Il Divo
Ancora

THE REVIEW

Aren't we men? We are divas!

"The four handsome guys from Devo (the name of the first formation), formed in 1972 in Akron, launched the bionic-man fashion worldwide. Thanks to a performance of rhythmic gestures and a disguise as robot astronauts, their philosophy of de-evolution immediately captivated the new wave audience and became one of its existential components.
The mixture that triggered their pantomime was made of urban rock from the MC5 and Stooges school, synthesized according to the dictates of master Brian Eno, an exceptional patron, with a taste for Zappa's novelty and Teutonic emphasis. The group emerged thanks to a short film presented at the Ann Arbor film festival in March 1976, which used as a soundtrack one of their tracks from 1975, "The Truth about De-Evolution".
The debut album, "Are We Not Men? We are Devo!" (which has already been reviewed on DeBaser by the valiant SouthMan), is a rock work that leaves everyone speechless, firing off one success after another." (and until here it's a semi-plagiarism D.O.C., just to hedge our bets! n.d.r.) They will release other albums more or less aligned with this philosophy but will live in hardship for many years.

The big success, in fact, will come after several years spent rethinking how to get out of the quagmire, precisely this year with the album "Ancora" which will sharply steer the group's style, transforming what was a world of amused provocation into one completely opposite, where provocation will be much more calibrated and subtle: to ferry the universe of lyric into the glossy world of easy-listening, by now the territory of old geezers and provincial industrialists, too tired to even keep their ears connected.

Having found the marketing idea, the group had no choice but to dive headfirst into the new adventure. After several months spent between restyling and liposuctions (they're all over 50 now) and a radical change in their wardrobe (not only because of the 4 extra sizes to gain!), including a slight name change (from DEVO to IL DIVO, just to remind everyone of their origins) the four now totally macho-style hotties (unrecognizable to old fans) will finally discover a golden, sparkling world where the songs, between Puccini-like tunes to slippery and deflated slobbers, will only be a pretext to boost their bank account and hook up with the most beautiful babes on the planet: a rich reward after years of sleeping in clunky vans and eating tuna cans around the most rundown clubs in America!

Mark Mothersbaugh himself, the leader presented at the press conference in a Missoni pajama, will say to journalists: "if I think of all those years wasted being idiots and shoveling crap, who would've thought that cribbing from Pavarotti or Bocelli, with a couple of pounds of Carreras, a bit of Bacharach, and a sprinkle of Elthon John syrup, we would find the recipe for happiness!"

One thing is sure: these days they will sell much more with an awful record like this than with the proceeds from their entire discography when they were still called Devo, and they really had loads of ideas. Ah, those were the days...