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Rating: "I sit here, I’m tired," tired of seeing people who do not see, and if they see, they do not understand what they are looking at. Acts of voluntary social denial born from inadequacy collected over fifty years of life, filling every single trace of this fifth studio work with lead. The words are just simple enough to express haunting snapshots of life leaving you no escape or excuses: you're there in front of it, not wanting to look, but in the end, you're forced to admit it's all true, that the desolation is just around the corner of yet another summer, that you cannot share in the lack of thought of those around you, and that luck is such a fast-moving animal that you just have time to watch it pass by in the sky. In all these contents (and in his anti-commercial reinterpretation of Italian songwriting), his perpetual inability to please the masses is evident. Anger and reflection, feeling and nihilism alternate within the same songs without the artist ever shying away from slowly baring his soul. Emblematic in this sense is the relentless drums of the opening "Quello della foto," which pins the listener against the wall alongside the words, and in a moment, you recognize yourself in his attempt to deny a world that does not feel like your own. There is only one moment of reflection entirely devoted to others, namely when "Tutti gli uomini" takes flight from his pen never to return, gifted to every woman lucky enough to hear it. Through some less inspired tracks ("Schegge Vaganti" and "Rifugi Di emergenza") and various peaks sometimes acoustic ("Lezioni di poesia"), sometimes electric with references to Marlene Kuntz (see "MP nella BG"), the final proof of the value of Giorgio Canali and his Rossofuoco is hidden in the soft carpet of guitars suspended in the air of "Mme et Mr Curie," a poem for the eyes and ears that leads the mind to rarefy and estrange along with it.
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