Dislocation

Edit to the review: “Oh well, I forgot a double…”. See the old version Diminuendo In Blue - Crescendo In Blue - Duke Ellington Orchestra - recensione Versione 1

@[MarkRChandar]

I've always found it risky to label Gaber as a singer-songwriter; he himself was often perplexed to be defined that way... Let's call him a particularly unique singer-songwriter who runs in a league of his own...
However, we need to be clear about what we want... Do we want to draw up pseudoclassifications based on the value of the lyrics themselves, or what else?
Do we want to elevate the singer-songwriter to the status of poet and fine speaker, or do we keep him rooted in the mined territory of popular musical proposals (in the best and least derogatory sense of the term...)?
The question remains open.

Shall we go by personal preferences?
Personally, I see FdA at the top, then Lolli, followed by Guccini (his supposed unlistenable quality has always been exaggerated; the truth is that beyond certain linguistic preciosities that are somewhat baroque, he is stylistically at the level of a 'paper' poet).
Then there's De Gregori and pre-'80 Venditti. And Conte. And Ciampi.
Let's not forget Dalla from '76 to '80.
Then Emilio Locurcio, a talent who departed too soon.
After '90, up to today, I would at least mention Silvestri and Fabi.
As for rappers and their ability to create 'poetry' in an extremely broad sense, I suspend my judgment; I know little about it and tend to overlook them, along with their desire to impress with forced rhymes and roughness.
Bianconi seems worth following.

With Venditti, you can chop a career with an axe; after the '70s, a slight yet dignified decline in the '80s and then, the '90s and up to today, scraping the bottom of the barrel and even the scrotums of us all.
Welcome among the DeRecensori and watch out for the scratches on the car doors.

My father, back in the times of the '850 and '127, left the choice of the records and even before that of the stereo 8 to me, but the choice of the radio station was his and only his, and it was never a free radio, never.
I, between the ages of ten and thirteen, stuffed the Voxson and the subsequent car radios with Goblin, Trolls, de André, Bitols, and Geimsbraun, and many more, while he listened patiently, or minding his own business, I’m not sure...
What a beautiful modern-cubist picture I’ve ended up with, Almo, mixing your memories and mine, your reality and my own...
I’ve only grazed the Cantora, and it gave me profound sensations, but I will delve deeper soon.
I shall say no more.
Dabbolfaiv, savasandir.

My father then said that your work is worthy of praise.
You work together to value the heritage of Italian dialects.
Everyone.

The truth, as everyone knows, is found only in the Mice.

Thank you, beast!

Sorry, the stars...

Thinking that an angelic and unsettling being like her can ALSO listen to similar music brings me a little closer to the faith I irretrievably lost before I turned twelve.

How disgusting.