Erode
Tempo che non ritorna

1997: full punk wave in Italy. Myriads of bands left their mark: some small, others big; Erode’s is among the big ones. In fact, it’s among the biggest, for three reasons. The first is the music: given that we’re talking about Oi!, what we find here is music that is anything but obvious, unexpected atmospheres, and melodic solutions that are not necessarily intuitive. And then two reasons related to the lyrics: on one hand, the lyrics are well-crafted, mixing various themes and—even if some moments are a bit more rowdy—there are still remarkable stylistic choices. And then: here we’re talking politics, and that’s not a small matter. Whether it’s because they weren’t exactly at the center of the skinhead scene, or because of the band members’ personal growth, or a thousand other reasons, it must be considered that—contrary to the stereotype—punk in those years was a massively apolitical movement. Of course, there were bands that took a side, but the “real spirit,” quoting the Youngang, in the eyes of a good portion of punx, didn’t include political views. At most, there was an anarchic spirit of working-class pride, but the distrust toward the ruling class was so deep that various bands stayed away from politics; think of bands like Rough, Klasse Kriminale or Nabat. We can see some echoes of this rhetoric in Erode’s music itself (“non è una questione di destra o di sinistra...” from “Europa”), but with a completely different tone and approach. Among the big names, in fact, it’s generally considered that the first to take a stand were, along with Banda Bassotti, Erode themselves. Some months later, Colonna Infame Skinhead would join in (in my opinion probably the peak of Italian punk) and, with the advent of the 2000s and a society in radical transformation, the very concept of politicized, underground and mainstream music would be revolutionized.

But we’re still in the late ‘90s, and Erode are four communist polentoni playing punk.

A severe, red cover. And then “Banditi” starts, a manifesto track, with formidable melodic interplays, as catchy as 883 but as punk as Negazione. And from here it’s hit after hit: “Orgoglio proletario,” a true anthem, “Sotto zero,” with that chorus and that rhythm that sends you out of your mind, “Stalingrado,” with its sick atmosphere, “Auf Wiedersehen,” more introspective, “Frana la curva,” which became iconic and with lyrics that—let’s put it this way—don’t exactly show much affection for law enforcement, all the way to the masterful title-track. This is a diverse album, moving from overtly political anthems to moments closer in style to Frammenti, catapulting you right into the dull ache of the northern grey sky. Depending on the song, listening to this album will either make you want to buy a Lenin poster to hang on your wall, or leave you with a vague sense of inadequacy, staring into the void out the window, lost in memories.

Because this is a well-played, well-made album that finds the right riffs, the right verses, the right rhymes. The flaw in this album? Maybe it’s a bit too long, with tracks that—for all their differences—are still rather similar to each other in approach and style.

But that doesn’t really matter: we’re talking about an album that, if it became such a classic, must have a reason. Sure, the musicians don’t have the technical or compositional skills of Pink Floyd, but the intuition and inspiration behind this album were something else. Are you tired of the usual raw and sloppy Oi! but not drawn in by emo complaints? This is the album for you. Score: 88/100.