Glenn Branca
Lesson No. 1

I must make a premise, I can't stand know-it-alls, especially in the musical field.

Let me give an example, there’s the one to whom you play any song and they recite Guglielmi’s, Cilià’s, or someone else’s review from memory. In short, they are followers of other people's musical tastes. Additionally, these know-it-alls can rattle off the now-famous lineup from memory: Brian Kelvin on bass, former pianist of the Brubell, then joined the then-famous Ruttos in 1949 after a brief apprenticeship as an anesthetist at Sempol Hospital. Brian Kelvin went on to the Blue Vomit's as a percussionist. We would later see him on baritone sax and subsequently on the viola d'amore with the Bobbolons (quote) …

Then there are those who suggest, to face the workday with the right attitude, the energizing morning listen to Metal Machine Music, so that by 11 a.m. you’ve already committed your first murder (!), or those who can tell you who the Brainticket were and who regret their album Cottonwoodhill, a jumble of sounds in Belgian kraut rock style that causes orchitis after just 5 minutes of listening.

All this happens because the silent majority … Remains silent. They're afraid of seeming afflicted by musical anhedonia. We shouldn’t be ashamed, it’s not so, the moment of revenge has come, it’s here, now. Our comeback is near. We can say that “Ne me tirez plus non mi tira più per i più addetti che non sanno il francese” makes me laugh every time I hear it (Squallor), that Frownland by Captain Beefheart is unbearable, that Vikingur Olafsson and Sigur Ros are as boring as a Formula 1 Grand Prix, that Battleship Potemkin is an unbelievable crap!

Well, now I can begin the review. Glenn Branca, 10 years late, releases an EP 25 years ahead. The opening track, Lesson n.1 has a circular movement, with fairly listenable guitars reminiscent of Mike Oldfield's tubular bells, nothing to do with lesson n. 2 on the following record. After all, it seems obvious to me that Lesson n.1 is on the first album and lesson n.2 on the second. This demonstrates Glenn’s precision and his fondness for mathematics. Eight minutes and sblisga (in Bologna, we’ll never hear someone say an etto e venti, or a chilo e cento but an etto e sblisga, a chilo e sblisga. Sblisga is an undefined yet very precise unit of measurement. It's that little extra (or less) on which no one will ever dispute anything. – E. Drusiani) quite boring and insignificant.

The real bombshell is the second track, Dissonance on a musical carpet of a pulsing bass in Little Tony’s style in Cuore matto, our hero first stumbles on metal scraps left on the ground by someone, then insists on striking a bell with his forehead before the track assumes the dimension that, rightly, its title destined for it. But it’s a controlled chaos, at times lysergic. Finally, everything fades, leaving the initial bass all alone with slight guitar hints and a few residual noises to embellish. I'm very tired, 12 intense minutes… I regret it for my audience, but the tbt ends here, I’m tired, so I’m going to bed.

orvuar