Dislocation

That the work was born useless has already been said by everyone, just as we know that the GattoMatto didn't describe it to praise it, referring more to his indelible, hopefully common, childhood memories. I have always maintained that Religion must be assimilated when one is small. Let there be praise then for the parents of Our who accompanied his journey with such a soundtrack.

Amendment to the review: "Lexical modification or little less." See the old version Cálice - Chico Buarque De Hollanda - Gilberto Gil - Recensione di Dislocation Versione 1

Personally, I have followed Dalla since the days of the kids' TV show theme, "Fumetto," I believe it was called; I've seen all his transformations. As a young listener, I was left stunned, at thirteen, by the (then for me hardly comprehensible but absolutely fascinating) triad with Roversi, and "Come è profondo il mare" hit me like a punch in the stomach—his absolute masterpiece, without a single weak point, neither technical nor formal. However, after '83, it was just a slow descent into a routine that at times even felt undignified, like the product you reviewed, lacking even the semblance of an elegant sonic exploration in line with the times, like "Viaggi Organizzati" could have been. In fact, the much-lauded "Caruso," which is actually a minor episode in his repertoire in terms of exposure and compositional technique, has always given me the impression of a grotesque attempt to get back in the game more out of a search for dignity than out of conviction, but that is just my personal opinion.

It’s therefore normal for an artist to take the path of a routine without jolts, especially someone like him who has given many jolts to Italian music. Along with him, I could recall contemporaries like Pino Daniele, another one who threw out five excellent products followed by a multitude of indignities.

It is also true that maybe one doesn't want to be overwhelmed by the criticism of those who can’t stand reviewing a masterpiece for the thirtieth time and end up having to critique decidedly lesser works. But this album, no, it is not "memorable" for any episode—who remembers "Ciao," or "Scusa," or "Trapianto Perso," I mean… Come on, come on…

Don't let yourself be rushed into publishing the reviews of the other three whites at all costs. Read a little (just a little...), gather information from multiple sources, including those "against," look around, search the web for articles from specialized newspapers, and then write, check, and rewrite. Take your time. Come on.

Thank you, Lupaccio, you hit the nail on the head once again... Keep it up, keep it up...
Ah, I believe the good old Moby owes Lomax quite a bit too, huh?

Take a look here...
Brilliant Songs We Wouldn’t Have Without Alan Lomax

A small misstep for Lurido, at the time we judged it this way, bourgeois, flattened and eager to find a pop-like riff, and it's true, you can feel it in this album.... Today it sounds a bit better; he would have conceived lighter things too, and, if we don't read the lyrics, even songs like "Satellite of Love" today are radio material that plays between Pausini and the Free (I swear, last week on Capital...).... You made a good choice, not a masterpiece, but an album that can be listened to while working, today.
To reassess this album, however, you just need to read some lyrics, always concise and sharp.
Bravu figgeu!

As always, the valiant @[sfascia carrozze] indulges in infinitely long reviews, filled with descriptions, mostly bucolic, delicacies dipped in lazy details of questionable edibility, and lengthy passages dense with bureaucratic-legalese terms, if not downright notary-ministerial language. The fact that he describes in elegiac ecstasy the work of a convention led by a serial defecator of bar toilets says a lot about the daily activities of our dear Protonuragico. However, the name that this illustrious collective has chosen to adopt is of some philological interest, of course, as it seems to distance itself from human customs and, indeed, to boast of a presumptive superiority and difference in the choice of the bodily forum where they perform Their Art.

First of all, I want to clarify that I'm keeping my hand very low. By now, the notorious fame of "vecchiodemmerda" has been established here, so let's go.
Then, well, to help the young'un who might not know exactly what audiocassettes are, just explain that to record your chosen track, you had to listen to the entire thing, and even if you didn't, the time of the track still had to pass as it was. They’ll have a bit of trouble, having been born in the era of mp3 compression and so on, an hour of an album in thirty seconds thanks to compression and transfer. A mirror of the times, then.
Like our noble friend @[algol], I too have no nostalgia for recordable audiocassettes, nor for recordable videotapes, nor for recordable CDs either. I’m fine with transfer speed; the faster, the better, and I don’t miss tapes that demagnetize, dirty the heads (chrome tapes!!!) and whatever.
That said, while remembering Social Distortion in every evening prayer, I will soon get this album, encouraged by the kind words of the valiant @[Pinhead], whom I take this opportunity to greet.
The four stars for the work are, basically, based on trust. Can I not trust Pin?
No.

PS For the surprise content, know that you were a bad person at that moment. It's not done.

Nothing you’ve written, dear @[Caspasian], resembles what I think and feel after decades of listening to such a masterpiece. But I still appreciate that you've written about it, sharing with us what YOU feel, for God's sake. And what you feel is quite a mess, just like what I feel when I listen to this little thing.... Ah, utmost respect for Bracardi.... Chiéppala, Pah! (He who has ears to hear...)

It's all very beautiful. But, please, you haven't told us if the Bishop (praise be to his little soul) has then made any requests, let's say, on a physical level, or if he simply limited himself to a nice but perhaps appreciated verbal acknowledgment. Because, miss, blues interests us, it makes us cry and laugh, it damns our souls and heals them, but these other things interest us even more, oh dear, so, here we go.