Giorgio Canali
giorgiocanali&rossofuoco

A soul divided in two. In its own way, a perfect division.
Divided between the hard-fought offspring of yet another internal split, "D'anime e d'animali" by Pgr, and this "giorgiocanali&rossofuoco." It's hard to imagine them more different, these suburbs of the soul.
The first is meticulous and thought out to the point of exhaustion, while the second is hard (pure) and direct. The first is imbued with melancholic and dark suffering, while the second is simply angry.

It almost seems that the key difference is the mind (and words) of Giovanni Lindo Ferretti. But it is not a particularly painful absence.
Here Canali is completely free. His solo project. His thoughts. Like a post-it stuck to the world's forehead. A corner in which to let off steam.

And indeed, this is an outburst lasting barely 40 minutes. An outburst of freedom, with guitars free to sing distortedly like perhaps only Canali can. With a rock polished in its being dirty inside, and somewhat rotten. Bass and drums are essential, providing the framework. And the rest is all him. The two guitars (Canali and Marco Greco) intertwining warmly are enough. The few notes smeared on the chorus of "Questa no," stretched into a long, nocturnal instrumental tail, are enough. The explosive betrayal in "Mostri sotto il letto" is enough.
When something else is needed (the trumpets of "Guantanamo," the keyboards of "Rime con niente"), it arrives, but always on tiptoe. Here, the guitars are the masters. No question about it.

The other side of the outburst lies entirely in the lyrics. A kind of anthology of the idiocies and filth of our beloved society, which, at its ripe age, still makes him restless.
It's the story of someone who once believed in something, but the white hair on his head, the history etched on his skin, and the wrinkles on his soul have scraped everything away. Every ideology, every hope. What remains underneath, is disillusionment. Disillusionment shouted: but can you tell me where? / this paradise of peace and love / we all followed the north star / but instead it was a military satellite. Like: how to do social critique with your brain fully turned on. After listening to the CD, I found myself in total agreement with him. And completely pissed off.

This CD was almost hidden from us. Released a bit quietly by "La Tempesta" (production house of Davide Toffolo, leader of Tre Allegri Ragazzi Morti), it is still overshadowed by the bulky elder sibling "D'anime e d'animali." Move to bring it out of the shadows. You'll have something to cheer about. Or to get pissed off.