Dislocation

DeRank : 22,35 • DeAge™ : 3011 days

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A true buffoon, our reviewed one, a clever ignorant without arts or means, convinced that he holds the Truth and the Way within himself, and the fact that he proudly calls himself a "fierce racist" and posts anything speaks volumes, but by now nothing surprises us anymore; in this crazy world, we were missing the horror idiots, someone said, already forty years ago, mutatis mutandis.
And it's not even your fault, dear friend, if, in fact, as the unyielding @[andisceppard] points out, your prose reveals gaps and is objectively a bit soporific. You’re young, if the profile picture is truthful, you have enormous room for improvement, not to mention that you choose not trivial and at least unusual topics. So unusual, indeed, that they paradoxically seem a bit contrived and uninteresting to most, more and more.
But courage, perhaps one day we will read you in the columns of well-known sacred texts and say: "Look, I knew her, she was able to send Andisceppard into the arms of Morpheus! And look where she has gotten now!!!"
Or maybe not. And so I embrace you.
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In order. The review is beautiful, well orchestrated, and just lovely. I have the LP, but it has more scratches than a prison uniform and is unlistenable by now, so, given the review, I’m hopping on the amazon and grabbing the CD for 14.50 euros, noting that the LP, damn you, costs 186.65 euros, not exactly chump change.
Money aside, I remember it as a great record; the old Howling Wolf is still the same, with less shine than ten or twenty years ago but still has that gritty voice. Plus, there's Uncle Enrico... As soon as the CD arrives, I’ll devour it on loop and that's that.
Good job @[nix], you, too, as mentioned before, always waiting, at midnight, at the crossroads in the middle of nowhere, to sell your soul for twelve bars...
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More than limited, the review comes across as sparse, but I like it because it respects the spirit and essence of the work it describes—dry, even stark—and it would have been ridiculous and out of place to describe it with a redundancy of words and concepts. An essential work for those who love the devil's music and wait through several nights at the crossroads in the middle of nowhere. Well done, little wolf...
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I candidly admit, almost childishly, that tennis has always annoyed me; I couldn't care less about it, not even about the area between the scrotum and the anus. Of this sport for sissies, I've always loved the definition given wisely by Maestro Giorgio Gaber, who grouped a series of sports and asserted that, to play those sports (including tennis...), you don't necessarily have to be an idiot, but it helps... The title of the piece from which the aphorism is drawn, by the way, will be greatly appreciated by you, I'm sure, Conte...

Now I'm just joking, just talking among friends. I value your writing; it's sincere as always, and not contrived, not the kind of work I would never read, or only if heavily paid. A big hug.
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And nothing... as the young people would say... even though I agree that, more than a review, it’s more like an editorial, and an impure one at that, I really enjoyed reading your piece, especially for the mention of your dad, so different in every way from mine...
Hell is right, sometimes, when listening to a track that has nestled deep in the soul, we have even synesthetic sensations, we perceive colors and smells during the listening and the memory, too... Five for the track and four for your text, really just a bit too self-referential in every part... but that's not necessarily an absolute bad thing, is it?
Candidate Nuada
18 feb 19
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Surely you must have developed hyperspace speed to enter and then exit a corner of shadow in just two trallallà..... many have tried but with little success......
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At first, I thought it was a line taken from The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.
And I've always suspected @[macaco] of being one, a galactic hitchhiker.
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The nothing, or rather, excuse me, the nothing, in lowercase.
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Even before "Marassi," there was that desire for inconsistency, for saying nothing even when saying it poorly, for total disengagement, even in language, not just music. Truly inconclusive. Clever, that’s for sure, or at least eager to reach the "mainstream" with minimal effort, both in composition and presentation, a sort of The Giornalisti with indie arrogance.
Amen.
Voto:
In the meantime, it's an honor that the author of "The Peloponnesian War" deigns to express his art like this as well.
Then... welcome to this madhouse, before I forget....
Come on, Tucci, you're too harsh; the Twins of this album weren't worse than many other synthpop bands of the time, of the second tier, which they were part of, I mean. The subsequent records, yes, those invited a vague and omnidirectional retching, but this one was salvaged and, believe it or not, precisely for the reasons that make you detest it.
I bought it too, and I still have a copy, I confess; come on, I had to go to military service and had just stopped playing the drums to pick up two synths in a different band... you can be, and I can be, forgiven, come on...
Anyway, since I've gained a reputation for being pedantic, the drums on the album are never electronic, neither drum kit nor anything, but played by the singer himself who, I know you want to know, was the good Ronny Schreinzer, who wanted his voice to be monotone and static like those of Ralf and Florian from his beloved Kraftwerk. He succeeded, I'd say, right?
Once again, welcome, Tucci, and now that I think about it... of course, the idea of listing your blunders, at least one, the most obvious one, isn't bad; something could be made of it...