La 1919
Giorni Felici

Strange album, voices coming out of old radios, shrill guitar phrasings, sax, drums, and a sprinkle of electronics. A sort of jam session where frenetic and syncopated rhythms find their highest expression in the initial 38 seconds; Jingle Jungle is already very clear and leaves no room for doubt these are master musicians, and they will have fun teasing us throughout the duration of this unknown CD (1997). Progressive Rock? Jazz? Acoustic experimentation? Too many styles join/mix and confuse us while the warbles of bewildered/tortured girls try to plot something against our musical certainties (This Life).

"A storm at sunset/ rain in the sky/ and uniforms at my door/ suddenly in their hands/ my life is worth nothing anymore/ like in a dream/ strong omnipotent light/ men I don't know/ like wet rags/ if I close my eyes/ I see distant places in time/ dark without colors/ so I ask to be let free". (Le Rapide)

The guitar deliberately distorted/lost in pain observes us dragging our feet towards other sounds/dreams screams and artificial dismemberments... Could this be MUSIC? Happy Days, Alexia, Carla occupy the central part of the CD, the intent to confuse the listener is now achieved, the master musicians (Luciano Margorani, Piero Chianura, Henry Kaiser, Franco Fabbri, John Oswald) increasingly resemble a congregation of old drunken friends. They enjoy recording and improvising as if nothing is forbidden by show business fully aware that their work will have only some crazy admirers, parades of lemmings and (fake) Native American Indian choruses urge Henry to play again, and Henry certainly does not need to be begged. The work is entirely instrumental, except for the parts where the voice is used as an instrument, and moreover, there are the two heartbreaking/disturbing poems whose text I have enjoyed inserting for you.

"Our fathers/ bearers of misery/ clothed in good clothes/ and words without sense/ every color down in the conscience/ until the last day/ the body seen from the sky/ contracts/ explodes in every direction/ the arms turn/ push the void/ ribs/ vertebrae/ tendons/ muscles/ loosen and move/ every gesture heals/ and calms the pain/ so that the body may be free" (Crimini di Guerra)

and the grand finale opens with The Puppet Parade, and we see all the characters of this incredibly bizarre work parading before us again.

Ps: the poems are written and interpreted by a certain Fausto Rossi.