Viva Lì

Pink Floyd should always be remembered, even with duplicates and duplicates of reviews.

It is actually the only psychedelic extravaganza by the Rolling Stones, and it certainly cannot be categorized among their best moments (those would be "Aftermath," "Beggar's Banquet," "Let it bleed," "Sticky Fingers"). Created partly for fun and partly out of stubbornness, it is a rock mishmash in which, for the first time, a song credited to Bill Wyman appears. The tracks are nothing particularly exceptional, aside from the heavily distorted "In another land" and the usual high-charting classic "She's a rainbow." Often ridiculed and underestimated, it should actually be assessed for what it is: a professional album, definitely, but without peaks or great musical innovations (at best, improper appropriations). And the three-dimensional cover, it's too similar to that of the Sgt. Pepper's of Beatles fame. So, you see, an album that attempts to copy, almost never to invent.

Of course, on this album (magnificent, obviously) by the Doors, you really let loose, didn't you? But at least Joe Strummer says sensible things, unlike that other pseudo-alternative Francis. In any case, among all the reviews of this album, the best by far is Grasshopper's.

Well, the Kaleidoscope have definitely done better; here they are still a bit too tied to the Californian American tradition, of course, with quite convincing psychedelic openings. But try listening to "A Beacon from Mars," and then let me know which one you think is better...

Frank Zappa has a lot to say in this album, and he says it all without holding back. It hasn’t even been a year since the release of "Freak Out!" and Zappa puts out this second work, which is, more or less, on a similar level to the previous one (that is to say, high). Zappa uses music in a surreal and hypercritical way towards the American way of life, opens up to new progressive sounds, and skillfully mixes juke box songs with cultured references starting from the beloved Stravinsky. And so here come the classics: "The Duke of Prunes," "And Ritual Dance of the Young Pumpkin," and especially "Brown Shoes Don't Make It" (a great scandal), in which Zappa puts to music the pedophilic sexual fantasies of the American bourgeoisie. Perhaps there are too many things Zappa wants to say, and he risks getting bogged down, but he sidesteps any massive pitfalls of excess (aside from some concessions to spectacle). The best of Zappa is obviously something else (I mention my favorites: "We're Only in It for the Money," 1968, "Uncle Meat," 1969, "Hot Rats," 1969, "Burnt Weeny Sandwich," 1969, "Sheik Yerbouti," 1979, "Yellow Shark," 1993). Nevertheless, no one can take away his 4.

I don't know the album, but if Frank Sinatra is singing, I surrender without insisting: it must be a masterpiece. After all, what can you expect from someone like Frank if not a masterpiece?

I beg your pardon. I will atone for my sins in dark and gloomy places, amidst unbearable pain and deadly blows inflicted upon me by some devil with a still burning pitchfork: I believe that place is called DeBaser.

Yes, but this album deserves 5 more than 4, come on, it's a masterpiece. But then again, everyone has their own opinions, so...

No, Saputello, but on Vita in diretta I still have my desk. And who's giving that up? 10,000 euros a week...

Of course, the album is a masterpiece, and it is the only true completed masterpiece of the Doors. Young and brazen, charged with the incredibly charismatic voice of leader Jim Morrison and the jazz-soul keyboards of Ray Manzarek (far from just a keyboardist...), their music is exhilarating and speaks of sex (almost unspeakable for the time) and poetry, hallucinations, and generational voids. Apart from the oft-quoted "Light My Fire," we should also mention "Soul Kitchen" and the long rocking suite "The End," featuring a striking hippie reinterpretation of the Oedipus myth (no one noticed that here, did they?). Obviously a masterpiece, unreachable for many groups to come and, first and foremost, for the Doors themselves.