odradek

And what happened to this Condor? I'm listening to Il Soffice now, after such a long time. And its little page is practically perfect. A solid 3.5 for the Flaming and a nice 5 for the Condor. Just a shame about its hunchbacked nature...

Who are you telling, kid... Well, but Oliver isn’t in a hurry: he's been playing fresh since '64, like it was just baked.

Smash, it must be a side effect of the album: this CD was reviewed in November 2005 with the same laconicism, also referencing Mogwai but without the overused term (masterpiece). What a shame, because it seems to be interesting. So much so that I just passed the title to my downloader. (I like this cover, don't you find it gratziosa, noble stritolacarcasse?) Thoughtful greetings (posteletziosi) in abundance.

I miss it too. I had it, I lent it, and I never found it again. It’s quieter than ever, and now I want it. - You have to talk about Oliver Nelson, The Blues & ... it's a perfect gateway into the world of jazz for those who don't dive in often or have never been there. Are you doing it? Come on, you can do it...

I had missed it. I discover them with this page. I will probably take a hot air balloon ride.

Symbad, you really are a nice guy. I almost expected you to "come out"...

Well, it's about time you showed up, Monsieur Socrates. With a page perfectly suited for this "pop" month. I don't know how many will cross the threshold as followers, but I expect you to keep your promise. I'll bring a bottle of wine (a ramandolo, come on) and some mousse. See you there.

I was curious to know if they would find a way to avoid overusing a formula that seemed to have worn out after the first two albums, which I still liked (maybe the 1st even more). Reading your words, it seems so. - The definition of Discepolo is always beautiful. And so... tango!

Well, Renzo. In fact, it wouldn't be bad to follow one of the many threads you weave and see where it leads. Of course, it wouldn't be too bad to know where it starts from either, and from what I've seen, it stems from the attitude of "using a detail to uncover a bigger picture." But since the tangle you love to entangle somehow finds unraveling by your own hand, the enthusiasm wanes a bit. There’s simply no room for doubt. And, as an old blind man dear to me used to say, doubt is one of the names of intelligence. Of an intelligence in quotation marks, probably. But how exhausting it must be, that other kind, so all-knowing and certain. - Others, in the end, are us, as that philosopher of reference named Umberto Tozzi used to say. Because the circularity of communication (even of behaviors) without contact involves the monkey and engulfs your mirror. Their problems become mine. And not when I think I’m being invaded, but when I react believing I’m acting. I believe the issue is indeed more complex than it appears. For the umpteenth time. - Bye, I have to go shoot rats in the dump, it’s getting dark. Time flies. And life, strangely enough, is only one.

Well, yes. They must be rubber...