Joe Satriani
The extremist

Class is permanent: beyond what is obvious (or less so) that can be written about the famous "Surfing With The Alien," it is surely necessary to spend a few words to describe this splendid CD. Satriani is undoubtedly one of the best guitar heroes around, and there is no doubt about that. But what he showcases in this album is the ability to range and hit the mark, without assaulting us or weighing down his sound. The school is that of guitarists like Steve Vai, or before him, Frank Zappa, who (in different ways) intended to play the 6-string as the invention of a truly well-codified language.

It begins with the beautiful "Friends," followed by the title track "The Extremist," with vague blues reminiscences, and riffing worthy of Motley Crue. This is perhaps one of the characteristics that makes me think of Satriani as a true, complete artist: not just a display of technique, but also a school of aesthetics, genuine taste for an aggressive, melodic, and original sound. We listen to the frantic and driving "War," and we might understand why Satriani has been (unexpectedly?) reviewed by heavy-metal magazines: the impact is there, the typical patterns are (almost) all there. But there is also something else: there's a guitarist who has studied every piece in a manic way, being a perfectionist to the bone, concerned with articulating each note rather than blasting 1000 per second. And it is precisely this that emerges in the nostalgic "Cryin'," or in the acoustics (in the style of today's "Strange Beautiful Music") "Rubina's Blue Sky Happiness" or even "Tears In The Rain." It continues on the notes of the fantastic and driving "Summer Song," in the vein of "Surfing With The Alien" (complete with a wha-wha solo), to then conclude the whole thing with an ordinary but beautiful "Why," the very intense "Motorcycle Driver" (sic), and the concluding "New Blues."

Let's move to the flaws (if there are any): perhaps the soloing is stretched a bit too long, and it risks tiring those who are less accustomed. Probably those who claim that Satriani writes from guitarist to guitarists are right, in the sense that he is better appreciated by those who (at least) know and can execute a minor scale on a guitar. A listener unaware of all this might not appreciate the subtleties of which our artist is capable: one among all, the fact of not excessively raising his volume. Almost as if he wanted to show himself to the world, but without imposing, and (strangely enough) without overdoing it. A debatable choice from several points of view, but personally appreciable (as I already wrote about Friedman).