Ex Models
Zoo Psychology

While we Italians, a proud people of the Sanremo song and the Verdi song ("ci sei-non ci sei"), await impossible messiahs, that is, non-existent hybrids with a thousand Freudian faces capable of assuming the most varied forms dictated by our subjective subconscious of idolaters that we represent, something moves out there, unreachable to our eyes and imperceptible to our ears.
An example? Ex-Models.
-Question:
Has anyone ever heard of the Ex-Models?
-Answer:
I doubt it.
The fact is that this duo (Ex-Quartet), having cut their teeth on the streets of Brooklyn (NYC), remains unknown here in Italy, with only a few and miserable appearances in our country, unable (precisely) to read their deeds and intentions.
Agreed, I want to be pathetic. But one wonders why this happens so often?
I think the reason doesn't depend so much on us, but on the band itself! Snubbed. That's what happens to us.
Yes, I really believe I belong to a people capable of hosting groups like the Green Day and deluding them into being the last bastion of the "alternative" world... Ah, the MOTHERLAND!
Yes, we understand...

Unlike "artists" such as Agnelli, Godano, Ferretti, etc., who occasionally go to play the "cursed poets" in Germany and the Netherlands, the Ex-Models are a band that hardly manages to tour in their own country, given their propensity for abroad and the ability of foreign countries (of which we are certainly not a part) to appreciate, understand, and finally accept a sound like theirs, without compromises, where the sound transforms into an impulse that induces mental automatism, a veritable psychic storm.

It's ridiculous how in some Italian band's lyrics, drugs are often mentioned in an ordinary, almost formal manner, without the listener being shaken by this theme, while the Ex-Models (poor in lyrics) manage to catapult the listener into a world made of metropolitan, consumerist, toxic, and damn real hallucinations, light years away from what our conception of experimentation is.
Yet I swear I've never heard anything like it, even after having listened to albums like Confusion Is Sex for years.
Their "Brain/Punk" (which I had the chance to experience live) is able to both tear apart and beatify the listener in a totally unique way, moving from moments of tribal impulsiveness to actual murders of sonic synthesis.
An orgy of feedback and instrumental depravity pushed by awkward and psychotic choirs filled with remorse and protest, so much as to recall in some parts the Beasty Boys, is practically thrown mercilessly onto the unsuspecting listener, whose sole purpose from that moment on becomes the ability to accept this sonic initiation rite, skillfully synchronizing it with distinct technical skills.
In a few words, the transmutation of drugs into sounds. The metamorphosis of apathy into total violence.

Realities like this could NEVER survive here, much less be born.