Fratelli Calafuria
Senza Titolo. "Del Fregarsene Del Tutto e Del Non Fregarsene Niente"

In Italy, that's the way it goes: either you pretend to be depressed with hair falling over your eyes and spewing out difficult, meaningless words only to give laconic interviews with lines like I don't like to explain my lyrics... I write them in 15 minutes... or you pretend to be a French poet who ends up drinking absinthe among prostitutes and murderers amidst the clinking of obsolete coins... or better yet: take any foreign band or group that sells quite well, copy them exactly but with Italian lyrics (obviously catchy ones), make a demo, and send it to EMI... or even better, find a well-dressed homosexual producer and bend over for five cents. In Italy, doing things for a quick buck is easy, much more challenging is having an identity and preserving it.

All this preambolic j'accuse as if I were a French reactionary exiled in Denmark is to say that in Italy some neurons are still firing, and if this neuron calls itself by a name that reminds you of a pizzeria... well, that name follows its own path. Fratelli Calafuria from Milan; a harmful mix of post-hardcore that crashes head-on with Ivan Cattaneo (perhaps Cattaneo preferred the classic fender-bender at a traffic light?). A bit of Shellac, a bit of Fugazi, a bit of funky, a bit of NoMeansNo, a bit of Gang Of Four, plenty of College Rock from that American underground still lacking a serious historical revisionism and a strong desire to let off steam... so what!?! Do they rock? Yes, they rock and rock, but that's not the point. We don't know what to do with all the rocking anymore. It's not enough. Taking your influences and subduing them. Mocking oneself to mock in an album made with a single distorted sound from start to finish, made by a trio (a trio that sounds good... really good) and a little voice that sneaks into your ears and never comes out... stuff that in Italy we leave to gather dust.

Here they are, I pull my own finger and say it, here's what is needed: mocking oneself, one's idols, and one's listeners. I'm in, since in one way or another they always screw us over... but then why keep it all inside and become Cresico Memè?