Gerda
Cosa Dico Quando Non Parlo

What do I say when I don't speak? I probably say something more meaningful than words. As the old Kandinsky taught, when he compared the point (in graphics) to silence (in voice). A silence that, however, speaks, Wassily said. And probably, I add, it does it better than words. Without too many hypocritical frills, comprehension, and incomprehension. Comprehension becomes an accessory matter (have you ever really understood anything about the Gerda, amidst screams and noise?), what predominates is the chemical flow that is created between the four of them—the record—and you who listen to it. The music seems to decompose into pure transmission, expression, liquid emulsion that wets the eardrums and continues, through the cochlea, into the nerve ganglia, straight to your head, bringing to the surface impressions like on film, games of lights and shadows and colors: what importance does language have in all this? Maybe we should admit that man is not just words and communications and layers of lies, but also something quieter, which is probably more sincere and true, something that manages to be both mental (or spiritual, if you prefer) but also carnal. Let's just say visceral and leave it at that. Zot.

So. They are the Gerda, four guys from Jesi (AN), "Cosa Dico Quando Non Parlo", a co-production between Wallace, Donnabavosa, Son of Vesta, Concubine, and Shove, 27 minutes and a bit for 7 tracks. The beautiful and somewhat pathetic words I said before transformed into music, without too many ornaments. How to turn noise into a message, and screams into poetry, and mismatched rhythms that make your nails bleed into an impression in constant motion. If the human mind while listening to music is capable of being like photographic film, then we must assume that these guys are a truly incredible source of light. I could use some reductive terms, like hardcore, or noisecore, or noise, or I could invent even better ones: spazz-screamo, freecore, post-noise. Or I could play with comparisons: the La Quiete jamming with the Zu, the Orchid directed (?) by John Zorn, the Nasum revisiting Derek Bailey. I don't know, I might end up having fun. And yet, it really seems to me that these guys are going as deep as few others have managed to do (obviously these are personal opinions), so much so that even assuming a "hardcore" aesthetic (even if I don't know how sensible these discussions are) behind the Gerda, we must also imagine, once listening to Cosa Dico Quando Non Parlo, that these guys have gone so deep with hardcore (and the aesthetics, and even the beautician) as to ultimately lose sight of it, becoming hardcore themselves, ending up blending into a huge, undefined whirlpool where nothing is true and everything is permitted, to quote an old hashish maniac who couldn't stand the Pope. The same reasoning can be applied with all the funny nonsensical terms you can read a few lines above.

There's little else to say (I couldn't have ended this review better). What do I say now, when I don't speak? For now, I prefer to remain silent for a bit and put on this record. Just to feel a bit more like photographic film, impressed by a light that I can't describe better. Maybe the effect will please you too.