INXS
Welcome to Wherever You Are

Talking about INXS means talking about yet another pop star that, as scripted, shone in the eighties thanks to an album perfect for breaking into the charts worldwide ("Kick", but also "Listen Like Thieves" is not to be forgotten), only to live off its legacy and soon be forgotten by the public. Certainly, the release of this album during the height of grunge hysteria did not help the sales, which were definitely lower than the potential of a work with many merits and few weaknesses (only "Wishing Well" and "Back On Line" aren't quite convincing).

The premature death of singer Michael Hutchence in 1997 undoubtedly engraved the word 'end' on the group's tombstone, but this work remains one of the best pieces they have produced. While staying attached to the shores of chart-topping pop rock with strong dance hues and full of synthetic effects to embellish the melodies, the desire of the six guys to surprise the listener is still evident, perhaps having fun as well, experimenting with sound solutions different from the winning formula of the past.

In this sense, the oriental bagpipes of "Questions" astonish us at the opening, along with existential questions posed as if to say "hey, besides dance rhythms and pop, we also think." The sexy atmosphere spiced up by funky rhythms and a voice that takes you through the rooms of pleasure in "Taste It" reveal to us the talent of these Australians, which is repeated in the tribal pop of "Strange Desire" exalted by a female voice intertwining with the male one in the chorus and being taken under the arm by a melancholic sax that in the end fades slowly like a mirage in the desert.

They would have liked to be U2, and "Heaven Sent" clearly shows this. Guitars borrowed from The Edge, a voice filtered as if coming from the next room, an instant chorus, and the first single is served. The recipe repeats with "All Around" but especially with "Baby Don't Cry", the apotheosis of vocal repetitiveness and the incitement to musical addiction to a track, where the title is repeated almost a hundred times. This too, however, is a piece of the mosaic of a record that celebrates pop with honor and risks everything until the end, closing with a touching and difficult track like "Men And Women": eighty members of the Sydney Symphony Orchestra accompany the stentorian lament of the singer. You remain still, eyes open, without words to add.