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Rating: "...But that man had set himself there with a hammer and chisel and had carved a stone trough that could last ten thousand years. In my opinion, that trough is still there...and then I think of that guy sitting there with the hammer and chisel building it, and the only thing I can think of is that he had some sort of promise in his heart. I certainly have no intention of setting out to carve a stone trough, but I would like to be able to make that kind of promise." ("No Country for Old Men", Cormac McCarthy)
It's no longer a Debaser for old men: John Cougar Mellencamp reviewed by three people, an extraordinary album like "Letter to Laredo" by Joe Ely (one of those that come once every ten years) barely noticed by a handful of desperate souls. So I wonder what the point is of promoting Elliott Murphy's concert on these virtual pages? Especially after checking that "Aquashow," his stunning debut from 1973, has never been considered.
The concert at the gardens of the magnificent Rocca dei Rettori in the center of Benevento cost the grand total of zero tituli of payment and three hundred people were fortunate enough to grasp the magic of rocchenrolle. And I believe that even after a million concerts, Elliott James Murphy, son of a water attractions center manager, now approaching sixty splendidly, understood it: a life spent writing great songs and receiving far less than he deserved.
Tonight, however, he received much: old and young captivated by his ballads halfway between poetry and cynicism, between dreams and disappointment, between Dylan and Springsteen. All ready to start the classic uh-uh-uh for the engaging "Last of the Rock Stars" and to throw themselves into the crowd for a geielouraie ("Gloria") party, forgetting for a couple of hours the worries about the price reached by broccoli at the market and a prime minister from a madhouse. The beloved Bob Dylan paid homage with the immortal "I Want You", which fades in the harmonica and the cheers of the three hundred who never let him leave. And after two hours and three encores, Elliott unplugs the instruments and we gather around him to sing unplugged "Drive all night" (which in my honest opinion surpasses, and quite a lot, the song of the same name composed by Springsteen three years later). I know I am off-key but I believe no one cares and even, when the atmosphere becomes more intimate with a heartfelt acoustic rendition of "Anastasia", I am two centimeters from Olivier Durand's slide and even my little baritone chorus works.
Going home, just like Joker in "Full Metal Jacket", I think I live in a world of shit, that's true, but after a concert like that I realize I am still alive...and I'm not afraid anymore.
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