Gaznevada
Dressed To Kill

THE REVIEW

I wanted to do something totally idiotic: review the very first release by Gaznevada, a self-produced cassette for Harpo's Bazar in 1979, with the same name. Then I realized it wouldn't make sense. The only users on this site who might have a copy are Vortex, Supersoul, and Odradek. Iside and Bubi probably only heard it. I have a duplicated one, a relic of my university years in Bologna, with this huge blue marker writing: "Gaznevada Early Tracks" (who knows who made it for me...). And all of you, unless you have a dad or an older brother who hung around Bologna about thirty years ago, would never have known what I was talking about. So, I gave up being a snob and decided to tell you about this mini-LP, released in 1981, which, if you're willing to make some effort to find in its original vinyl edition, you can always recover on CD, along with the first LP of ours, "Sick Soundtrack," and other little delights that came out back then in 45 rpm format. Also because their debut, beyond its historical value, contains few unforgettable pieces (perhaps "Telepornovisione", Ramones plus hallucinated sax, and "NevadaGaz", already contaminated by the germs of what was to come).

So, a digression for the young, which the elders can skip, Bologna late '70s. The times of the movement, the Dams, Pazienza, Scozzari's "Traumfabrik," and the Metropolitan Howl Center, the first incarnation of our guys. However, they soon leave behind Piazza Verdi, politics, and weed. They are fascinated by noir (Gaznevada is the title of a Chandler story), by New York, and the dance sounds coming from there. In late '77, when everything is already over, they assume the new status. "No New York" will finally open their eyes.

After "Sick Soundtrack," which, correctly, in our columns, has been defined as "perhaps the best Italian new wave album," they return with this mini, its worthy successor. Six totally crazed tracks, sprung from the sick mind of "Anthony Perkins (who) grabs your hand, hides under the bed". Cartoonish voices, electronic drums, funky twisted bass lines and little guitars. A dark and delirious singing. Devo going to the Big Apple and jamming with Talking Heads after repeated sessions of Contortions and DNA.

The punch that knocks you out comes at the end. Try imagining yourself in TriBeCa, at the vernissage of a photography exhibition dedicated to Weegee. It's late in the evening, leaning against the wall, alone, sipping a Four Roses. You watch them dancing with the two girls from B-52's and don't even want to know how it will end. Because the DJ has decided to close by putting their cover of "When The Music is Over" on the record player. You start to get truly anguished. Because, for a moment, however brief, Bologna seems like New York.

Once upon a time, in Italy, even this happened.

For M.: and I’m still not used to it, that you won’t come visit me, and I'll wait, in vain, for Your post...