Dislocation

DeRank : 22,35 • DeAge™ : 3011 days

Voto:
I've always admired in you the quality that you somehow share with @[luludia], that of being able to connect private, distant events—who knows if they are even true—into a potentially lethal embrace with our favorite life suggestion, music. Efotteséga even if it’s not quite in the form we prefer. Seven notes.
Voto:
Your review is beautiful and precise, well-documented and detailed as it should be, punctual and well-written—not something that happens often. The present work is plasticky, unnecessarily trendy in a Latin-inspired way, hyper-produced, and ultimately predictably breathless in chasing the fashions of the moment. This is the work of someone who, in her time, set the trends, refining and modifying them to the point that many would think she had caused that wave herself...
Voto:
Enough with the nonsense, go out in the evening.
Voto:
Nice story, uplifting even. But "figiciotto," I swear I just didn't remember it at all, and to think I shouted it so much, to the figiciotti, precisely. But back then there was the extraparliamentary movement...... Always good and enjoyable, Lulù.......
Voto:
The usual @[POLO] but with less foul language. Study, listen, think and rethink; you can't keep living by spewing judgments, my young Bertoncelli of nothingness.
Voto:
The Disarticolato di Cortona strikes again, and as it always has, it does so by shooting off-key notes at random, relying on super-experienced and highly reliable musicians..... But if you scratch the surface, you won't even find rust; you go straight to the raw shit, pardon my French. There’s talk of the cosmic void of his current lyrics, but why, twenty years ago, did he write such captivating or engaging ones?
Let’s prepare ourselves, come on, friends, to find him among the pendagli all summer long, him, his non-voice, his absolute inability to rap or sing, him and his ramblings to Mollica and various news programs with neither head nor tail, full of rotten obviousness like the corpse of the music he insists on violating every day.... And they will administer him to us in massive doses with his tour on the beaches; I can already picture scenes of him dancing with the grace of a pterodactyl wounded by a Metaposaurus fart, incapable of even following a slow Caribbean rhythm, tangling his arms and legs together, and everyone applauding the free dance of the Artist of the Century.
Voto:
I don’t give stars to the work because I don’t know it nor do I know the philosopher in question, but I’m committed to remedying that, oh dear.
However, I’m happy to find you and your pen, ahem, keyboard, here on Deb, really.
Throw in some listening suggestions as well, well then, although, let’s go.
Voto:
Eh, the portable record players sure pull these tricks, oh yes, they do. If you want, we can propose a late-life marriage between your Lesa record player and my Philips from 1962... just so they can spend together the serene hours that separate them from oblivion, in memories and nostalgia... by the way, is it still working? For the artwork, I’ll refrain from the stars, you’ll understand...
Voto:
We are always there, writing just to provoke, preferably to elicit indignant reactions.
Voto:
The Genital Grinder has made a hundred reviews? Well, congratulations!!! And what about us who read you, huh, who wishes us well?