps led the Reviewer to describe his drumming as "confusing," alas.
Finally… "Discone," it’s better to define this album as we DeBaseriani tend to do, all in one word.
And there will be someone who will argue, and rightly so, that no, it wasn't the first album to be properly called prog.
Well.

The first person to bother me by saying that I ramble too much in my reviews...

Now, I shall be extremely and excessively long and descriptive, but such few and poor lines to illustrate a milestone of this kind seem, indeed, an unbearable injustice. Long live brevity and conciseness when they do not limit the objective view of the disputed object, to the point that, at the risk of being merely self-serving, they cite so few and such poor elements that they end up being reductive, ultimately dissuading those unaware of the product’s existence from seeking knowledge about it, while leaving a bitter taste in the mouth of those who know, love, or even hate it. Surely our new companion can do better; he certainly has the means and the capacity... Take as long as you wish; it is neither a sign of weakness nor incapacity, but do not reduce everything to the bare minimum as you did here. And continue. Ah, don't pay attention to that old grumpy mountaineer @[De...Marga...], it is never pointless to discuss a masterpiece time and again, especially if one does so by introducing novelties and, why not, relating personal experiences to an album or a work, making the writing more interesting and even captivating.