Dislocation

Sorry, damn it, the stars...

Well, in short, it has already been said that it's not the best, nor the second best, nor even the third best of the Stones, let's face it... Moreover, our boys have bombarded us, over the recent forty years, with records full of uninspired filler and trivial songs that sometimes reminded us of this and sometimes of that, revealing to us, if there was any need, that it is humanly impossible to live a life of masterpieces; maybe a life of successes, yes, but not everything can be a masterpiece. And they have left us many masterpieces, these kids, almost all in the decade from '65 to '75, then fabulous rock'n'roll shows and a life on easy street, and perhaps that is just as it should be when we talk about them.
"Blue & Lonesome" is the first Stones album I bought after "Tattoo You" and I don't regret it, after all.
There are four ancient legends who continue to do what they do best, that is, a blues tinged with rock, a big riff here and there, all well known but all working splendidly, and... no, it's not an album for multiple listens, but it's also not an album with all the tracks sounding the same and boring, no, if you're listening to the blues you must understand that you can’t escape the twelve-bar format and that, no matter how you hybridize it, the blues remains what it is—sweat, dirt, perversion, and sex.
There's no point in looking for anything else or trying to see something extraordinary; this is what it's about.

I've always loved Radiohead a lot, even though the ones from Creep were still in a preparatory phase compared to what they later showed us. It seems a good sign that old Thom has looked back and felt the need to edit a new version, with the features you rightly pointed out, of such an outdated song that still, in its original version, remains dry and painful, a fine example of how to tell a story like that without exceeding in pomp or various trinkets, indeed acting by subtraction: voice, bass, drums, and distorted, compressed guitar, with just the right touch of pick without echo or redundancy, a true monument to functional minimalism in a rock song.

Personally, even though I suffer from cover syndrome, of which I am an avid researcher, lately I’m a bit tired of the trend where some famous singer takes a well-known song from thirty or forty years ago, slows it down, reduces the chords to the bare minimum, and sings the lyrics with a raspy and/or distressed voice—a mode that, spreading through TV commercials and spontaneous appearances, has eroded my eardrums to the point where I can hardly bear the original anymore. Just think of the heavily broadcast cover of Mad World by TFF, covered, slowed down, and whispered by some Jasmine Thompson, which has given rise to a sub-sub-subgenre of covers that pollutes the airwaves just like the TV intermissions between big-budget sacrifices and the shooter of the day...

This was my rant that I thank you, esteemed @[joe strummer], for allowing me to express. However, the aforementioned work of old Thom does not seem to me worthy of the mockery to which other DeBaserian noble souls subject it, as I think it’s excessive to reduce the work of the Old Sbrincio to merely slowing everything down and whispering various texts to the User...

However, I agree with @[RinaldiACHTUNG] when he suspects there must be some irony in attributing the work to him feat. Radiohead; it seems that way to me too... Let’s wait for Our Boys to edit something unintelligible and new—what can I say? In the meantime, the stars—according to you...

Badly aged and soon forgotten, sometimes fate's cruel and wicked side can turn out to be just. Technically and artistically inferior to its two predecessors, it sold waaaaay more than them because it shamelessly winked at the mainstream while still wearing that mysterious label of alternaticìve that has made us so angry, laugh, feel disdain, and ultimately even led us to a remarkably healthy intestinal purge at times.
@[ZiOn] strikes again.

Ah, just hours after its release, the protagonist of the iconic cover was proudly displayed, along with half a dozen of its kind, adequately blanched and dressed with exotic sauces, on the rich table of Our Heroes, succumbing to chemical hunger and abundantly doused with champagne, to toast to an ingondroooooo....

7/82, btg. Susa, 30/A.
3 foreign fields, 8 national ones, the Garand only used in the car, absolutely unsuitable for the riflemen but in use in a funny way for the guards and for those pathetic little scenes you used to call shooting ranges. Certainly, the FAL wobbled up to the left, the t.a. didn't have a wooden buttplate but the retractable metal one. Just try to jump on the snow or in a forest with the Garand, you’ll plunge it into the back of the line in front of you...

A typical observation of Buffa, I would say... You had to know how to use it, especially the T.A., but using it every single day, you had to know how to use it for sure (30/A)...
I'm really glad you never had to resort to Dolce Euchessina thanks to Alan...
I care about you as if you were normal, and you know it...

I join, albeit with guilty delay, the chorus of those who abhor celebratory biopics about any character who is still breathing and has a body temperature around thirty-six degrees Celsius. It seems that the creators of such sub-works have found themselves short of historical or semi-contemporary figures to narrate their epic or disgraceful deeds.
In this unhealthy rush, perhaps someone even bit their fingers for not arriving in time for the celebration of Fracci, which aired almost simultaneously with her passing...
By now, we've seen it all, though the one about Totti slightly deviates from the norm for its narrative freshness and active participation of the biopic subject, as well as for the irony/cunning that permeates it all.
Therefore, this little work on Baggio doesn’t feel out of place; it’s well made, but it leaves a desire to have seen the protagonists at the moment when they announced the celebratory docufilm with them still alive... the apotropaic gesture we just discussed...
Well done, Chiodino, short and concise.

Here we are.

Well, short and concise, I would say.
Then they say to me that I never talk about the albums when I review them.
With all due respect for his age, DeUtentescaDebaseriana.

Jeff sitting or Jeff standing? It doesn't matter, we love the Wilco no matter what... The review does justice to them. Ugh, I said, good job Almo!