Eneathedevil

No way, I can't believe it... DEEP FOREST! The ones behind Sweet Lullaby! Not that everything they did can be taken at face value, but the '90s couldn't have really been the '90s without them, Enigma, and Sacred Spirit. A tear comes to my eye.

Well, from the cover it's clear that @[JonatanCoe] wasn't hired to take care of the graphic design of the product, since with his photo montages he would have killed it (this in the end looks like something halfway between Walter Mac Mazzieri with arthritis in his hands and a wild use of Paint). However, Battle's disc isn't bad, especially for "Space Tank" where Jonatan at times would claim to have even heard Saint Peter denying Jesus Christ three times, in addition to Kraftwerk, Numan, Schulze, and so on, but in the end it was enough to mention the Goblin from Tenebre and I think it would have hit the mark immediately.

Regarding the review, I don't know if I should be happier about Jonatan's abandonment of the unaesthetic enjambments or more tormented by that "pò" with the accent that screams a furious revenge of amazons who win numerous battles thanks to their fervor.

I expected, given the premises, a turnaround in the story more closely linked to this dazzling musical discovery, but it seems that the two stories run in parallel without having any other point of contact except for the chance finding of the record in the home of the beloved guest. A bit of disappointment, then, along with a small note of disagreement on Haskell, whom I certainly prefer to Wetton from a few albums later or the same Anderson singing in the title track, but I don't think he falls short that much. Anyway, an excerpt from real life during the dark days of Covid.

And the record, well, what can I say: I quote @[templare] because from my point of view, from In the Court to Red, they are all, more or less, no less than excellent albums.

Hello gigolo. Here’s where the quid lies: it is difficult to discern here whether your reading betrays expertise. In your words, I often find, despite the few words used, those cultured references that imply you possess the knowledge, making your proposal inevitably valuable and reliable. Here you write as dozens of other (gifted) poets might write, casually listening to Monk without having a deep understanding of it. For me, it is a necessary mechanism to write something that demonstrates expertise on the subject, because in my modest opinion, the more competent the examination, the more credible the proposal will be. So I await your next redemption.

I'll say it again: I really like this album, a lot. Of course, the spirit of albums like Atem, Phaedra, and Stratosfear belongs to a different, certainly higher, plane, but here Froese and the others still seem quite inspired and rightly immersed in the plastic-synth-pop mood of the time. Among my favorites from the '80s. Well done @[pi-airot], really spot-on review.

Uhm, on the contrary, I really like this, perhaps second only to Broadcasting from Home. I am simply amazed to find that there was no review of such an album on Deb, so I would say Asterix did well to fill in the unforgivable gap, although I have the impression that something is missing. But it is nonetheless pure gold.

I had absolutely no memory that the soundtrack of this fecal film I watched about fifteen years ago was composed by Morgan, although it seemed clear to me that there was at least a significant contribution to the almost desperate cause of a stage representation that doesn't work from start to finish. What bothers me the most is the acting entourage featuring the best of the worst of Italy in the 2000s with Buy, Neri, Mastandrea, Bobul'ova: for heaven's sake, there is indeed much worse around, but the point is that in a film that talks about trash TV, an acting class that limps along with sufficiency in gray comedies or neurotic dramas of the mediocre Italian cinema of the '90s-2000s, when it tries to don the garb of trash, ends up being clumsy and ridiculous, even trashier than the trash it seeks to represent, creating that embarrassment felt when someone who is not part of the trash stubbornly tries to appear as such but fails miserably. So in the end, I don’t mince words in saying that the film makes me feel like crap, specifically those slightly bitter armelline carefully selected from the peach pits of Leonforte, quality percoche. The soundtrack, who knows, maybe I’ll listen to it again.

@[HOPELESS] always good at creating metaphysical monoliths even when the subject doesn’t wear overly noble garb.

I also thought it was "Tromba" by Squallor... Excellent. Although that "quì" with the accent must have slipped past you, you rascal!

I’m a bit embarrassed, but I have to admit that I missed it (and this should never happen). Clearly, I will listen to it, even though @[Farnaby]’s comment up there scares me a bit (I’m also less drawn to the acoustic excursions of German).

Regarding the review, I’m here to bother you, because you know I like catching you out: with those little numbers, I was expecting an actual parallel between the piece and the description in quantitative terms, but they all seem like your conjectures (maybe a bit forced?), because otherwise I really don’t see how "Sonar" – which I’ve listened to – should evoke seven movements seven. Or maybe you really understood things that others are not meant to understand.

Yes, the review is present on many other sites including rockit.it (it seems to be a self-promotional description by the band itself). Anyway, what torments me is the name because it sounds like a quasipalindrome but in the end, it's just a jumble of consonants that hit each other in the face, and "minchiolina," as an idea for a band name seems rather questionable, because if someone has to ask for tickets for a live show, how the hell will they be understood... "Excuse me, I would like two tickets for the concert of the ANNASNN... the ANANASS... the ASSNASS..."